Page 80 of Level Up for Love

“Is this what you want?” I whisper.

His mouth is hot where he presses it between my breasts. His fingers dig into my thighs. “God, yes.”

I lower myself onto him.

We both gasp at the same moment, feel the air catch in our throats. I have to widen my legs to make room for him and control my descent as it reawakens the ache deep in my core. The lines of tension in Wesley’s body have grown only more taut, like he’s trying to restrain himself from bucking his hips upward or just pulling me down himself. I run my thumb along where his jaw has gone sharp and tight.

An unspoken understanding passes between us.

We’re going at my pace now.

But I’m impatient, too.

I roll my hips forward until we’re fully flush, until I have to swallow a whimper at just how ridiculously good it feels when he fills me entirely. Experimentally, I circle my hips—underneath me, Wesley’s legs twitch forward, and he bites out a curse.

“Fucking hell, Reagan.” His voice is ragged.

I could get used to this.

In time, he can’t help himself—his blunt nails dig half-moons into my skin, holding me in place as his hips jerk upward to rise and fall in time with mine. I arch myself forward again, and with each stroke, I increase my pace. I don’t have any of Wesley’s slow patience or careful control—I never have. Not when I have him right where I want him, not when each thrust has my mind going blissfully blank of everything other than him, and this. His lip looks so good where he holds it captured between his teeth that I arch my neck down to kiss and bite it myself.

Wesley groans into my mouth, and I tangle my fingers in his hair as his movements grow more frantic. I lose all sense of who’s in control of this encounter, of who’s setting the pace. But, like always, I find his rhythm and match it. We are neck and neck in the same race, and when I feel him nearing his own edge, I push him over it.

Wesley’s long fingers dig into my lower back, and he shudders against me, holding me painfully close as his hips twitch upward with each aftershock of pleasure. When he’s finished, he lets his head fall and presses his sweat-slicked temple against my chest, his breath escaping him in pants.

“Do you have any idea,” he murmurs against my skin, “how incredible you are?”

I smile against his hair, then I gently fall to the side and pull him down with me until we’re both horizontal on the couch, his face burrowed into my neck. He presses messy kisses into my collarbone, and I feel deliciously wrung out and languid.

I’m half awake when he starts to rise, pushing himself onto his elbows. “Give me a sec to go clean up, okay?”

My stomach twists.

If I close my eyes again, I don’t know if you’ll still be here when I open them, I think.

“Don’t go.” By the way my tone lilts up at the end, it almost sounds like a question.

Wesley’s eyes soften. “I won’t.”

The last thing I see before my eyes shutter closed is a rectangle of light coming from the bathroom, then Wesley shuts himself inside.