Page 106 of Level Up for Love

I want to see his face.

I reach for the curtain hanging from the window above the bed and flick it open just enough for a sliver of moonlight to slice through. It paints him in a pale silver beam, catching on his lowered golden eyelashes, on the divots and grooves of his abdomen, on the flash of his teeth as he draws his lower lip into his mouth.

“Reagan…” he breathes.

His gaze rakes over me, too, and I feel heat and pleasure rise to the surface of my skin as his eyes light on the swell of my hips, the curves of my breasts. I raise myself onto my knees, and his gaze snags on where I position him between my thighs.

Before I go any further, I lean forward until my forehead presses against his and stroke the bridge of my nose against his brow. “I want you,” I say again. I don’t bother to hide the desperation in my voice, or the way it shakes; for him, I’ll lay it bare.

His voice comes out ragged. “I’m yours.”

I straighten and brace myself with my hands on his thighs. I sink slowly onto him, and it takes everything in me not to cry out as he fills me completely.

When I rock forward, rolling my hips against his, we draw in hitching gasps at the same moment. Wesley releases a strained breathy laugh, and when I can’t help but smile, he reaches up to touch it. His thumb swipes along my swollen bottom lip, and his gaze grows tender.

“So beautiful, baby,” he whispers.

I’ve never let anyone call me baby, but somehow, hearing it from Wesley’s lips…

I bite back a groan as I arch forward again. He presses his thumb into my mouth, but just as I begin to run my tongue along his skin, he withdraws—and then lowers his hand to circle my clit. At the same moment, he lifts his hips up in a shallow thrust, spreading me open in a way that has me seeing stars.

I roll my hips exactly in time with the rock of his, and we move together in less of a give-and-take and more of a duet. It doesn’t take any time at all for us to find our rhythm. Maybe it’s because we’ve done this so many times now, or maybe I’ve just never had anyone understand my body—understand me—the way that he does. Even now I feel an ache building in the strain of my hips and the center of my core.

“Wesley,” I whine. I’m already so close.

“I know, love. Come here.”

Without warning, he sits up until his chest is flush with mine, winds a strong arm around my waist, and rolls me onto my back. His momentum builds as he surges forward and deeper, and he shifts the orientation of his wrist where it’s lodged between us until his thumb glides down to find me again. Something about the way he hasn’t shut his eyes, or maybe the way he continues to press soft kisses against my temple, my cheek, and the corner of my mouth as I suck in lungfuls of air, has my chest aching with something I refuse to put a name to. It takes only a few steady, purposeful strokes of his thumb before I’m burying my mouth against his neck, biting back the moan building in the back of my throat as the dam in me breaks.

I shudder in his arms as each pulse of pleasure rocks through me and clenches around him, and by the gasp that he muffles into my shoulder, I know he can feel it. He chases the aftershocks of it, and I feel both full and hollowed out as Wesley’s pace grows frenzied and desperate.

I realize I love to see him lose control like this, allow himself to fall apart with me. I love when it shatters for him, and I press my mouth to his and swallow his own moan when he unravels, too. I love that in this—and in so much more, I’m coming to realize—we’re not so different after all. I love—

My mind goes blank. I try to chase all thoughts from my head and focus only on the comforting weight of Wesley’s body as he collapses onto me and gasps into the side of my neck. I try not to think of anything at all as inexplicable pressure builds behind my eyes; instead, I fold my arms around him and pull him close. Something about tonight…it’s an intimacy we haven’t allowed ourselves until now. Something has shifted, and by the way we’re clinging to each other, limbs winding tight, we both know it.

Moments or hours pass. Time doesn’t seem to exist here in the aftermath. I don’t know what compels me to speak; maybe I half convince myself Wesley fell asleep, and that makes me brave.

“What happens next?” I ask into the darkness.

Wesley runs his palm over the crown of my head, smoothing down my hair until his hand cups the back of my neck and draws me close so our foreheads are touching. “We could find out.”

I don’t know if I believe him, but I want to. In the cage of his arms, I almost imagine it’s the truth.

I fall asleep before I make any promises I can’t keep.