Chapter 22 #2
“Here,” he says simply. “You can sleep in this.”
My fingers brush his when I take it, and the touch burns hotter than it should.
I fully step into the room then, slowly closing the door behind me, and take the shirt. My heart is pounding a little obnoxiously over a simple shirt to sleep in.
He strips down to his briefs and the effect is catastrophic.
How is he being so nonchalant? He tosses his dirty clothes into the hamper in the corner and I realize maybe I’m the one being weird, still standing in the middle of his room gaping at his half-naked body, clutching the shirt he gave me to my chest.
“Um, I can’t sleep unless I brush my teeth,” I blurt.
He pauses, studying me. “Okay.”
“I don’t want to risk waking up Lydia by going into my room to get my toothbrush.”
“Oh, no worries,” he says. “I’ve got an extra.”
He leads me into the bathroom, rummages under the sink, and hands me a mint-green toothbrush still in its packaging.
How proactive. He keeps spares.
How many girls has he brought here before?
“Thanks,” I say, trying to keep my voice neutral. “Very…prepared of you.”
He smirks, squeezing toothpaste onto his own brush.
We stand side by side at the mirror, my elbow bumping into him as we move through the small motions together—brush, spit, and rinse.
It’s nothing, and somehow everything.
Back in his room, I peel off my jeans, then my top, letting them slip from my fingers and puddle onto the floor. When I glance up, Wesley is watching me. He sits on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, eyes tracking the slow slide of fabric down my body.
For a moment, I just stand there in my bra and underwear, bare in a way that makes my pulse thunder in my ears. His eyes lift to mine and the air between us hums.
I want to prove Lane was wrong. I need to.
My hand drifts behind my back, fingers finding the clasp. The tiny click sounds impossibly loud in the silence. I let the straps slowly slip off my shoulders before my bra falls to the floor.
Wesley’s jaw flexes, his gaze dragging over me in raw, unguarded hunger. He lets out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head like he can’t quite believe me. Like he’s both in awe and in agony at the same time.
But he doesn’t stop me. His eyes stay locked on me—dark and burning.
Heat crawls up my spine as I tug his shirt over my head. I feel reckless. Alive. The soft cotton fabric drapes over me, nearly swallowing me whole. The hem barely brushes the tops of my bare thighs.
His jaw tightens as I cross the room slowly, savoring the way his eyes follow every drawn-out step.
When I reach the space between his legs, his hands lift without hesitation, fingertips lightly gliding up the backs of my thighs until finally slipping beneath the shirt.
His touch is so warm, so reverent, it threatens to pull me apart at the seams. His fingers tighten, curling into me, pulling me closer with a quiet certainty that steals my breath.
I cup his jaw in both hands, tilting his head back, and press my mouth to his.
The moment our lips meet, something ignites instantly—a messy and desperate tenderness, like we’re trying to breathe each other in.
His lips part and I sink into him when his tongue meets mine—slow at first, then claiming. Kissing him feels like a freefall.
A quiet sound breaks from my lips when his hands push higher, skimming the curve of my ass beneath the shirt.
His calluses rake over bare skin, rough and perfect, forcing a shiver up my spine.
Then he drags me closer, fingers digging in like he couldn’t stop even if he tried.
He lifts me effortlessly, guiding me into his lap until I’m straddling him, knees braced on either side.
My chest brushes his with every breath. There’s barely anything between us, and I can feel exactly how much he wants this—wants me.
Heat pools low in my stomach and my hips move without permission, rolling against him in a way that feels like we’re trying to take pieces of each other. The sensation pulls a broken sound from my throat.
One of his hands slides up, tracing my ribs, deliberate and torturously slow, until his thumb brushes the underside of my breast. He curses, low and wrecked, like he’s losing his mind from this alone—and I desperately want him to, to ruin me right here.
His other hand continues to roam, fingers spreading across my bare waist.
He kisses me like he’s drowning, like he needs my mouth to breathe, and I arch into him, chasing every point of contact.
My fingers sink into his hair, tugging him closer, kissing him deeper, needing him in every possible way.
I rock again, and he jerks his hips up to meet mine with a raw depravity he can’t mask. A wave of desire burns through me, hot and consuming. I cling to him, pulling his mouth harder against mine like I could devour him whole.
For one dizzy, reckless heartbeat, I feel it—the shift, the surrender, the moment he almost gives in completely. Like he’s seconds away from flipping me onto the mattress and claiming me in a way neither of us will recover from. I want it so badly I lean in, breath catching, silently begging.
But then his hands still and his mouth breaks from mine. He presses his forehead hard against my shoulder.
His chest heaves, rough and unsteady.
“Fuck,” he breathes, voice raw. “We should stop.”
The words carve straight through me, but I nod, slipping out of his lap and swallowing the ache, even while every nerve in my body screams for him not to let go.
Because I understand.
He isn’t stopping because he doesn’t want me—he’s stopping because he wants me too much.
He exhales, brushing his thumb softly across my cheek before shifting back. He pulls the duvet down and slides under the covers, lifting one side for me and patting the space beside him.
I crawl in, drawn to him despite the fire still burning under my skin. He wraps an arm around me instantly, pulling me into his chest. His heat thrums under my cheek, steady and grounding, even as my pulse still races, even as every part of me still burns with everything we almost did.
“Did you mean what you said in the truck?” The words slip out in a whisper before I can stop them.
He hums, voice heavy with sleep. “Hm?”
“When you said I mattered.” My voice trembles, and I hate that it does. I hate that I care this much when this is all supposed to be temporary.
There’s a pause long enough to make my heart sink.
“Yeah,” he murmurs against the top of my head. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.”
I swallow, my lips brushing his chest in a soft graze—an accident, a reflex, a need. “Prove it.”
He stills beneath me and I can feel his heart pounding beneath my cheek. I secretly hope he kisses me again. I wish he would roll me beneath him and lose control, giving into everything all at once.
But instead, his fingers trace a line between my shoulder blades, a delicate drag that makes me shiver. He nudges my hip, guiding me onto my other side. The mattress dips as he follows, chest to my back, fitting himself around me.
He pulls me closer.
Not with the desperation of earlier.
But with slow, intentional care—his hand flattening over my stomach, drawing me back until I fit against him perfectly and his forehead rests against the back of my head.
I’ve never been more at war with myself.
If he wanted sex, he could’ve had it.
Any other guy would’ve pushed it further.
But he’s not any other guy.
He’s already made me fall apart twice today in ways I’d never imagined.
But he just holds me.
Holds me like this is the part he’s starving for.
And it wrecks me.
His thumb strokes a slow line against my hip, barely there.
A touch too gentle for what we’ve done.
Too intimate for what this is supposed to be.
Too much for someone who was never supposed to matter this deeply.
Wrapped in his arms—his warmth, his steady heartbeat, the tenderness he pretends he doesn’t have—I feel myself soften, sink, give in. Sleep pulls at me, and this time, I don’t fight it.
The morning light is unforgiving, slicing through the curtains and into my skull. My body aches like I’ve been scraped raw from the inside out.
I shift, burrowing deeper beneath the blankets, and a strong arm tightens around my waist, pulling me into a solid chest.
Wesley.
I’m in Wesley’s bed.
A soft, shaky breath slips out of me, but I close my eyes and let myself sink into him, into the weight and heat and sound of him.
The world is quiet—suspended between yesterday and whatever comes next.
His breath ghosts across the back of my neck, his heartbeat steady against my spine. It all feels too good. Too easy. Too much like something I could get attached to.
But it doesn’t stop my heart from hoping maybe I could stay here forever.
A pounding knock obliterates that thought, shattering the bubble and pulling me back into reality.
“Wes? You awake?” The doorknob rattles as Emmett’s voice calls from the hallway. “Why the fuck is your door locked?”
My stomach drops and my body slips into its usual response: freezing.
There’s no reasonable excuse for why I’m in Wesley’s bed wearing nothing but his shirt. This makes us look like something we’re not. We’re absolutely not. We agreed, this is temporary and only physical.
We don’t make sense—this doesn’t make sense—but the possibility of being caught sends a slow, traitorous thrill through me.
I press myself closer to Wesley. He doesn’t hesitate, his arms tightening around me, pulling me into his chest.
“Leave me alone,” he mutters into my hair, voice rough with sleep and irritation.
“Oh shit, are you jerking off?” Emmett blurts, horrified.
“Fuck off, Emmett.”
“Look, man—I’m sorry I’m interrupting your special alone time, but have you seen Sadie? She’s not in her room.”
Wesley sighs, sliding his hand beneath the blankets, his calloused fingers skimming over the bare skin of my stomach where his shirt has ridden up. The touch is slow, intimate—possessive in a way that steals the air from my lungs.