Chapter 12
Chapter twelve
Bryce
This moment is so loaded it feels like stepping into gravity we can’t escape.
Annabelle’s breathing hard, lips swollen from kissing me like she forgot how to be careful. Her dress is rucked halfway up her thighs and her hair is a wreck I want to make worse.
I brace one hand beside her head and the other slides down her ribs, slow enough she feels the intention.
She watches me with wide eyes, pupils blown, chest rising fast. I can tell she’s expecting me to rush.
I don’t.
I drag my thumb across her bottom lip and her breath hitches like the smallest touch has her undone.
“You good?” I ask.
She nods, but it’s not enough.
“Words, Belle.”
“Yes,” she whispers. “I’m good.”
“Good.” I lower my mouth to hers. “Because I plan to take my time devouring you tonight.”
The kiss starts slowly.
Just mouths. Heat. The kind of pressure that builds until it’s impossible to pretend it’s manageable.
I deepen the kiss, tongue sliding against hers with purpose. She meets me with this soft helpless sound that hits me straight in the spine.
My hand trails up her thigh and when she shifts her hips up, there’s no pretending anymore. She wants this. She wants me.
Her dress is in the way.
I slide my hand down to the hem, fingers brushing her skin, and she lifts her hips again. Silent permission.
The dress comes up slowly at first, then she lets out a frustrated noise and I chuckle.
“Impatient?”
“If you don’t take this off, I’m going to scream.”
I grin. “Threats already.”
I pull the fabric over her head in one clean motion.
She’s laid out underneath me in nothing but black lace and bare skin and want.
“Fuck,” I breathe.
She bites her lip. “Say something else, you’re staring.”
“Yeah.” I skim my thumb along the edge of her bra. “I’m trying to decide where I want my mouth first.”
Her body reacts before she answers. Her thighs press together. Her chest rises.
That’s all the answer I need.
I dip my head and kiss down her throat, lingering over the spot that made her gasp earlier. She arches into me and I smile against her skin.
“Sensitive,” I murmur.
“I hate you.”
“No you don’t.”
My hand slides behind her back, unhooking her bra easily. She freezes, not in fear, but in anticipation.
The bra falls away.
And she is… stunning.
I lower my mouth to her chest, kissing first, then tracing her nipple with my tongue, slow and controlled until her head falls back and she lets out a noise that’s not polite or composed, it’s raw.
Her hands are on my head, holding me there, and I let her have that for a moment before I pull back just enough to speak.
“You’re already falling apart.”
Her glare weakens from heat.
“Shut up and touch me.”
I laugh once, low and rough.
Then I give her exactly what she asked for.
My hand slides down between her thighs and the second my fingers slip beneath the lace, my restraint fractures.
She’s warm.
Wet.
Waiting.
She gasps when I drag two fingers along her slowly, mapping every reaction, every tremor, learning her like she’s a language.
“Bryce,” she whispers.
“I’m right here.”
I kiss her again, deeper this time, while my fingers move with purpose, slowly at first, then faster when her hips grind against my hand like she’s chasing the feeling.
Her moan breaks against my mouth and I swallow it greedily.
“You’re perfect like this,” I tell her. “Open. Needy. Not pretending you don’t want me.”
She pants, “I didn’t—”
“You tried,” I say, sliding my thumb exactly where she needs it.
Her body jolts.
And I know she’s close.
“Come for me,” I murmur against her lips.
She shakes her head, breathless. “Not yet.”
“Oh,” I say softly, “you’re dangerous.”
Her laugh turns into another gasp and she grabs my wrist, not to stop me, but to feel it.
“I want you,” she says, voice wrecked.
Those words hit harder than anything tonight.
I stop. Only long enough to get out of my shirt.
Her eyes drop and darken.
She reaches out, tracing a line down my chest like she’s memorizing me.
“Good,” I say, kissing her again. “Because I’m not stopping until you can’t say anything but my name.”
I hook my fingers in her underwear and she lifts her hips.
The lace falls away.
She’s bare.
Wild.
Beautiful.
I strip off the rest of my clothes slowly enough that she has time to look, to take all of me in. She smiles and her hand moves before she even thinks about it, fingers wrapping around my cock as she strokes me, tentative at first then bolder when she feels how hard I am for her.
"Not yet," I murmur, catching her wrist gently and kissing her knuckles before guiding her hand away. "I want you ruined first. Opened for me. Ready for every inch."
I ease her thighs apart, spreading her gently until she’s laid out exactly how I want her. My fingers slide back over her slick heat, slow, teasing, then deeper.
She moans when I push two fingers inside her, curling them just right while my thumb circles her clit.
"There it is," I whisper, watching every reaction. "I’m preparing this perfect pussy for my length. You feel how ready you are? How soft you get just from my touch?"
Her hips lift into my hand and she whispers my name like she’s already past the point of no return.
I settle between her thighs and she wraps her legs around my waist without hesitation.
The heat between us is instant.
Demanding.
I brace myself over her. “Last chance to change your mind.”
She cups my jaw, eyes steady, voice soft but certain.
“I want you.”
I lower myself and her breath falters.
And then, finally, I push into her.
She groans, grabbing my shoulders, body tense for one heartbeat… then melting around me.
“Jesus, Belle,” I breathe. “You feel unreal.”
I start slow.
Controlled.
Every movement deliberate.
She meets each one with equal force like her body was built for mine.
Her moans get softer then sharper, breath mixing with mine, hands roaming my back, nails dragging just enough to make me lose rhythm.
I kiss her again, and she breaks against my mouth, whispering my name like a confession.
I thrust harder.
Her breath stutters.
“Bryce, more...”
That’s all I need.
I lose the last thread of restraint and the pace shifts to harder, deeper, faster.
Her back arches.
Her fingers clutch my neck.
Her body tightens around me and my voice drops low against her ear.
“Let go.”
She falls apart.
With a cry she tries to swallow, with her body shaking and her thighs gripping me like she never wants space between us again.
I follow her, burying my face in her neck, thrusts losing control as the world narrows to heat and breath and her.
When I finally come, it’s with her name on my lips and my hand holding her like I’m afraid she might disappear.
We breathe there for a while.
Silent.
Sweaty.
Destroyed.
Then I shift, sliding beside her and pulling her against my chest.
She doesn’t speak.
She doesn’t run.
She just rests her head on me, breath slowing.
My fingers trace idle patterns along her spine.
For a moment, everything feels right.
Too right.
Eventually, her breathing evens and I know she’s asleep.
I press a slow kiss to the top of her head.
And right before I drift off, one thought hits me clean and unavoidable.
She said she didn’t want this.
But now?
She’s in my bed.
And I am never going back to pretending.
***
Sunlight pushes through the blackout curtains like an unwanted guest. For a second, I don’t move. I just breathe.
There’s a warm weight against my chest, soft hair tickling my jaw, a leg thrown over mine like she claimed territory overnight.
My arm is around her. Her fingers are curled in the fabric of the pillow, her cheek pressed against me, completely relaxed.
She looks peaceful.
Which is ironic as hell considering last night she sounded like she was trying very hard not to wake the entire floor.
I smile.
She shifts and her nose brushes my collarbone.
Then she makes this soft morning sound.
Not a groan.
Not a sigh.
Something between the two.
Something that shoots straight to my dick.
Her eyes flutter open, unfocused at first, then sharp as memory smacks into place.
She freezes.
Classic.
Her eyes widen and her body goes still like she just woke up in a crime scene.
I tighten my arm around her waist so she can’t bolt.
“Uh-uh,” I murmur against her temple. “Don’t even think about panic-teleporting.”
She swallows. “I… I wasn’t—”
“Belle.” I lift her chin with one finger so she looks at me. “You froze like I just proposed with a ring made of red flags.”
A tiny, reluctant laugh slips out.
Good.
She needs laughing.
Because the second she stops? She’ll run.
“That wasn’t freezing,” she mutters. “That was… recalculating.”
I grin. “Like a malfunctioning GPS?”
She narrows her eyes. “A responsible GPS.”
“Sweetheart.” My voice drops. “Responsible women don’t moan my name like a prayer and try to break my hip with their thighs.”
She blushes.
Like deep, impossible-to-hide pink.
And it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
She tries to pull the sheet higher. “We’re not… we are not doing this.”
“Oh we are,” I promise. “We’re absolutely doing this.”
I slide my hand lower. Over her hip. Then between her thighs.
She holds her breath.
Already warm.
Already responsive.
Already mine.
“Bryce…” she warns.
But it’s not a real warning.
Not when she's already spreading her thighs a little wider.
Not when her breath changes the second I brush her clit.
Not when her hips lift off the mattress like she needs me.
I tilt my head, watching her face.
“Tell me to stop.”
Silence.
Her throat works around the swallow she can’t hide.
I rub slow, lazy circles, just enough pressure to make her squirm, not enough to let her fall.
She grips the pillow tighter.
“Bryce… ”
“You like morning attention,” I murmur against her ear. “Didn’t peg you for the type.”
She bites her lip.
Wrong move.
I slide two fingers inside her, slow at first, then deeper, curling exactly where she can’t hide how much she wants this.
Her back arches.
“H-holy—”
“There she is,” I whisper, kissing the hinge of her jaw. “My gorgeous disaster.”
She lets out a soft little whimper that shoots straight through me.
My thumb presses to her clit and she bucks into my hand.
Her breaths turn short and frantic.
Her free hand fists my stomach like she needs something to hold onto before she comes undone.
“Already close?” I tease.
She tries to glare but another moan interrupts her.
I smirk. “Yeah. You are.”
My pace quickens…deep, controlled thrusts of my fingers paired with strategic pressure that is not rushed, but deliberate enough to tell her exactly what I want:
For her to fall apart on my hand.
“Bryce,” she cries out, voice cracking. “Please.”
“That’s it,” I murmur. “Use your manners.”
She shudders, hips jolting as her climax hits hard enough to steal her breath.
Her whole body tightens, trembles, then melts around my fingers.
I work her through every second of it, slow only when she’s nothing but shaking softness under my hand.
Her breathing settles in broken waves.
I kiss her cheek, her jaw, the corner of her mouth.
“Morning,” I whisper.
She laughs. “That is… definitely not how mornings are supposed to go.”
“Oh? And here I thought orgasms were part of a balanced breakfast.”
She hits my chest.
Soft.
Playful.
Hopeless.
Her hand drifts lower, sliding down my abs, fingers wrapping around me… slow, confident, curious.
My breath hitches.
“Damn,” I mutter. “You’re trouble.”
She strokes once slowly.
Twice firmer.
And I swear I’m seconds from flipping her onto her stomach and taking her again when…
Her phone buzzes.
Once.
Then again.
Then again.
Her whole body stiffens.
The name flashing on the screen?
Dad.
She snatches her hand away like she touched fire.
Her pulse skyrockets.
Her gaze jumps to the door.
Reality snaps back like a slap.
“I… I have to go.”
“Annabelle!”
“I can’t!” She scrambles for her clothes, breath tight, pupils shrinking back to logic and fear “I shouldn’t have stayed. This was…we… I…”
The sheet falls. She grabs her dress. She won’t meet my eyes.
Panic is back. Full-force. Loud.
She finds her shoes with shaking hands.
Her phone buzzes again.
She flinches.
“Annabelle.” My voice is low. Steady. Firm enough she has to pause. “Look at me.”
Slowly… she does.
Her eyes are wide.
Soft.
Terrified.
Wanting.
She whispers, barely audible.
“What if last night ruined everything?”
I shake my head once.
“No.” My voice leaves no room for doubt. “Last night didn’t ruin anything.”
My next words land like impact.
“Last night changed everything.”
She inhales sharply.
Then…
She grabs the doorknob.
Not running.
Not slamming.
Just escaping.
“Bryce…” she whispers, voice breaking.
“I need time.”
She leaves.
Door clicks shut.
Silence drops hard.
I rub a hand over my jaw, pulse still pounding.
She thinks time will make her forget what we are.
But she’s wrong.
Because now?
She’s had my hands.
My mouth.
My bed.
And that means one thing.
Time won’t save her. Time will only break her denial.
And I’ll be waiting.