Page 59 of Heart Breaker

His gaze searches mine. “I’ve thought about this constantly. More than I should. More than I’ve wanted to.” A humorless laugh escapes him. “You’ve become an obsession, Lottie, and I’m so fucking tired of fighting it.”

While I search for the right words to say to that, Wes closes the distance between us, pressing his lips to mine again. Whatever response I was searching for disappears with the sweep of his tongue against mine. The kiss is hungry, making me dizzy. By the time Wes pulls back, his liquid gray eyes are staring into mine, and I’m shaking. This man knows exactly how to turn me on in five seconds flat.

“I want to make you come, Peach. I need your words. Do you want to pretend with me?” he asks, tucking a few loose strands of my hair behind my ear. “Just for tonight. Do you want to forget about the agreement and pretend you’re really my wife?”

My heart thuds heavily against my ribs, and I can’t decide which feeling is stronger—excitement or fear. Can I allow myself one night with Wes without getting so attached that he takes a piece of my heart with him when this arrangement is over?

It’s a risk, but it’s one that I already know I’m going to take.

Inhaling a sharp breath, I nod. “Yes, Wes. I do.”

He lifts me in his arms, and I wrap my legs around his waist as he walks me up the stairs to his bedroom, right across from mine. “Come here, Peach. I need my hands on my wife.”

Wes kicks the bedroom door shut behind us, the sound echoing through the room, but I barely notice. I’m too busy noticing my husband.

One of his arms is hooked securely beneath my ass while the other presses me to him, and I’m suddenly aware of how big he feels as he holds me in his arms. Wes isn’t just tall, he’s solid. He carries me to the edge of his bed like I weigh nothing at all before he lowers me to the ground. My feet have barely touched the floor before he’s pulling his shirt over his head.

I tip my head up to feast my eyes on him. The carved muscles that end in a V at his groin, the grid of abs in the center. This man looks like he could bench press a small building without breaking a sweat.

My gaze drifts to his chest, from his defined pecs with small, flat nipples to a small patch of dark hair in the center of his chest. My eyes wander further down to the trail of hair that disappears into his jeans. When he unbuckles his belt, tugging it through the belt loops and dropping it to the floor, I swear I’m drooling.

I can’t look away from him, no matter how hard I try. I’m greedy, not sure where I want to touch him first. I want to use my hands, my tongue, my mouth, my teeth.

I’m not sure who moves first, but in the blink of an eye, I’m in his arms and we’re kissing again.

“It’s been too long since I’ve touched you,” he murmurs into my mouth. “Too long.”

“It was too long. I need this, Wes.”

He groans, taking my jaw in his hands before kissing me. His fingers trail from my jaw down my neck to my breasts. They stay there, massaging them over my shirt, pinching my nipples between his fingers. I cry his name when his hips thrust into mine and his erection makes contact with my clit. I’m a reckless mess of want and impatience but I still manage to keep kissing him as I cup him through his pants.

“Fuck,” he breathes, rocking his erection into my palm. The thrill coursing through my veins is palpable knowing Wes is already this hard for me.

“I’m not going to be gentle with you,” he growls. “Is that going to be okay with my wife?”

My wife.

My hand fumbles with his zipper, managing to get it undone despite being more turned on than I’ve ever been in my life. “I’ve never liked gentle.”

He growls. He actually growls before he says, “Good, that’s my dirty fucking girl. Now, get on the bed for me.”

Fuck, I love it. The low command makes my nipples harden further and arousal pools between my thighs. I climb onto the mattress, sinking back against a mountain of pillows as Wes stands at the end of the bed and tugs the zipper of his pants down in one slow motion. Part of me wishes I was undressing Wes, but the view I have from where I’m lying on his bed is what dreams are made of. His body is simply astonishing.

The sight of him makes me think suddenly of the pale, silvery line that runs down the center of my chest. The one I’ve spent years trying not to think about and even longer trying to hide. The rest of me has never felt quite right because of it.

I tug nervously at my shirt while my eyes stayed glued on Wes. I notice him track the movement, but it doesn’t stop him from shoving the denim down his hips to the floor until he’s standing there in nothing but black boxer briefs. My pulse kicks up another notch when he hooks his thumbs into the waistband and pushes them down to the floor. The air leaves my lungs in one rush at the sight of him with his clothes off, and I wonder to myself how that’s going to fit inside my body.

His cock is impressive. Long and thick, pointing proudly up to the ceiling, nestled in a patch of dark hair.

God.

Wes stalks toward me, lowering himself onto me, and a wave of relief washes over me when his hips and his chest pin me to the mattress. It’s almost enough to ease the ache between my thighs when our hips arch to meet each other’s and his erection rocks into my pelvis. My eyes pinch shut from the feel of him, every nerve ending in my clit sparking to life.

He kisses me like he did at the planetarium, urgent and intense. Needy sounds fall from my mouth as I’m underneath him, right where I’ve wanted to be for weeks, my legs spread wide, the weight of his erection trapped between us.

“I’ve waited for this for so long,” he murmurs, rocking the ridge of his hard cock into me, making bright lights explode when I close my eyes. “To hear the sounds you make. To taste you. To feel my big cock right where you need me.”

“Wes,” I moan.