“I don’t want to risk waking up Lydia by going into my room to get my toothbrush.”
“Oh, no worries,” he says. “I’ve got an extra.”
He leads me into the bathroom, rummages under the sink, and hands me a mint-green toothbrush still in its packaging.
How proactive. He keeps spares.
How many girls has he brought here before?
“Thanks,” I say, trying to keep my voice neutral. “Very…preparedof you.”
He smirks, squeezing toothpaste onto his own brush.
We stand side by side at the mirror, my elbow bumping into him as we move through the small motions together—brush, spit, and rinse.
It’s nothing, and somehow everything.
Back in his room, I peel off my jeans, then my top, letting them slip from my fingers and puddle onto the floor. When I glance up, Wesley is watching me. He sits on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, eyes tracking the slow slide of fabric down my body.
For a moment, I just stand there in my bra and underwear, bare in a way that makes my pulse thunder in my ears. His eyes lift to mine and the air between us hums.
I want to prove Lane was wrong.I need to.
My hand drifts behind my back, fingers finding the clasp. The tinyclicksounds impossibly loud in the silence. I let the straps slowly slip off my shoulders before my bra falls to the floor.
Wesley’s jaw flexes, his gaze dragging over me in raw, unguarded hunger. He lets out a quiet chuckle, shaking his headlike he can’t quite believe me. Like he’s both in awe and in agony at the same time.
But he doesn’t stop me. His eyes stay locked on me—dark and burning.
Heat crawls up my spine as I tug his shirt over my head. I feel reckless.Alive.The soft cotton fabric drapes over me, nearly swallowing me whole. The hem barely brushes the tops of my bare thighs.
His jaw tightens as I cross the room slowly, savoring the way his eyes follow every drawn-out step. When I reach the space between his legs, his hands lift without hesitation, fingertips lightly gliding up the backs of my thighs until finally slipping beneath the shirt. His touch is so warm, so reverent, it threatens to pull me apart at the seams. His fingers tighten, curling into me, pulling me closer with a quiet certainty that steals my breath.
I cup his jaw in both hands, tilting his head back, and press my mouth to his. The moment our lips meet, something ignites instantly—a messy and desperate tenderness, like we’re trying to breathe each other in. His lips part and I sink into him when his tongue meets mine—slow at first, then claiming. Kissing him feels like a freefall.
A quiet sound breaks from my lips when his hands push higher, skimming the curve of my ass beneath the shirt. His calluses rake over bare skin, rough and perfect, forcing a shiver up my spine. Then he drags me closer, fingers digging in like he couldn’t stop even if he tried. He lifts me effortlessly, guiding me into his lap until I’m straddling him, knees braced on either side.
My chest brushes his with every breath. There’s barely anything between us, and I can feel exactly how much he wants this—wants me.
Heat pools low in my stomach and my hips move without permission, rolling against him in a way that feels like we’retrying to take pieces of each other. The sensation pulls a broken sound from my throat.
One of his hands slides up, tracing my ribs, deliberate and torturously slow, until his thumb brushes the underside of my breast. He curses, low and wrecked, like he’s losing his mind from this alone—and I desperately want him to, to ruin me right here. His other hand continues to roam, fingers spreading across my bare waist.
He kisses me like he’s drowning, like he needs my mouth to breathe, and I arch into him, chasing every point of contact.
My fingers sink into his hair, tugging him closer, kissing him deeper, needing him in every possible way.
I rock again, and he jerks his hips up to meet mine with a raw depravity he can’t mask. A wave of desire burns through me, hot and consuming. I cling to him, pulling his mouth harder against mine like I could devour him whole.
For one dizzy, reckless heartbeat, I feel it—the shift, the surrender, the moment he almost gives in completely. Like he’s seconds away from flipping me onto the mattress and claiming me in a way neither of us will recover from. I want it so badly I lean in, breath catching, silently begging.
But then his hands still and his mouth breaks from mine. He presses his forehead hard against my shoulder.
His chest heaves, rough and unsteady.
“Fuck,” he breathes, voice raw. “We should stop.”
The words carve straight through me, but I nod, slipping out of his lap and swallowing the ache, even while every nerve in my body screams for him not to let go.
