Page 59 of The Beat Match

His eyes got more intense, if that was even possible. “Yes. I’m clean, and I’ve always worn condoms.”

“Always?”

“Always.”

“So I’ll be your first bare?”

His length jerked. He gripped the base, gave it a rough squeeze. “The first of many things, apparently. You’re covered?”

She nodded. “No condom needed. I’m on the pill, and I’m clean.”

His lips moved, a quiet mumble she couldn’t hear, then he was on the bed, over her, kissing her while pressing their bodies together—her breasts to his chest, their hips aligning, his length nestled against her belly. God, he felt amazing. So hard and smooth. She secured her legs around him and rolled so she was on top, his erection trapped between them. Not in her, just rubbing, that huge body under her control. Not that either of them were in control here. This was them out of control, risking their hearts, forgetting about the future and living in the moment.

Wes gripped her hips, steadied her from below as he rolled against her, not pushing in, just maddening thrusts that blurred her vision. She moved in time, watched his biceps flex, his pecs and abdomen harden, every muscle defined as they rocked. She never wanted to leave this bed. She didn’t want to discuss why Wes thought he was damaged or how they were going to be a couple when he was fake-dating a woman to secure a merger. She didn’t want to pretend she didn’t love him so deeply one wrong move could ruin her.

* * *

Weston’s body was on fire. He was so close to slipping into Annie, and she was drenched, ready for him. He wasn’t sure he was ready for this. Watching her fall apart before had wrecked him. The way her head had tipped back, her full breasts pushed up as she’d called his name in ecstasy, he’d never known satisfaction like that. A crush of possessiveness.

Having sex bare would shatter any remaining composure, but he was beyond sense. Past caring about the how or when or if of their future. He was an asshole for letting this happen before they talked, but he couldn’t make himself stop.

He squeezed her breasts, ate up her body with his hungry eyes, tugged her down for another rough kiss, loved feeling her soft breasts pressed to his hard chest. She was the humor to his seriousness. The light to his dark. Ridiculous and infuriating at times, but she was his kind of perfect. If he messed this up, he’d never forgive himself.

He manhandled her, flipped them back over, needing some semblance of control. The illusion of it, at least. Her hair was wild from sleeping with it wet. Her lips were shiny and plump, her neck and breasts red from where he’d sucked too hard—his late best friend’s little sister transformed into a sexual goddess. Into the most integral person in his life.

How would he manage if he lost her?

“You okay?” She touched his cheek, worry in her slanted browns.

“I’m perfect.” Because of her. With her.

A punch of desperation flooded his veins.

He positioned himself at her entrance, couldn’t believe he was about to sink into Annie. She canted her hips, tried to coax him in. He held her steady, mesmerized, watching his length disappear into her, one inch, another. So hot, wet. All Annie. A pause as he twitched and she gasped.

“More,” she demanded.

“I wish you could see what I see,” he murmured. He pushed in farther, a slow slide until they were flush. Then he moved. They moved together, pulling at each other as their bodies merged, a give and take as they went deeper, farther, deeper still, but the close wasn’t close enough. The far made him angry. He pumped harder, needing more. He could barely swallow through the roughness crowding his throat.

“Annie. Fuck, you’re…” Everything. At what point in his life had she become everything?

He pressed lower, caged her between his forearms, never letting her look away. Her hazel eyes shone—springtime green, glistening with possibility. He snapped his hips, ground against her, kissed her so hard their teeth clashed. Not his smoothest move, but it didn’t matter. The future didn’t matter. Together, like this, Annie was all that mattered.

“God, Wes. I’m close.” She knocked her head back, squeezed him so hard lust blasted up his thighs. Too soon. He lifted slightly, reached between them, desperate to make this unforgettable for her. The second his thumb brushed her, she clenched and cried out. The sharp tug on him stole his breath. She shook, incoherent as she let go, and he was right behind her, a blinding rush roaring up his spine. He cursed. He called her name.

All he could feel and see and smell was Annie Ward.

He kissed her eyes, her nose, the birthmark beside her mouth. “You okay?”

She stroked his back and nodded. “I don’t ever want you to move.”

He couldn’t agree more. Moving meant reality. Reality meant talking. Talking meant things could get shaky. “I might never go into work again.” Or leave this room.

Annie circled her hips, just enough to make him growl. And fire him up.

Then his cell rang.

He bit her collarbone, licked it gently, determined to ignore the world a while longer. “I’ll throw my phone out the window.”