“Oh, yeah? Why not?”
She stroked her hands down his chest. “Because I don’t want you to go.”
“Does that mean you have an incentive to keep me here, then?” His fingers tangled in her hair before she could answer, pulling her down for a kiss that went on and on and on.
They were both breathing hard and she was even trembling a little bit when he finally broke away. “I could make breakfast,” she told him when she could finally talk again.
“Not quite the incentive I was thinking of.” He reached for the box of condoms where it lay half empty on the nightstand, then quickly fumbled a condom out of it.
Seconds later he was wrapping his hands around her hips.
Lowering her down on his cock.
Thrusting his hips up to meet hers.
It was hot and wild and thrilling. And fast—so, so fast this time, with both of them soaring over the edge together only a few short minutes after Wyatt slid inside her.
“Wow,” he said when they finally caught their breath. “Should I apologize? I didn’t exactly take my time, there.”
“Don’t you dare,” she answered, nuzzling her face into his throat. “It’s not like I was lagging behind or anything.”
She felt him smile as he bent down to kiss the top of her head, but he didn’t say anything more. And neither did she, for the longest time.
But as seconds bled into minutes—and his phone continued to vibrate on the nightstand—she knew they couldn’t stay holed up like this forever, no matter how much she might want to right now. Not when there was so much going on around them.
And not when there was still so much unsaid between them.
“Can you tell me?” The words came out before she knew she was going to say them, but once she had, she didn’t want to take them back. Instead, she just rested quietly against him, stroking his chest and making sure not to look at him as she waited.
To his credit, Wyatt didn’t ask what she was talking about. But he did stiffen beneath her, his heart jolting hard in his chest before it started racing. “You don’t want to go there,” he finally said.
“I do,” she murmured, running her lips over his shoulder, his sleeves, any place she could reach. “I know there’s something there—I can see it in your eyes when you don’t think I’m looking. I don’t know what it is, but I know it’s why you thought you needed to quit the band. I know it’s what made you go out and sit in that bar last night. It’s causing so much of this mess and I’m afraid if you don’t deal with it, you’ll—”
“Leave it alone, Poppy.”
“I can’t. It’d be easier it I could, but I can’t. It’s hurting you, Wyatt, and I can’t stand that. I want to help. I want to—”
“Stop it.” He rolled out from under her then, grabbed his jeans off the floor, and started tugging them on.
She was right behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing more kisses to his back, his shoulders. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry. I’m not trying to hurt you. I just want to make things better—”
“You can’t make them better!” he said, and though he didn’t shrug her off, it felt like he had. It felt like, suddenly, he was a million miles away. “What do I need to say to convince you of that fact? Nothing can make this better.”
“That’s not true. Maybe I can’t help, but maybe a counselor could. Therapy—”
“Fuck therapy!” This time he did pull away, striding toward the bedroom door at a rate that had her scrambling to keep up. “You think I haven’t done the therapy thing? I’ve been in rehab three times. All they fucking do is talk to me, talk at me. It doesn’t fucking work.” He shoved his feet into his boots, bending down to tie the laces.
“Okay, not a counselor then. One of the guys from the band. Me—”
He didn’t look at her as he said, “I already told you. You don’t want to hear this shit.”
“I do, Wyatt.” She crouched next to him, rested her hands over his. “I do want to know.”
“Why?” he demanded, his beautiful blue eyes wild with a pain and torment so real she swore she could reach out and touch it. If only he’d let her. “We spent one fucking night together. Why is it so fucking important that you know all my secrets?”
She tried not to flinch at his description of what they’d done. He was angry, she reminded herself. In pain and lashing out. And she was the one pushing him. The one who had refused to drop it when he asked. “I just don’t want to see you hurt any more than you’ve already been—”
“Jesus, Poppy! Stop! Just stop.” He stood up so fast that she nearly lost her balance, nearly fell flat on her ass at his feet. “You can’t fix me. I know you want to, but you can’t. Some things that are broken can’t be repaired.”