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My body feels warm and loose, my thoughts pleasantly scrambled, and for several seconds I just lie there staring at him while we both try to catch our breath.
“That was incredible.” The words leave my mouth before I can stop them. I slap a hand over it. “Oh my God. Could I sound any more cliché?”
Wyatt’s mouth curves into a lazy, satisfied smile. “Thank you. I do aim to please.”
I laugh and shove at his shoulder. “You’re so full of yourself.”
But almost as soon as the words leave my mouth, something shifts again.
God, I’m all over the place tonight.
One second I’m laughing, and the next my chest goes tight and hot, emotion rising so quickly I don’t even have time to figure out what it is before tears slide sideways into my hair.
Wyatt’s smile disappears. “Hey.” He pushes himself up immediately. “Hey, what happened?”
Fuck. Now I’m laughing and crying, which is even worse.
Wyatt looks completely alarmed. “Did I hurt you?”
“No.” I grab his arm before he can move any farther away. “No, you didn’t hurt me. Come back.”
He does, but his eyes search my face like he’s trying to find the emergency I’m apparently failing to explain to him.
“Then what’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“I don’t know.” I wipe at my cheek, only for another tear to immediately replace it. “I’m happy.”
His eyebrows pull together. “You’re crying because you’re happy?”
“I think so.”
“You think so?”
“I’ve never done this before, Wyatt. I don’t know what the normal post-sex emotional protocol is.”
That gets the smallest twitch from his mouth. “Pretty sure there’s no protocol.”
“Well, someone should make one because this is embarrassing.”
“It’s not embarrassing.”
“It is a little.” I laugh, wiping under my eyes. “I’m a mess.”
“You’re really not.” His thumb catches another tear before it can reach my hair. “But even if you were, you’re my mess.”
There’s still so much emotion sitting inside me that I don’t quite know where to put it. Relief. Happiness. The lingering vulnerability of having let someone see every part of me and discovering that instead of feeling exposed, I feel safe.
Maybe that’s what gets me.
I spent so long building this moment up in my head, worrying about whether I’d know what to do, whether it would hurt, whether I’d embarrass myself, whether something about me would somehow be wrong.
And none of those things mattered.
Because it was Wyatt.
When I’m done with my emotional breakdown, Wyatt finally gets up to deal with the condom, and I lie there listening to the sounds of him in the bathroom.
