Wesley.
I’m in Wesley’s bed.
A soft, shaky breath slips out of me, but I close my eyes and let myself sink into him, into the weight and heat and sound of him.
The world is quiet—suspended between yesterday and whatever comes next.
His breath ghosts across the back of my neck, his heartbeat steady against my spine. It all feels too good. Too easy. Too much like something I could get attached to.
But it doesn’t stop my heart from hoping maybe I could stay here forever.
A pounding knock obliterates that thought, shattering the bubble and pulling me back into reality.
“Wes? You awake?” The doorknob rattles as Emmett’s voice calls from the hallway. “Why the fuck is your door locked?”
My stomach drops and my body slips into its usual response: freezing.
There’s no reasonable excuse for why I’m in Wesley’s bed wearing nothing but his shirt. This makes us look like something we’re not. We’re absolutely not. We agreed, this is temporary and only physical.
We don’t make sense—this doesn’t make sense—but the possibility of being caught sends a slow, traitorous thrill through me.
I press myself closer to Wesley. He doesn’t hesitate, his arms tightening around me, pulling me into his chest.
“Leave me alone,” he mutters into my hair, voice rough with sleep and irritation.
“Oh shit, are you jerking off?” Emmett blurts, horrified.
“Fuckoff, Emmett.”
“Look, man—I’m sorry I’m interrupting yourspecialalone time, but have you seen Sadie? She’s not in her room.”
Wesley sighs, sliding his hand beneath the blankets, his calloused fingers skimming over the bare skin of my stomach where his shirt has ridden up. The touch is slow, intimate—possessive in a way that steals the air from my lungs.
He buries his face in my neck, brushing the edge of his lips against my skin, breathing me in like he needs it.
“Maybe she’s already in the barn,” he calls back. “Working with Iris or something.”
I canhearthe smirk in his voice. Feel it in the way his thumb strokes my stomach. I bite my lip to hold in a laugh as I roll to face him. He sweeps his thumb across my lips, whispering a playfulshhh. Then he leans in, mouth soft against mine. A slow, deliberate, dragging kind of hunger presses into me. I kiss him back, tasting him, feeling him, craving more even with his brother right outside the door.
Footsteps creak and the murmur of voices filters down the hallway—Emmett and Lydia bickering as they head downstairs.
Once we know the coast is clear, I slip out of Wesley’s room and into mine, quickly pulling on a pair of leggings and throwing my hair into a messy ponytail. The smell of bacon and fresh coffee wafts up the stairs, warm and homey.
As I pass through the dining room into the kitchen, I lift my chin and force my shoulders to loosen.
This is just a normal, regular Saturday morning.
I smooth my face into what I hope passes for casual indifference—something that doesn’t screamI woke up in your son’s bed.
Wesley’s leaning against the counter next to the coffeepot, sipping from his thermos. The second I walk in, his eyes lock on me.
I pretend not to notice, reaching for my favorite teal mug off one of the hooks and ignoring the tremble in my hands as I pour my coffee.
Before I can grab the creamer, he’s already holding it out for me—silent and attentive. My eyes lift to his and the whole room falls away. Our fingers brush as I take it from him and electricity spikes through my veins.
“Thanks,” I breathe, too aware of him. I swallow, willing myself to fuckingact normal.
The clink of silverware and voices blurs into background static. All I feel is Wesley’s gaze tracking me—every step, every breath—as I move around the kitchen.
