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“Try now,” he rasps, his voice thicker than before, laced with a heavy, primal edge. He gently guides my hand back down. “A little moisture will take off that sharp edge. Nice and slick.”

My hand slips back under the fabric, and the moment my wet fingertips touch my center, I let out a high, helpless gasp.

He was right. It’s night and day.

The friction is gone, replaced by a smooth, gliding warmth that makes every tiny movement feel a million times better. The sensitivity transforms instantly from overwhelming to pure, effortless pleasure. I press my fingers flat against myself, circling slowly, and a deep, delicious shudder ripples through my entire lower body.

“Oh,” I breathe out, my hips rolling upward all on their own to chase the feeling. “Oh... Wyatt.”

Wyatt lets out a low, satisfied growl in the back of his throat, his hand tightening on the cushion beside my thigh as he watches my reaction. “Yeah?” he murmurs, his breath hot against my neck. “Better?”

“So much better,” I whisper, completely lost in the gliding motion of my own hand, the coil in my stomach tightening with every smooth, wet circle.

Oh yes!

“You’re doing great, Peachy,” Wyatt murmurs into my ear, his hand tightening just a fraction on my hip. The steady rhythm of his heart against my back grounding me.

“Speed it up, slow it down, press harder, or barely touch it at all,” he instructs, his breath hot against my neck. “It’s your call. Find what catches.”

I adjust my rhythm, leaning into the light pressure.

The awkwardness that threatened to choke me minutes ago begins to melt around the edges, replaced by a slow, syrupy coil of tension tightening in my lower stomach. I shift my hips instinctively, seeking a better angle, and a small moan catches in the back of my throat.

Wyatt lets out a low, satisfied breath behind me, his thumb stroking the side of my waist. “Fuck, Quinn... just like that.”

Hearing him say my name in that dark, thick tone hits me harder than the touch itself. My heart leaps, the tension coiling tighter, faster, pulling me somewhere entirely new.

The small sound breaks the quiet of the room, and my cheeks burn instantly—not from embarrassment this time, but from the sudden, sharp spike of heat pooling low in my stomach.

I press my face slightly into the crook of Wyatt’s neck, hiding my expression, but I don’t stop moving my hand. I change the angle just a fraction, pressing a little firmer, circling faster.

The reaction is immediate. A quick, breathless gasp hitches in my chest, my body arching just enough to push my back flush against him.

“There you go,” Wyatt rasps, his hand on my hip pressing me closer, holding me steady against the firm line of his body. “You found it, didn't you?”

“Wyatt—” My voice is completely breathy, barely a sound at all.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his lips tracing a path from the shell of my ear down to the sensitive dip of my neck. His breath is hot, contrasting with the cool air in the room, and every touch makes the coil in my core tighten another turn. “Don't think about anything else. Just follow that feeling.”

It’s completely overwhelming.

My mind tries to wander, to analyze, to wonder if I’m doing this right, but the physical sensation keeps pulling me back under. The rhythm of my hand becomes instinctual, chasing a strange, rising pressure that feels like stretching toward something just out of reach.

My thighs tremble against the couch cushion. I tilt my head back onto his shoulder, my eyes fluttering open for a brief second to catch his gaze in the dim light.

He’s looking down at me with an intensity that takes my breath away—raw, focused, and completely captivated.

“You’re doing so fucking well, princess” he whispers, his thumb stroking my hipbone in sync with my movement. “Look at me. Stay right here with me.”

I hold his eyes as the friction builds, the heat bursting sharper now, pulsing through my veins until I can barely remember to breathe

I can’t break his gaze. His eyes are dark, heavy, and completely fixed on me, anchoring me through the overwhelming rush rising in my chest.

My breathing comes in shallow, ragged hitches. The coil inside me snaps tight, building to a threshold I’ve never reached before. The pressure swells, radiating out from my core in thick, pulsing waves.

“Wyatt—” I choke out, my hand moving faster on its own, completely driven by instinct now. “I—I think—”

“I know,” he rasps softly against my skin. His hand slips around my waist, pulling me firm against his chest so there’s no distance left between us. “Let it happen, Peachy. Fall. I’ve got you.”