All I can do is surrender.
He’s relentless and I’m a mess. Breathy, scattered moans spill out faster than I can catch them.
When his hand finds mine and our fingers intertwine, I fall apart, losing whatever composure I had left.
The world disappears. There’s only the dizzying rush of pleasure.
When it’s over, I’m trembling, boneless. He doesn’t stop—still tracing languid circles with his tongue, easing me through the aftershocks with soft, reverent kisses. Soothing every shiver that ripples through me, so gentle it almost hurts.
I push up on my elbows and meet his eyes. He smirks, licking his lips, and presses a trail of kisses along my inner thigh like he’s not done with me yet.
“Did you like it?” he murmurs between kisses.
I laugh, breathless. “Do you really have to ask?”
He grins, boyish and proud, and climbs back up to kiss me. It’s deep, unhurried, desperate in a way that feels like more than want. The taste of myself on his lips sends a shiver through me, and before I can stop myself, I’m pulling him closer.
When he pulls back, searching my face, his voice is quiet. “You okay?”
I nod, smiling against his mouth. Then, in one motion, my palms press flat against his chest. His skin is hot beneath my touch as I push him back against the mattress.
His brows lift, a flicker of surprise crossing his face, but he doesn’t fight it. He lets out a soft groan when I straddle him, his hands finding my hips like muscle memory. I lift my arms, waiting.
Understanding flashes across his face, and the grin that follows could undo me all over again.
He sits up, crashing his mouth to mine. His fingers find the hem of my bralette, peeling it off slowly, like he’s unveiling something sacred.
My hands frame his face and our mouths find each other again. The kiss deepens—all tongue and emotion and the dizzying realization that this—us—might actually mean something.
I roll my hips against him and he groans, low and ragged, his control fraying at the edges. I kiss down his neck, his chest, the hard lines of his stomach, tasting the salt of his skin, the sound of his heart in my ear.
When I finally take him in my hand and trace my tongue along his length, his head falls back against the pillows, a sound tearing from his throat that sends heat spiraling through me.
His fingers twist in my hair. My name breaks from his lips—raw and ardent—and for one perfect second, I let myself feel wanted.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
WESLEY
LaneHartfordisadisrespectful prick and I’m done with his entitled bullshit.
I don’t know why he suddenly thinks the rules don’t apply to him—but tonight, he’s about to get a rude fucking reminder.
My pulse is roaring in my ears and my jaw locks tighter with every step up to the main house. By the time I reach the door, I’m half a second from ripping it off its hinges.
Every muscle in my body is humming with tension. I didn’t plan to walk into dinner like this. I wanted to be composed andrational, but all that flew straight out the fucking window this morning when I overheard Lane in the bunkhouse.
I’d been waiting outside for Landon when I caught Sadie quietly slipping out the front door. Her hair was piled in a messy bun on top of her head, and her hoodie sleeves were tugged down over her hands, the hem falling mid-thigh.
Lane’s hoodie.
That image alone was enough to ruin my morning, but I wasn’t going to let it fuck me up. She can wear whatever she wants. It doesn’t mean anything to me.
My shitty start went from bad to worse when Land texted that he was running late, and said to come inside for coffee while I waited for him. He was coming with me into town to help me pick up a few orders.
So I went in and sat there at the table, trying to swallow the sight of her in another man’s clothes.
Then Lane came out of his room. Freshly showered. Hair still damp. That same smug fucking grin on his face.
