Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
Lottie
The second Wes’s mouth finds mine, every warning inside my head goes silent.
There’s no hesitation. No pulling back. No moment where I stop to question whether this is smart or reckless or destined to end badly.
I don’t care. I don’t want to think about tomorrow.
I don’t want to think about consequences. I just want him.
The need to surrender to this—to him—rushes through me so hard it leaves me dizzy, and somehow Wes seems to sense it immediately.
He takes over without a word. Confidently.
Effortlessly. The kiss is devastating in its thoroughness, leaving me breathless before I even realize I’m losing air.
Soft lips, broad sweeps of his tongue. It’s a kiss that feels so astoundingly good, I’m not sure how I ever lived without it.
His hand slides from my hair to the small of my back, drawing me closer across the narrow space between our seats, and he kisses me harder.
It’s all-consuming, there’s no other way to describe it.
His tongue thrusts possessively into my mouth, drawing a low, deep groan from him just as the same sound escapes from me.
We kiss and kiss and kiss some more. I shift in my chair to get closer to him, but even then it’s not enough.
My pulse is racing. My breathing feels uneven.
The last shred of common sense I had before this moment evaporates when his tongue licks into my mouth in smooth, soft strokes.
This kiss is far less careful than the last one.
It’s uninhibited and hungry, the kind of kiss that obliterates self-control and leaves good judgement in ruins.
Wes tilts his head, deepening the kiss as my fingers roam over defined muscle, desperate to feel every inch of him. His hand slides down my back over my hip, his palm tightening over my ass before he nips at my bottom lip with his teeth.
Can we pretend that you’re really mine? His words run through my mind again.
I shouldn’t be kissing Wes. But oh, how I want to.
Another soft sound escapes me before I can stop it, my hand tangling in his hair. The kiss is overwhelming in the best possible way, not rushed or tentative, the kind that makes me forget where I am, aware of nothing but the man beside me.
A growl breaks free of him, a guttural sound so raw it tells me he’s losing this battle just as badly as I am.
“Fuck,” he mutters, resting his forehead briefly against mine. My hand slides from his hair to his chiselled chest when he breaks the kiss.
“I want you, Lottie,” he says quietly, his eyes searching my face, dark and intense and completely unguarded. “So fucking badly.”
And then his hand slips to the nape of my neck, sealing his mouth to mine in a bruising kiss. “I hate that you’re always there in the back of my mind.”
“You have my attention now,” I manage, breathless. “What are you going to do about it?”
“Come on,” he says, standing and holding out his hand to me. “Let’s get out of here.”
His eyes are dark with lust when he takes control, clasping my hand in his and helps me to my feet.
His fingers tighten around mine as he leads me down the aisle and out into the cool night air.
The second we reach his car, he’s on me again, backing me up against the passenger door before his mouth finds mine.
The kiss is far too short. Not because either of us wants it to be, but because Wes pulls back and rests his forehead against mine for a brief second. “If I take you back home and fuck you like I’ve been dreaming about, maybe I won’t be this wound tight around you anymore.”
“Only one way to find out.”
“Get in the car, Peach.”
The low command sends a fresh rush of heat through me. I won’t argue. He opens my door and helps me inside.
The drive back to Deep Cove feels nothing like the drive earlier this evening. The teasing is gone, and the laughter too. Wes drives with one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting possessively on my thigh, my pulse kicking up another notch every time he gently squeezes my leg.
Outside, the city lights blur past the windows while the car eats up the distance between us and home faster than it should.
The car has barely rolled to a stop in Wes’s driveway before we're both moving.
He kills the engine and rounds the front of the car to open my door.
By the time we make it inside the house, my pulse is completely out of control.
The front door has barely clicked shut before Wes is reaching for me again.
His hands find my waist, pulling me close, and a shiver that I don’t bother trying to hide, trembles through me.
I should slow down. I should think. I should remember all of the reasons this is complicated.
Instead, every instinct inside of me seems determined to move in the opposite direction.
“No matter how hard I’ve tried to stop thinking about you, I can’t,” he says, with gray eyes as dark as granite and his hand tightening at my waist. “It’s a big fucking problem. You have no idea how many nights I’ve gone to bed thinking about you riding my cock and making you come.”
“Wes…”
His gaze searches mine. “I’ve thought about this constantly. More than I should. More than I’ve wanted to.” A humorless laugh escapes him. “You’ve become an obsession, Lottie, and I’m so fucking tired of fighting it.”
While I search for the right words to say to that, Wes closes the distance between us, pressing his lips to mine again.
Whatever response I was searching for disappears with the sweep of his tongue against mine.
The kiss is hungry, making me dizzy. By the time Wes pulls back, his liquid gray eyes are staring into mine, and I’m shaking.
This man knows exactly how to turn me on in five seconds flat.
“I want to make you come, Peach. I need your words. Do you want to pretend with me?” he asks, tucking a few loose strands of my hair behind my ear. “Just for tonight. Do you want to forget about the agreement and pretend you’re really my wife?”
My heart thuds heavily against my ribs, and I can’t decide which feeling is stronger—excitement or fear. Can I allow myself one night with Wes without getting so attached that he takes a piece of my heart with him when this arrangement is over?
It’s a risk, but it’s one that I already know I’m going to take.
Inhaling a sharp breath, I nod. “Yes, Wes. I do.”
He lifts me in his arms, and I wrap my legs around his waist as he walks me up the stairs to his bedroom, right across from mine. “Come here, Peach. I need my hands on my wife.”
Wes kicks the bedroom door shut behind us, the sound echoing through the room, but I barely notice. I’m too busy noticing my husband.
One of his arms is hooked securely beneath my ass while the other presses me to him, and I’m suddenly aware of how big he feels as he holds me in his arms. Wes isn’t just tall, he’s solid.
He carries me to the edge of his bed like I weigh nothing at all before he lowers me to the ground.
My feet have barely touched the floor before he’s pulling his shirt over his head.
I tip my head up to feast my eyes on him. The carved muscles that end in a V at his groin, the grid of abs in the center. This man looks like he could bench press a small building without breaking a sweat.
My gaze drifts to his chest, from his defined pecs with small, flat nipples to a small patch of dark hair in the center of his chest. My eyes wander further down to the trail of hair that disappears into his jeans.
When he unbuckles his belt, tugging it through the belt loops and dropping it to the floor, I swear I’m drooling.
I can’t look away from him, no matter how hard I try. I’m greedy, not sure where I want to touch him first. I want to use my hands, my tongue, my mouth, my teeth.
I’m not sure who moves first, but in the blink of an eye, I’m in his arms and we’re kissing again.
“It’s been too long since I’ve touched you,” he murmurs into my mouth. “Too long.”
“It was too long. I need this, Wes.”
He groans, taking my jaw in his hands before kissing me.
His fingers trail from my jaw down my neck to my breasts.
They stay there, massaging them over my shirt, pinching my nipples between his fingers.
I cry his name when his hips thrust into mine and his erection makes contact with my clit.
I’m a reckless mess of want and impatience but I still manage to keep kissing him as I cup him through his pants.
“Fuck,” he breathes, rocking his erection into my palm. The thrill coursing through my veins is palpable knowing Wes is already this hard for me.
“I’m not going to be gentle with you,” he growls. “Is that going to be okay with my wife?”
My wife.
My hand fumbles with his zipper, managing to get it undone despite being more turned on than I’ve ever been in my life. “I’ve never liked gentle.”
He growls. He actually growls before he says, “Good, that’s my dirty fucking girl. Now, get on the bed for me.”
Fuck, I love it. The low command makes my nipples harden further and arousal pools between my thighs.
I climb onto the mattress, sinking back against a mountain of pillows as Wes stands at the end of the bed and tugs the zipper of his pants down in one slow motion.
Part of me wishes I was undressing Wes, but the view I have from where I’m lying on his bed is what dreams are made of. His body is simply astonishing.
The sight of him makes me think suddenly of the pale, silvery line that runs down the center of my chest. The one I’ve spent years trying not to think about and even longer trying to hide. The rest of me has never felt quite right because of it.