9. Chapter 9
Chapter 9
Bella
The sky above us glows with the last lavender hints of twilight, the city lights below blinking like stars fallen to earth. The jazz trio shifts into something slower, smoother—sinful and sweet—and Wylie stands, extending a hand toward me with a crooked smile.
“Dance with me?”
I blink. “Here?”
“There’s music, moonlight, and you. I’m not wasting this moment.”
My heart stutters.
I slide my hand into his, and he leads me to the open space just beside our table. The string lights overhead shimmer, casting golden halos that dance across his face as he pulls me in close, one hand at my waist, the other cradling mine.
His touch is warm and steady. So is his gaze.
And suddenly, I’m not on a rooftop restaurant in Nashville. I’m in a bubble with Wylie Cole—gorgeous, grounded, completely unexpected—and nothing else matters.
“You’re an incredible dancer,” I murmur.
“You’re an incredible woman.”
My breath catches. Sparks flicker through me like a match being struck.
When his mouth finds mine, it’s soft at first—testing, asking. Then he deepens the kiss, and my knees go weak.
I melt into him, gripping his jacket like it’s the only thing tethering me to the ground. His mouth moves over mine with a slow hunger that makes my whole body ache.
When he pulls back, his voice is low. Rough.
“Want to get out of here?”
I hesitate for half a second. Not because I don’t want to. I do . My body is already halfway gone, nerves tingling, heart racing.
But this— he —is dangerous.
I feel like Cinderella in a fairytale where the ball doesn't end at midnight. A helicopter date, a rooftop dinner, dancing under the stars. And now this? If I sleep with Wylie Cole, I won’t just be giving him my body. I’ll be offering him my heart on a silver platter.
And I’m not sure I’ll get it back.
Still… how can I say no?
I nod.
He doesn’t rush. He doesn’t grin like he’s won. He just takes my hand again, laces our fingers together, and leads me to a private stairwell tucked behind the rooftop’s far corner.
We descend into soft lighting and modern lines—brushed steel and warm wood and plush rugs. Every detail is curated yet cozy.
“This is… part of the restaurant?” I ask.
He glances over his shoulder, eyes dark and intense. “I own the building. The top floor’s my private suite.”
Of course it is.
“The people who served us tonight… they work for you?”
Wylie smiles. “The restaurant is on the first floor of the building. I paid for them to cater a private party for us this evening on the roof.”
“Oh.” My voice is weak. This is too much. He’s too much. It’s like something from a romance movie—complete with the sexy actor.
As I look around the gorgeous apartment, a brief, unwelcome thought flutters in my chest— how many women has he brought here?
But then his mouth is on mine again, kissing away my doubt, his hands cradling my face like I’m something precious.
And just like that, I stop caring.
“Shall we go to the bedroom?” he asks softly.
I nod, unable to speak. He guides me gently to the bedroom suite. There are floor-to-ceiling windows and a king bed that looks both sinfully soft and dangerously inviting.
He kisses me again, and this time there’s no hesitation. No walls. No pretending this is just physical, just for tonight. I feel it in the way his hands slide up my sides, reverent and eager, like he’s memorizing me with every touch.
His fingers catch the hem of my sweater, and I lift my arms to help him peel it off. A shiver rolls through me—not from the cool air but from the sudden vulnerability. My bra is plain, faded cotton I grabbed in a hurry at Wal-Mart. The kind you buy when you’re thinking about comfort, not seduction.
The women in Wylie’s world probably wear lingerie that costs more than my monthly rent—lacy, delicate, meant to be admired under mood lighting in European hotel suites.
For half a second, doubt flickers. What must he think of me?
But then his gaze meets mine, and the way he looks at me—hungry, feral, worshipful—burns every insecurity away. There’s no hesitation, no comparison. Just pure, unfiltered want .
“You’re beautiful,” he says, like it’s the simplest truth he’s ever spoken.
My breath catches. With trembling fingers, I unhook my bra and let it fall away. I don’t even have time to feel exposed before Wylie’s scooping me into his arms like I weigh nothing at all. I wrap my legs around his waist instinctively, and a needy sound escapes my throat as he buries his face in my chest, mouth hot against my skin.
His lips find a nipple and suck hard, sending lightning bolts of pleasure ricocheting through me.
“Oh my god,” I gasp, arching into him.
“You’re perfect.”
“I want you,” I murmur against the shell of his ear.
“Fuuuck,” he groans, his voice low and wrecked.
He tosses me onto the bed like he can’t bear another second without being inside me. His hands make quick work of my jeans, yanking them down my hips. But then he pauses, hovering above me, staring at the thin barrier of my panties like it’s the last sacred thing between us.
He reaches for them, but I shake my head, breathless.
“You’re still dressed,” I manage to say. “Unfair.”
He laughs, husky and devilish, then rises to his feet. He strips with casual confidence, but there’s nothing performative about it—this isn’t for show. When his boxers drop and his cock springs free, thick and hard, I gasp.
Oh my god.
Desire pulses between my legs.
“Now, you,” he says, voice rough.
I hook my thumbs into the waistband of my panties and slide them down slowly, deliberately. I let my knees fall open, offering myself to his gaze.
The groan he lets out makes my toes curl. He grips his cock in one hand, stroking once, his eyes blazing with heat.
“You’re fucking unreal,” he says. “I don’t know how long I’ll last inside you the first time.”
I blink, heart stuttering. “The first time?”
Wylie grins, wolfish and sure. “Oh, I plan to fuck you at least twice tonight. Three times, if you’re still standing after that.”
His words go straight to my core, making my clit throb with delicious anticipation. I can’t stop myself—I reach between my thighs and touch myself, slick and aching for him.
Wylie’s pupils dilate. “Keep doing that, baby. Let me see you get nice and wet for me.”
We’re watching each other, both of us undone by this moment. The rawness. The hunger. But there’s more here than lust.
I’ve never felt wanted like this before.
Not just for my body, but for everything I am.
And suddenly, I realize—I’m falling. Hard and fast.
Wylie climbs onto the bed, bracing himself over me with one strong arm while the other guides himself to my entrance.
“I need to be inside you,” he says, voice hoarse. “Now.”
“Yes,” I whisper. “Please.”
His eyes lock with mine as he starts to push in. He meets resistance, and I tense—but Wylie stills, kissing my jaw, my cheek, my temple.
“Just breathe,” he murmurs, brushing hair from my face. “I’ve got you.”
He waits, letting me adjust, and the tenderness in his eyes is almost more overwhelming than the stretch of him filling me. He could take me hard and fast—his body’s practically vibrating with restraint—but he doesn’t. He’s giving me control.
He’s giving me everything .
He starts to move, slow and steady, and when he bottoms out, I can feel his entire body shaking with the effort of holding back.
“Fuck me,” I pant. “Hard.”
He pulls back, searching my eyes. “You sure?”
“Yes. God, yes. Wylie, please.”
The leash snaps. He slams into me with a growl, and I cry out—half shock, half sheer, desperate pleasure. He pounds into me with wild abandon, the rhythm sharp and perfect, each thrust coaxing a louder moan from my lips. My body arches to meet his, and his mouth finds mine, claiming and consuming, tongue sliding against mine in time with his hips.
Every stroke, every breath, every sound is a symphony of need. Of connection.
And I realize this isn’t just sex.
It’s a reckoning.
I’ve never felt this seen before. Never felt this known.
I’m unraveling beneath him, and when my orgasm hits, it’s like an earthquake—shattering, explosive, and terrifyingly good. I cling to him as the pleasure rushes through me, and a moment later, I feel him tense, feel him groan into my neck as he spills into me, his release as raw as mine.
For a while, neither of us speaks. The room is filled with the sound of our panting breaths, the creak of the mattress, the crackle of the fire in the next room.
Wylie shifts, careful not to crush me, and lies beside me, pulling me against him. His hand traces lazy circles along my spine, and my heart aches in the best possible way.
I rest my cheek on his chest and close my eyes.
And there it is—the thought I can’t ignore anymore.
I’m head over heels in love with Wylie Cole.