Chapter Fifteen #3
Goosebumps erupt over his skin. Wes takes a step back with a choked cough, knuckles white where he’s clutching the towel. With a final smoldering look, he heads back into the bathroom. This time when he emerges, he’s dry and wearing black sweatpants.
Gray would have been better. No shirt, though. Not complaining.
Wes sinks down on the bed next to me, but rather than reaching for his food, he lets out a long sigh and tips his head over to lean on my shoulder.
His hair is still damp and tickles my neck, his breath warm where it fans across my collarbones.
“I wish we could do more to help,” he says quietly, his words nearly lost in my skin.
My heart squeezes. “Me too,” I reply, just as quietly.
I lift one hand and gently drag my nails over his scalp.
He presses closer, leaning into me, and of all the moods I’ve found him in, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Wes let his guard down like this.
“It’s not like any of us want these storms to hit houses instead of fields, and I know it’s better for us to help than to just outrun it, but… ”
“Still feels like we’re intruding,” he says softly, the words half lost in my hair. Wes slips one arm around my waist and tugs me just a little closer when I let out a quiet “Yeah.”
We stay like that for a few more minutes before he pushes himself upright and grabs his own grilled cheese. I pull up the forecast while he eats, and we fall into the more familiar rhythm of evaluating our options for tomorrow.
There’s nothing familiar about the way my heart races when we finally get into bed together.
After everything today—our conversation in the field, his confession, the abrupt shift to disaster and destruction—my emotions are raw and close to the surface. Cracking my heart open even more and letting Wes have a closer look is far scarier than anything we faced today.
Sex will shift our relationship in a way there’s no coming back from. Unless of course he’s terrible—which I sincerely doubt—but the truth is, I have no idea what he’s like in bed.
But I sure could give a cat a run for its money with my current level of curiosity.
Clicking off the lamp only makes it worse.
In the dark, every little sound is amplified.
The rasp of starched sheets over skin. Every breath Wes takes.
My own heartbeat pounding in my ears. The distant rumble of thunder.
I turn onto my side, but then I can’t get comfortable, so I turn onto my other side. It doesn’t help.
Wes sighs, mutters something under his breath I don’t catch, and rolls toward me. I’m in his arms a breath later, his chest warm against my back and his arm a solid weight across my waist. “Sleep, Sloane,” he murmurs, nuzzling into my hair. “I’ve got you.”
His warmth sinks into me, and it’s been such a long day I should be asleep in seconds.
Instead I become aware of every inch of his body touching mine.
Freshly showered, the scent of his soap is strong, only adding to the sensation of being surrounded by him.
His thighs are pressed to mine, the bare skin of his forearm resting on my stomach where my shirt has ridden up.
“Sloane…” My name emerges as a garbled plea when I shift my weight again. Wes slides his hand to my hip and tightens his hold. “You okay?”
My thoughts are racing, a tangle of guilt and grief over today’s destruction, and even more guilt over the fact that I’m quickly becoming consumed with something else. Something I don’t entirely know how to verbalize, but when I press my ass back into Wes, he gets the message.
And I get hard evidence his thoughts aren’t far from mine.
“You trying to start something, darlin’?” Wes rubs his palm down the outside of my thigh and back up in a slow stroke. When I stay quiet, he dips his mouth to my shoulder and presses an open-mouthed kiss to my skin in what feels like invitation.
Guilt momentarily wins. “No,” I whisper. He goes utterly still, his grip loosening and his body easing away from mine. I grab his hand before he can pull it off my thigh and hold tight. “Wait. Maybe. I don’t know.”
I do know. I want to lose myself with Wes for a little while. I want him to kiss me and tease me and play with me. I want to close my eyes and see the vibrant life in his instead of a tornado swallowing houses.
But I also don’t want to open a door that I’ll never be able to shut. I’m not a casual sex sort of person. Sometimes I wish I was. This all would be so much easier if I could just enjoy myself and let the chips fall where they may.
I’m already in dangerously deep. I want to believe Wes meant it when he said he’s wanted to kiss me for years. I want to trust him that he chose not to tell me his windows were fixed because he wants more time with me.
The thread of panic that’s been building since we got in bed has other ideas. “I don’t do casual,” I blurt, immediately followed by a curse under my breath. That was supposed to be an inside-my-head thought. “Sorry, I—”
“Don’t you dare apologize.” There’s a beat of silence before Wes lets out a long sigh. “I knew we should have had this conversation yesterday.”
My heart sinks. I concentrate on keeping my breath even. “Got it,” I mumble, easing away. “You don’t have to explain.”
Wes tugs gently on my shoulder, nudges me onto my back, and leans over me.
My vision has adjusted to the darkness, all the little LED lights and the glow of the parking lot leaking around the edges of the curtains enough for me to take in his expression.
A slight groove between his brows, lips just barely parted, he stares down at me as though he might be able to read my mind if he looks hard enough.
He might actually manage it.
“What part of years was unclear to you, darlin’?
” His eyes glint in the dark. “I get why you might think that that’s all I want here, based off my history.
You’re wrong. My reasons for staying single have had a lot more to do with the amount I travel and how hard that can be for someone at home.
I tried, in the beginning, but a lot of women don’t get why I can’t just take the corporate job my dad keeps trying to push on me and keep photography as a hobby. ”
I barely manage to contain a snort of laughter. Wes belongs in an office the way a wild mustang belongs in a zoo enclosure.
“Let me be clear,” he continues. “I want you. I have wanted you. When I said ‘years’ earlier, it wasn’t an exaggeration.”
Desire and embarrassment rush into my cheeks. I’ve been so wrapped up in my own crap that I’ve invented my own reasons for his behavior and ignored the simplest explanation—Tracy and Matt, the two people who know us best, have been right all along.
“Sloane?”
“Yeah?” I ask, still too dazed to form a full sentence.
“I’d really like to kiss you now.”
As soon as a breathless yes, please leaves my mouth, Wes slams his lips into mine, one hand on the back of my neck in a possessive hold I like far too much. The kiss doesn’t last long, but his mouth might as well be a brand.
“You and me? It was never going to be casual,” Wes says in a quiet, intense murmur when he breaks the kiss. Our breaths saw in and out like we’ve both just outrun a storm. “We good?”
I stare up at him, searching for some hint that he’s just telling me what he thinks I want to hear. That he might not mean it. All I find is patience and warmth. “Yeah,” I whisper into the dark, so quiet it’s a miracle he can hear me over the hum of the air-conditioning. “We’re good.”
Reaching up, I curl my fingers into his hair and tug lightly, drawing his mouth down to mine in a languid kiss. Our lips and tongues tease, slowly reigniting the fire in my belly that never quite goes out when Wes is around.
“If you need me to say it,” I murmur against his skin, “this is me, starting something.”
“That so?” Wes’s rough voice scrapes over me.
His laughter fades quickly, replaced by pure need when he curves his fingers around my jaw to keep me in place for a kiss that holds nothing back.
His other hand skims down over my body, then under my shirt, his thumb caressing the dip of my waist and then higher.
I groan into his mouth when he reaches my nipple, my nails digging into his shoulder in an attempt to bring him closer.
“I haven’t stopped thinking about your hands on me,” I confess in a breathless rush, arching into his touch when he palms my breast.
“Just my hands?” A wicked laugh sends heat pooling low in my belly.
“Because,” Wes begins, lowering his mouth to my shoulder and trailing kisses down to my chest, “I’ve been thinkin’ an awful lot about getting my mouth on you.
” His tongue dips under the neckline of my tank top in a filthy tease.
“I’ve been thinkin’ about how good you’ll taste coming on my tongue.
” He lifts his head and stares down at me, dragging the neckline of my tank top a little lower and staring like he wants to take a bite out of me. “How’s that sound?”
“Great,” I squeak, right before swallowing a moan when he lowers his mouth to my breast.
It’s late, and we should both be too exhausted for this, but he takes his time anyway, mapping my breasts and hips with light touches that transform into punishing pleasure, only to soften into a tease.
He peels my tank top off slowly, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes at the sight of my bare skin.
We kiss and touch, my lips tracing his tattoos like I’ve wanted to since that morning in my kitchen.
His hands roam the entire time as though he can’t bear to stop touching me.
I’m gasping for air by the time he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of my shorts. Wes isn’t in any better shape, his chest rising and falling with each harsh breath.
Wordlessly, I lift off the bed to help him. My shorts land somewhere on the floor, but my attention is fixed on the rapt expression I can just barely make out on his face. His hands drop to my hips and hold me in place as he takes in my nakedness.