Before I can catch my breath—before I can even fully return to my body—he’s positioning me again, lifting me to my knees and pulling me back into him, lining himself up behind me.
And then he sinks into me—slowly, stretching me open around him again. I gasp, the sound swallowed by his hand gently covering my mouth. His other arm winds around my waist to pull me flush against him.
Pleasure collides with pain, my body still shaking from his mouth on me. But the fullness of him, the way he holds me there, the way he breathes my name into my hair…it overwhelms everything else.
I clutch his forearm with both hands, fingers digging in, needing him close, needing more as he moves inside me. Every thrust is desperate, a conversation, a confession.
His tongue tastes the place where my neck meets my shoulder. I’m hot and dizzy, but I never want this to end. He moves with me, around me, inside me, and I feel every part of him, possessing me until there’s nothing left to give, nothing left to take—only the quiet collapse of surrender as we break together—quiet and breathless, the moment stretching into something that feels eternal.
Afterward, he eases me back into the mattress, gathering me into his arms again. I melt into him, cheek pressed to his chest, his heartbeat slow and steady beneath my ear. His hand drifts through my hair, down my spine, gentle now, grounding.
“You okay?” he whispers, voice soft.
I nod, still breathing unevenly. “More than okay.”
We lie there, suspended in the peaceful calm after the storm—bodies tangled, our breaths steadying, and the warm remnants of us lingering between my thighs, marking the sheets.
There’s a weight to this intimacy, a whisper of more to come, the lingering reminder that it will all eventually end—but for now, there’s only this.
ItugWesley’shoodielower, but no matter how hard I pull, the hem barely skims the tops of my thighs.
My underwear is still lost somewhere in the truck, and my leggings are ruined with the evidence of my recent deflowering. The hoodietechnicallycovers me, but it’s the principle. The risk.
Wesley props himself on one elbow, eyes dragging down the length of me.
“I’d offer you sweatpants,” he drawls, “but they’d never hide the fact that you spent all night—and this morning—coming apart on me.”
Heat rushes to my face. He must see the panic flicker beneath the surface because his smirk softens and he climbs out of bed, still wearing nothing but his briefs, and reaches for me.
“Hey.” His hand finds my chin, forcing me to look into his eyes. “Everything is fine. Just act normal. Everyone’s probably downstairs eating by now. No one’s gonna notice.”
I try to nod but my heart is already thundering. “I just don’t want you to get in trouble,” I whisper.
Then, before I can overthink, he kisses me—soft, sweet, nothing like I’d expect after how depraved we were this morning.
He pulls away first, pressing a final kiss to my forehead. “Go, Princess. Make your great escape.”
Then he spanks me affectionately, grinning when I let out a tiny gasp.
The hallway is still dim, early morning light just beginning to creep through the windows. I move quietly, tiptoeing, hoping to make it to my room undetected.
I’m barefoot, hyperaware of my naked body beneath Wesley’s hoodie hanging loose over my thighs. Every creak in the floorboards is an equal decibel to a gunshot.
Two steps from the safety zone, Emmett turns the corner. We both freeze.
“Jesus,”he mutters. “You trying to give me a heart attack?”
“Sorry,” I say quickly, trying to play it cool, like I’m not the epitome of a walk of shame. “Didn’t hear you coming up.”
His eyes flick down—from my face to the hem of the hoodie to myverybare legs—and back up again. His expression shifts between amusement and suspicion.
“You good?” he asks, tone too casual.
“Yep,” I answer, too quickly. “Couldn’t sleep, so I went for a morning walk.”
His brow arches. “Barefoot? In that?”
I cross my arms over my chest.“Yes.”
