25. Chastity #2
The pressure coiled tighter, my body winding like a spring beneath him. His slow, deliberate strokes pushed me closer to the edge with every roll of his hips. I could feel it building—something huge and inevitable—until my breath came in short, sharp gasps.
Then it hit.
Pleasure crashed over me in waves, my back arching off the bed as my body clenched around him.
A broken sound tore from my throat, his name spilling from my lips like a prayer.
My fingers dug into his shoulders, nails biting into skin as the world narrowed to nothing but the feel of him inside me, the weight of him surrounding me, the way his breath hitched against my neck.
His voice was rough, strained. "That's it." His hand slid down to grip my hip, holding me steady as I trembled beneath him. "Such a good girl. You take me so well."
The words sent another shudder through me, my body pulsing around him. He groaned, his rhythm faltering for the first time as my release milked him deeper. His forehead dropped to mine, his breath hot and uneven against my lips.
"Fuck," he growled, his hips stuttering as he buried himself to the hilt. "I feel you come all over my cock, sweetheart."
His body tensed above me, every muscle locking as he spilled inside me with a guttural sound. The heat of him filled me, his release triggering another small wave of pleasure that made me whimper. His arms shook as he held himself over me, his breath coming in ragged bursts against my skin.
For a long moment, neither of us moved. He stayed buried deep, his weight pressing me into the mattress in the most perfect way. I could feel his heart hammering against my chest, his skin damp with exertion. My fingers traced lazy patterns up and down his back, memorizing the feel of him.
When he finally lifted his head, his eyes were dark and intense, searching my face like he was looking for something. His thumb brushed my cheekbone, his touch impossibly gentle after the way he'd just claimed me.
"You okay?" His voice was rough, like the words had been dragged from somewhere deep inside him.
I nodded, my throat too tight to speak. More than okay. Ruined. Changed. His.
He kissed me then—slow and deep, like he was sealing a promise between us. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine, his breath warm on my lips.
"That," he murmured, "was not part of the plan."
I managed a shaky laugh. "No?"
His fingers tightened slightly on my hip. "No." A pause. His voice dropped lower. "But I'm not complaining."
The shower ran warm, steam filling the bathroom as he guided me under the spray.
His hands moved through my hair with a gentleness that made my chest ache—fingers working shampoo through the strands like he'd done this a thousand times before.
Like we had all the time in the world. I closed my eyes and let him tilt my head back, his palm cradling the base of my skull while water rinsed away the suds.
My fingers found the scars on his torso without thinking.
Rough lines crisscrossed his ribs, his abdomen—remnants of a life lived hard.
I traced them slowly, feeling the raised skin beneath my fingertips, wondering about each one.
What caused them. How much they'd hurt. Whether anyone had ever touched them this way before.
He didn't pull away. Just stood still under my exploration, his breath steady against the crown of my head.
When I looked up, he was watching me with an expression I couldn't name.
Something raw. Something that looked like it hurt.
But before I could ask, he leaned down and kissed my shoulder where water streamed over skin.
Then the other. His mouth followed the path of droplets down my collarbone, across my chest, like he was memorizing the taste of me.
Nothing was spoken.
Everything was understood.
This wasn't temporary. This wasn't pretend. This was something neither of us had permission to want but had claimed, anyway.
We dried off in silence. He dressed first—jeans, fitted shirt, the familiar motions of a man preparing to face the world. I watched from the bed, wrapped in a towel, damp hair falling over my shoulders. He caught me staring and paused with his hand on his belt.
For a long moment, he just looked at me.
Really looked. Like he was trying to commit every detail to memory—the flush still warming my cheeks, the marks he'd left on my throat, the way the towel slipped slightly when I shifted.
His gaze was heavy, possessive, and something else I didn't have words for.
His phone buzzed. Practice. Reality crashing back in.
"I'll text you when I'm done."
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
He crossed to the bed, leaning down until his face was inches from mine.
His hand cupped my jaw, thumb brushing my bottom lip.
Then he kissed me—slow and lingering, like he was sealing something between us that couldn't be undone.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine for one breath. Two.
Then he left.
The front door clicked shut, and I sat there in the too-quiet house, wrapped in his towel, still tasting him on my lips.
My reflection caught in the mirror across the room—flushed skin, swollen mouth, eyes too bright. I looked like a woman who'd been thoroughly loved. Who'd given herself completely to someone she barely knew but somehow trusted more than anyone.
I looked like someone I didn't recognize.
And the terrifying part was—I liked her.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand, the vibration loud in the too-quiet house.
I reached for it, still wrapped in Wyatt's towel, my skin flushed and warm from the shower.
Merger party this weekend. Need you there.
My stomach dropped. The merger. The whole reason I'd ended up here in the first place. The reason Wyatt had ever looked at me twice.
I hesitated, thumb hovering over the screen. Then typed:
Okay. I'll bring Wyatt.
The response came almost instantly.
That's not a good idea. He has an away game anyway.
I frowned at the screen. Away game? Wyatt hadn't mentioned it.
We'll think about it.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Then the real message came.
What's going on with you and Wyatt?
My heart clenched. I stared at the question, memories from last night flooding back—his hands on my skin, his mouth on mine, the way he'd looked at me like I was something precious. The way he'd promised this morning that he wasn't letting me go.
It's not your business.
The three dots pulsed for what felt like an eternity.
Wyatt Garrison will hurt you.
He's using you.
If he tells you he cares, don't believe him.
He does this.
He breaks people.
Honey… if you think he loves you, that's a lie.
My vision blurred—not with tears, but with a hot rush of anger that made my hands shake. He didn't know. He hadn't seen Wyatt take care of me when I was sick, hadn't heard the way he whispered my name this morning like it was sacred, hadn't felt the tenderness in his touch.
Chastity: You don't know him.
A long pause stretched between messages. I watched the screen, pulse thundering in my ears.
I do, sweetheart.
I know exactly who he is.
And I'm trying to protect you.
I just want what's best for you.
I'll see you in a few nights.
I stared at the screen until it went dark.
Heart pounding.
Hands shaking.
Because for the first time in my life, I didn't believe my father.
I didn't trust his warnings or his concern or his version of what was "best for me." He'd handed me to Wyatt like a bargaining chip, used me to protect his merger, and now wanted to warn me away from the only person who'd treated me like I mattered?
The anger burned hotter.
Because I knew—deep in my bones—that whatever game was being played here, my father wasn't the innocent party he claimed to be.
And I didn't know what that meant for any of us.
But I knew one thing with absolute certainty. I wasn't walking away from Wyatt. Not for my father. Not for anyone. Not when I'd finally found someone who made me feel like I was more than just a piece on someone else's board.