23. Wesley #2
“I can’t be more. I can’t promise you I’m ready for that.
It’s only been a few months, Wes. I don’t want to walk out of a restaurant together to turn around and see our entire relationship being picked apart in some fucking magazine being sold on the street corner.
And I hate it because I’ve felt so fucking lonely these last few years.
And honestly, I didn’t know I felt that way until I started spending time with you.
I just thought how I felt was normal. And now, whenever you’re in a room with me, it’s impossible to feel lonely.
I’m terrified I’ll get used to having you around again only to lose you.
” Her chest heaves and her voice has risen to a yell.
I don’t know who she’s angry with. Me. Herself. The world that has stolen away the privacy she craves.
“Then let me keep helping you feel less lonely. Let us have this. Fuck what they say, it doesn’t matter. We’ll know the truth.” And that’s what should matter. The world wouldn’t be in this relationship, it’s ours. But even as the thought enters my mind I know it’s wishful thinking.
To be observed is to change. To feel the pressure of expectations against our skin, sinking into our subconscious, even as we swear we don’t care.
“If only it were that simple.”
“Then we keep it a secret. We’re good at keeping those aren’t we?” I’d prefer not to do it this way, to be something kept hidden. But if it makes the difference between having even a scrap of her or not. I’ll do it.
It’s the barest movement but she leans forward. Yet, she’s still tentative as she says, “I can’t promise I won’t sign the papers.”
“I’m not asking you to. I just want to make you feel good as long as you don’t make me be just your friend.”
“I want to feel good, Wes. Make me feel good.” Her voice quivers with need and her thighs press together.
I fall to my knees landing hard against the wood floors. “Thank you.”
I press up in front of her, hands skating over the soft skin of her thighs. She’s toned with lean muscle after hours of preparing for this tour, creating hard shifting lines under my touch.
My fingers disappear under her shirt and hook into her shorts, and the plane of her stomach tightens on a ragged breath. “Avery, baby, can I have a taste?”
I look up to find her nodding. Her hair has started to spring free from its tie, sending strands tumbling over her shoulders.
“Words. I want to hear how much you want this. Do you want me to make you come harder than you did the other night when you rubbed yourself all over my thigh?”
“As if you can. I was getting myself off. You barely did anything.”
“Those are fighting words, Ave.” Fuck. I love this version of her. How even when she’s desperate for me, she doesn’t dull her words.
“Do your worst. Prove me wrong.”
“You’re my favorite challenge.”
With one swift tug, I yank her shorts and underwear off her legs, easing them over her feet to make sure she doesn’t trip. And there’s the added benefit of grabbing her black cotton thong and slipping it in my back pocket.
I run a single finger through the folds of her labia. “So fucking wet. Were you already thinking about me when I got here? What you hoped I would do to you if I were here?”
“No.”
Leaning in, I blow lightly against her clit, pulling a choked yelp from her parted lips as she jerks. She tries to touch herself, but I grab her wrists and pin them to the wall. “Liar. What do I do in your head?”
“You’re so full of yourself.”
“And I bet you’d love to be full of me too.” I blow again. “Now tell me, so I can make your wish come true.”
She pants, rubbing her legs together. “Your mouth on me. You were always so good at that. Then you fuck me. We never did, but I can’t help but think about what it would be like.”
We never had sex and we’re not going to tonight. “I’m not fucking you.”
“Why not?” she grits her teeth.
“Because you know that means something to us.” I pause and wait for her to tell me I’m wrong.
It’s the one thing we never did, and I won’t pretend there wasn’t a reason why.
We cross that line and there’s no returning from it.
“But like you said, I know how else to drive you wild.” To prove a point, I slip a finger inside her pussy, curling it the exact amount she loves and immediately she starts to writhe.
As her hips buck, I capture her clit with my mouth and suck.
“Is this what you imagined?” I pull away, adding a second finger and feeling her clamping around me.
“You talk less in my fantasies.”
“Well, then I assume they involve something like this then.” The pad of my tongue meets her core in a long, controlled stroke that shuts her up. Fuck, I love seeing her body like this.
I need more. Gripping her thigh, I pull it over my shoulder, giving me better access to fuck her with my fingers as I lap at her. I’ve been starving, and at long last can feast.
Her hands tangle in my hair, pulling in a shock of pain that goes straight to my dick. But it’s not about me tonight. I work her into oblivion, my fingers dripping from how well she soaks them.
“Wes,” she moans as her pussy spasms around my fingers. My name on her lips as she comes? Yeah, I fucking love it.
I expect her to ask me to leave, but when I crawl into bed next to her she lies on my chest. I nearly forgot about this. How Avery Sloane, despite her sharp teeth, loves to cuddle.
To be held. Treated with tenderness.
It would be easy to think she’s never soft. It takes a big heart to hold so much anger. A big heart that she’s constantly protecting.
“Tell me about these,” I say. I trace the black lines of her tattoos. Roses and wildflowers. Vines snaking between them. Most of them I know. Some of them, like the sprig of lavender on her calf, are new.
“You gave me the sun, so I planted a garden.” She plucks at the ring around my neck to change the subject, twirling it, so the ruby catches the dim warm light of the nightstand lamp. “You’ve had this for a while. I’ve always wondered where you got it.”
“I picked it up one day and knew I had to have it.”
She slips it over her ring finger. “It fits.”
Of course it does. That’s the whole point. But it’s supposed to go on her left hand, not her right.
“You could have it.” Casual? Yes. Absolutely nailing that. Here, have the wedding ring I bought for you over a fucking decade ago.
“I can’t. It’s yours.” She yawns, pulling her finger free. Her head falls against my chest. I wonder if she can hear how swiftly my heart is beating. If she cares that she’s the only one who does this to me.