Chapter 20 #2
If this is settling, I can’t even begin to imagine what the alternative is.
He has me undone in seconds.
Completely boneless, breathless, whispering his name in an incoherent mess of moans and pleas.
He dips farther, making a low sound against me, and the vibration ripples through my entire body. My spine arches and heat crashes over me in waves so intense I forget where I am.
I fall apart. Completely at his mercy.
And he holds me through every trembling second.
Once the final waves have ebbed, his tongue glides up from my center to my clit in a slow, torturous stroke—and then he presses a soft and devastating kiss there, as if he were kissing my mouth.
He rests his forehead against the inside of my thigh, breathing hard, his fingers still digging into my skin where they hold me open. For a moment, he just stays there—like he needs the contact as much as I do.
Then he slips my panties back into place. The sharp snap makes me jerk, a small whimper breaking from my throat.
His eyes rake over me and he lets out a low, satisfied exhale before pulling back with that smug smirk, swiping the pad of his thumb across his mouth.
I’m still shaking when he steps in close, fitting himself between my still-spread legs as if he belongs there. My gaze drops, landing on the thick, aching strain pressing against his jeans.
Instinctively, I reach for him, wanting to touch him, needing to make him feel as good as he made me—but his hand closes around my wrist, stopping me with a grip tight enough to make my pulse jump.
My eyes lift to his. All hints of his playful smile dissolve, leaving only a dark, starved expression.
“I can’t,” he whispers, voice rough. “Not right now. If you touch me, I won’t be able to stop.”
I open my mouth, to ask, to beg—I’m not even sure which—but he drags his thumb along my bottom lip, slow enough to make my breath stutter and unravel something deep within me. His hand slides to my jaw, tilting my face up and holding me still. Then he presses his thumb into my mouth.
Only then do I realize—it’s the same thumb he used to wipe his mouth. My lips close around him and all I taste is myself as he slides it over my tongue.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs. “So fucking beautiful.”
He lets his thumb slip from between my lips with a low groan, his gaze lingering on my mouth like he’s already imagining what else he could do to me.
He slowly steps backward toward the door, his eyes locked on me, like he doesn’t want to miss a single moment of seeing the mess he made of me.
This was supposed to be enough, but already my body aches for more—for all of him. And that terrifies me.
All my reservations vanish, replaced by the overwhelming need to pull him back, to beg for more—any way he’ll give it to me.
He lets out a deep chuckle as his hand grips the glass doorknob. “You better move if you still want that shower before dinner. You know how my dad feels about tardiness.”
“Shit,” I whisper as I slip off the dresser on unsteady legs, completely forgetting that I’m barely dressed. But I guess that doesn’t matter now, especially after Wesley just had his face buried between my thighs.
I pause in the doorway to the bathroom, looking back over my shoulder at Wesley. He’s still standing in the same spot with his eyes locked on me.
“What about you?” I ask, flicking my gaze to the hard line straining against his jeans.
He shakes his head with a low, humorless laugh. “Get in the shower, Princess.”
Then he slips out of my room, closing the door with a soft click and leaving me standing half-naked and alone.
After my shower, I twist my damp waves into a half-up style, shimmy into my jeans, and tug on a cropped T-shirt.
I lean toward the mirror and swipe on a little mascara and tinted lip balm—just enough effort for Lucky’s later.
Enough to pretend I’m fine. The dim lighting there might be forgiving, but it’s not a magic wand.
I keep telling myself to look casual. Normal.
Nothing about me feels normal now.
By the time I sit down at dinner, my skin is already buzzing, like there’s electricity trapped under my ribs. Every time Wesley looks at me, it burns—like he’s branding me all over, marking me forever so I won’t forget—so I can’t forget.
Not that I want to.
But it’s impossible to act casual when it’s all I can think about. It feels like everyone at this table knows he slipped into my room and dropped to his knees to worship me.
No strings. No feelings. Just sex.
This is so much harder than I expected. I never felt anything like this with Lane—not even close.
Heat curls low in my stomach at the memory of Wesley’s mouth, his hands, the way he wanted me—obvious and hungry. I shift in my seat, pressing my thighs together under the table, and try to breathe normally.
Why didn’t he want me to do anything for him?
Emmett nudges my knee with his, barely a brush, but enough to bring me back down to reality.
“You okay?” he asks, voice low.
My gaze flicks straight to Wesley. He’s in his usual seat at the opposite side of the table, in an increasingly heated argument with Heath about Outlaw, neither of them even glancing in our direction.
“Yeah,” I say quickly, fixing my eyes back onto my plate. “Sorry. I spaced out for a second.”
“Really?” Emmett drawls. I can hear the wide smile on his face. “Why can’t you look at me then?”
I grimace, tightening my grip on the fork in my hand, and force myself to quickly look over at him before stuffing my mouth with roasted potatoes.
“You’re such a little liar,” he teases. “You have something on your mind. Might make you feel better to confide in your most handsome friend and roommate-slash-coworker.” He bumps me with his elbow and winks when I force myself to look at him again.
I love Emmett and his goofy personality. I love that he can always make me laugh and pull me from my head when I start to spiral. I love that he calls us friends before anything else.
But even if it wasn’t a rule, there’s no way I could ever confess the truth to him. How I can still feel his brother’s mouth on my skin. How he had me as an appetizer before this very meal.
Instead, I settle for the next best thing: a half-truth.
“I’m fine. Really. Just…a little worried about tonight.” I bite my lip. “Lydia said she heard Lane’s going to be there tonight with some of the seasonal guys.”
Emmett’s smile drops instantly. He nods, jaw tightening, and guilt pricks sharp under my ribs. I hate lying to him. I hate playing my victim card.
Maybe enough time has passed and the wounds aren’t as fresh, but that night with Lane wasn’t the worst thing to ever happen to me. But everyone here sees me as this fragile little girl who can’t fend for herself, and assumes that I’m forever wounded from it.
Yes, Lane scared me. But all he did was break a promise and get wasted.
Worse things have happened.
I’m not dismissing his behavior, but I’m not torn up about it anymore.
“We could go someplace else,” Emmett offers quietly. “I’m sure Wes won’t mind.”
“No, it’s fine. Really. Let’s no—”
“What won’t I mind?” Wesley interrupts, his eyes fixed on me.
“Nothing,” I blurt at the same time Emmett says, “Going somewhere other than Lucky’s tonight.”
I shoot him a glare before looking at Wesley, shaking my head vehemently.
“Everything is fine,” I insist. “Can we please drop it?”
“We can have Brant give him the boot if he shows up.” Emmett smirks, wiggling his eyebrows at me before shoving a forkful of potato into his mouth.
Despite everything, I snort—which is exactly what he wanted.
“Who?” Heath asks, chiming in.
The skin on the back of my neck prickles, but I can’t bring myself to say it. Lane is a sore subject for Wesley, and the last thing I want is to rock the boat. All I want is for all of us to move on.
“Um…Lane,” I reply, clearing my throat. “But it’s not a huge deal. Besides, Lyd has been looking forward to riding the bull all week. I’m not going to be the one to crush her dreams.”
Heath lets out a gruff hmph and takes a sip of his water. Emmett nudges me again, his smile tight, searching my face like he doesn’t believe me.
I peek across the table to Wesley and his eyes narrow. He sees right through me. He knows I’m downplaying it. I shake my head, just enough for him to see—please, don’t make this worse.
Heath cuts in, oblivious to the current thrumming under the surface. “Glad you can all be mature adults about this. This is the whole reason I made that rule, to avoid the awkwardness when it all fizzles out.”
Emmett freezes, his fork hovering in front of his mouth. “I thought you made the rule because—”
“Shit—we’re late.” Wesley shoves back from the table so hard the chair legs screech against the wood. He doesn’t look at me, doesn’t look at his brother. “We should’ve left ten minutes ago.”
He tosses his napkin over his plate—then grabs mine too, like an afterthought, like he just needs something to do with his hands—and stalks toward the kitchen.
I blink at Emmett, waiting for an explanation, but he won’t meet my eyes. His jaw ticks, muscles pulled tight.
“What was that?” I whisper.
My fingers curl into my lap, trying not to fidget. Why do I feel like I’m missing something?
“Let’s go,” Wesley calls sharply from the front door, keys spinning around his finger.
I thank Heath for dinner and nudge Emmett. “Are you still coming?”
“Yeah,” he mutters as his fork clatters onto his plate. “I’ll meet you out there.”
I hesitate, stuck between wanting to press and being afraid to, but Wesley whistles from outside, the sharp sound slicing straight through me.
I force a tight smile for Heath, grab my jacket, and step out into the cool summer evening.
The leather in the back seat is chilly beneath my thighs. Wesley’s in the driver’s seat, one hand draped over the open window frame, the other drumming against the wheel in short, irritable taps.
He doesn’t look at me, and a tiny, stupid ache blooms in my chest.