25. Chastity
Chastity
I woke to sunlight warming my bare shoulder and an ache between my thighs that made me blush so hard I hid my face in the pillow.
Wyatt's arm lay heavy across my waist, his hand resting low on my hip. His chest pressed warm against my back, our legs tangled beneath the sheets. The weight of him anchored me, grounded me in a way that terrified and comforted me in equal measure.
I shifted slightly, testing the soreness.
He growled softly behind me—not threatening, just sleepy and possessive. The sound vibrated through his chest into my spine, making my breath catch.
Then he leaned in and kissed my shoulder. Slow. Lingering. His lips traveled up to my neck, leaving a trail of soft, open-mouthed kisses that sent a shiver cascading down my spine. Each touch deliberate. Each kiss claiming another piece of me I hadn't known I could give away.
"Morning," he murmured against my skin, voice rough with sleep.
My voice came out breathy, unsteady. "Hi."
He kissed me again, just under my ear, and I melted instantly.
My body remembered his touch with embarrassing clarity—the way his hands had mapped every curve, the way his mouth had worshipped places I'd never been worshipped before.
Heat pooled low in my belly despite the soreness, despite the mortification of remembering every sound I'd made last night.
His thumb traced lazy circles on my hip, and I realized with a jolt that we were both still naked. Completely bare beneath the twisted sheets. The intimacy of it stole my breath.
Last night had been… everything. Overwhelming. Perfect. Terrifying in its intensity. I'd given myself to him completely, held nothing back, and he'd taken everything I offered and demanded more. The way he'd looked at me—like I was something precious and dangerous all at once—made my chest ache.
I should feel regret. Should feel the weight of what we'd done, what line we'd crossed that we could never uncross. This was supposed to be temporary. A month. An arrangement. A lie.
But lying here in his arms, feeling his breath against my neck and the solid warmth of him surrounding me, I couldn't find the regret. Couldn't summon the fear I knew I should feel.
All I felt was his hand on my hip, his lips on my skin, and the terrifying certainty that last night had changed everything. That I'd crossed a line I didn't want to uncross. That somewhere between the forced proximity and the fake dates and the careful touches, I'd stopped pretending.
And I had no idea what that meant for either of us.
His thumb stroked along my hip in slow, deliberate circles that made my pulse skip. "I have practice today."
I tried not to look disappointed. Failed completely.
His hand left my hip, sliding up to cup my chin. He turned my face toward him gently but firmly, forcing me to meet his eyes. Dark. Intense. Searching.
"And after? I want to take you to lunch."
I blinked, confused. "Why? Are there paparazzi or—"
He cut me off with a soft kiss that melted my words into nothing. When he pulled back, his voice was low and certain.
"No. Because I want to take you to lunch."
My heart stopped. Completely. A real date. Not for cameras. Not for investors. Not for his revenge or my father's merger or Barbara's scrutiny. Just… us.
He brushed my hair out of my face with such tenderness it made my chest ache. "Last night changed things. And now that I've had you…" He leaned down and kissed my collarbone, slow and possessive. "…I have no intention of letting you go."
The words slammed into me like a physical force. My chest tightened with something terrifying and sweet and utterly overwhelming. This wasn't supposed to happen. We weren't supposed to be real. He wasn't supposed to want me beyond the arrangement.
But the look in his eyes said otherwise.
My voice came out smaller than I intended. "Don't make promises you don't intend to keep."
He lifted my face again, fingers firm under my chin, and kissed me slowly. Deeply. Like he had all the time in the world and wanted to spend every second of it reminding me exactly who I belonged to now.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against mine. His breath warm on my lips. "I don't say things I don't mean."
My breath stuttered.
And God help me—I believed him.
Every word.
Every touch.
Every kiss.
I believed that last night hadn't just been physical for him.
That this wasn't just an extension of whatever game he'd been playing with my father.
That somewhere between the forced proximity and the careful pretending, he'd stopped performing too.
That maybe—impossibly—we'd both fallen into something neither of us had planned for.
And that might be the most dangerous part of all.
Because if he meant it… if this was real…
Then I was in far deeper than a month-long arrangement.
I was in love with a man I barely knew. A man who'd orchestrated everything that brought us together.
A man whose revenge I still didn't fully understand.
But lying here in his arms, feeling his heart beat steady against my palm, none of that mattered as much as it should have.
All that mattered was the way he looked at me like I was worth keeping.
He rolled me onto my back with a gentleness that stole my breath. The morning light caught in his eyes as he hovered above me, and for a moment he just looked—taking me in like he was memorizing every detail.
Then he kissed me.
His mouth moved from my lips to my jaw, trailing soft kisses that made my pulse flutter. He kissed the hollow of my throat, lingering there like he could feel my heartbeat against his lips. Each touch deliberate. Each kiss a promise I didn't know how to name.
His hands cradled my face, thumbs brushing my cheekbones with such reverence it made my chest ache. He kissed down my throat, along my collarbone, his breath warm against my skin. When his mouth found my chest, I gasped softly, fingers tangling in his hair.
He took his time. No rush. No urgency. Just slow, worshipful attention that made me feel seen in a way I'd never experienced before.
His lips traveled lower, kissing across my ribs, down my stomach.
His hands slid along my sides, mapping every curve with a gentleness that contradicted everything I thought I knew about him.
The scarred, brutal enforcer everyone feared had disappeared.
In his place was a man who touched me like I was something precious. Something worth savoring.
I whispered his name without meaning to.
He lifted his head, eyes dark and warm, and kissed me again—deep and slow. His body covered mine completely, eliminating every inch of space between us. The weight of him felt like safety. Like home. Like everything I didn't know I'd been missing.
My fingers slid down his back, feeling the flex of muscle beneath warm skin.
He shuddered slightly at the touch, his breath hitching against my mouth.
Then he whispered my name, and it sounded like a prayer, like something sacred he'd been waiting his whole life to say.
It broke something open inside me, spilling warmth through every corner of my chest until I thought I might drown in it.
I pulled him closer, needing him—not just his body, but all of him. The broken parts. The angry parts. The parts he kept hidden from everyone else. I wanted them all.
He kissed me again, slow and deep, hands cradling my face like I was the most important thing in his world. And when he looked at me—really looked at me—I saw it.
The shift.
The surrender.
The terrifying truth that neither of us could take back.
This wasn't temporary anymore.
It never would be again.
His weight settled between my thighs, the heat of him pressing me into the mattress. I felt him—hard and thick—against my entrance, and my breath hitched as he pushed inside. Not fast. Not rough. A slow, deliberate invasion that stole every thought from my head.
My fingers dug into his shoulders as he filled me completely, stretching me in a way that bordered on pain but never crossed it.
His eyes never left mine. Dark and intense, they burned into me like he was memorizing every reaction, every gasp, every way my body surrendered to his.
The connection was too much—too intimate, too real—but I couldn’t look away.
He moved with controlled precision, each thrust deep and measured, like he was savoring the way my body took him.
The friction built slowly, a relentless pressure that coiled tighter with every roll of his hips.
His muscles flexed beneath my hands, the scars on his skin rough against my fingertips, grounding me in the moment.
I arched beneath him, my body responding without permission, meeting each slow stroke with a quiet desperation.
The way he watched me—like I was the only thing that mattered—made my chest ache.
His jaw was tight, his breath uneven, but his movements never faltered.
Every push inside me was deliberate, every withdrawal a promise of more.
The room faded until there was only him—the weight of his body, the heat of his skin, the way his hands gripped my hips like he was afraid I’d disappear. I could feel him everywhere, inside and out, and it was too much and not enough all at once.
My legs wrapped around him, pulling him deeper, and his breath hitched. The rhythm stuttered for just a second before he regained control, his pace never breaking. His fingers tangled in my hair, tilting my head back so he could see every flicker of emotion cross my face.
The tension built until I was trembling beneath him, my body tightening around his. He didn’t speed up. Didn’t rush. Just kept moving inside me with that same slow, devastating control, his gaze locked on mine like he was daring me to look away.
I couldn’t.
I didn’t want to.
Because in that moment, with him buried deep and my heart pounding against his, I realized the terrifying truth—I wasn’t just falling for him.
I was already his.