Chapter 13 #3
I thought he pushed me away because he didn’t want me. But now, I see how wrong I was. I see the truth hidden in the way his jaw flexes, in the crack in his mask when he looks at me like that.
It wasn’t that he didn’t care. It’s that he did.
And now, it’s too late.
He pushed me away, and Lane pulled me in. And maybe this is exactly how it was supposed to go. Maybe I’m where I belong. With Lane.
But somewhere beneath all of that, something inside me still stings.
Because I think Wesley wanted me, too.
And maybe, in some small, selfish way, I wish he’d fought harder.
Now, it’s so much more than just breaking the rules. This only ends with someone’s heart being broken.
Lane drops his mouth to right above my ear, tightening his grip on my hips. “You ready to get outta here, almost birthday girl?”
I sink my teeth into my bottom lip, making the choice for us all and pushing Wesley out of my mind as best I can.
“Absolutely.”
Every ounce of confidence I had earlier dissolves the second Lane shuts his bedroom door.
The soft click feels final. Intimate. Like the world narrows down to just us, and there’s no going back.
Goosebumps spread across my skin as he crosses the space between us in three long strides, and I forget how to breathe.
His hands find my hips, fingers pressing into me.
He walks me backward until the backs of my knees hit the bed.
The mattress dips beneath me, cool sheets brushing my legs as he eases me down. The air feels heavy—thick with want and need.
He lifts one of my feet, sliding off my boot in an unhurried motion that feels far too intimate for what it is. The other follows, landing somewhere behind him with a dull thud.
Heat races across my skin as his palms glide up my body, slow enough to drive me crazy. The calloused tips of his fingers skim the sliver of bare skin at my stomach, leaving fire in their wake.
“Do you have any idea,” he murmurs, voice low and rough, “how hard it was to keep my hands off you tonight?”
My laugh comes out unsteady. “I think we both failed at that.”
He hums against my skin, the sound vibrating through me as his lips find the curve of my stomach. Every breath catches. My thoughts scatter. I don’t care about anything other than how good his hands feel.
“All you ever had to do was ask. I would’ve gone anywhere with you,” I whisper. “Would’ve let you do anything.”
He stills, his breath fanning across my collarbone. “Fuck,” he says softly, voice strained. “Where have you been all my life?”
“I’m right here,” I whisper, dragging my hands down his chest, over the warm planes of muscle, until I find the hem of his shirt and tug. He exhales a shaky breath but obliges, lifting it over his head in one swift motion.
My gaze drifts down his chest to the hard line of his stomach—to the undeniable proof of what he feels for me—and my cheeks burn. I reach for him without thinking, fingers curling around him through his jeans.
He swears under his breath, sinking his fingers into my hair and pulling my head back so my eyes meet his.
Desire drips from his gaze and an aching, overwhelming need consumes me. I need him more than I need air to breathe. Like an answered prayer, his mouth covers mine and it’s heaven.
I slip my hand into his waistband and he groans, low and guttural, grabbing my wrist—not to stop me, but to breathe. To control himself.
“Sadie,” he warns, voice hoarse. “I don’t think I’m gonna make it. I want this—you—too fucking much.”
“I know. Me too. Please don’t make me wait anymore,” I whisper.
He exhales a breathy laugh then leans in, his forehead pressed to mine. “I want tonight to be about you,” he says, softer now, before his mouth trails lower—down my neck, my chest—his voice a vow against my skin. His lips brush over every inch of me like he’s rewriting what it means to be touched.
My pulse thrums as he slowly unties the knot in my flannel, the fabric falling open to reveal white lace—virginal white.
His fingers work the button of my shorts, sliding them down with agonizing patience. When his thumbs hook the waistband of my matching panties, his eyes flick to mine for permission.
I nod.
He slips the white lace down my legs, his eyes darkening as they rake over me.
“If anything is too much or you want me to stop, tell me, and I will.”
“Okay,” I whisper.
He kneels, pulling me to the edge of the bed and fitting himself between my thighs. His thumbs caressing my skin as anticipation floods my chest.
Then his mouth finds me—desperate, tender, like he’s trying to worship and devour me all at once.
The first stroke of his tongue sends my head back against the pillow, a helpless sound tearing from my throat, and I forget how to breathe.
He’s slow at first, teasing, circling, tasting—like he wants to savor every sound I make.
Each flick of his tongue draws another moan I can’t suppress, until I’m nothing but sensation and breath and his name on my lips.
My thighs are trembling as he holds me open, my fingers twisting into his sheets.
All I can do is surrender.
He’s relentless and I’m a mess. Breathy, scattered moans spill out faster than I can catch them.
When his hand finds mine and our fingers intertwine, I fall apart, losing whatever composure I had left.
The world disappears. There’s only the dizzying rush of pleasure.
When it’s over, I’m trembling, boneless. He doesn’t stop—still tracing languid circles with his tongue, easing me through the aftershocks with soft, reverent kisses. Soothing every shiver that ripples through me, so gentle it almost hurts.
I push up on my elbows and meet his eyes. He smirks, licking his lips, and presses a trail of kisses along my inner thigh like he’s not done with me yet.
“Did you like it?” he murmurs between kisses.
I laugh, breathless. “Do you really have to ask?”
He grins, boyish and proud, and climbs back up to kiss me. It’s deep, unhurried, desperate in a way that feels like more than want. The taste of myself on his lips sends a shiver through me, and before I can stop myself, I’m pulling him closer.
When he pulls back, searching my face, his voice is quiet. “You okay?”
I nod, smiling against his mouth. Then, in one motion, my palms press flat against his chest. His skin is hot beneath my touch as I push him back against the mattress.
His brows lift, a flicker of surprise crossing his face, but he doesn’t fight it. He lets out a soft groan when I straddle him, his hands finding my hips like muscle memory. I lift my arms, waiting.
Understanding flashes across his face, and the grin that follows could undo me all over again.
He sits up, crashing his mouth to mine. His fingers find the hem of my bralette, peeling it off slowly, like he’s unveiling something sacred.
My hands frame his face and our mouths find each other again. The kiss deepens—all tongue and emotion and the dizzying realization that this—us—might actually mean something.
I roll my hips against him and he groans, low and ragged, his control fraying at the edges. I kiss down his neck, his chest, the hard lines of his stomach, tasting the salt of his skin, the sound of his heart in my ear.
When I finally take him in my hand and trace my tongue along his length, his head falls back against the pillows, a sound tearing from his throat that sends heat spiraling through me.
His fingers twist in my hair. My name breaks from his lips—raw and ardent—and for one perfect second, I let myself feel wanted.