“That’s rude.” I smile into his throat to hide the jump in my pulse. “People tell me I’m delightful.”
“Exactly.” He slides over my bare skin, palm flat at my waist. The pressure is possessive without being pushy.
Heat slides low in my belly. I shoot for light anyway. “We were convincing last night, don’t you think? Your ex must have gotten the message by now.”
He huffs a laugh, then tips my chin so I’m forced to look at him. “Joy. Don’t.”
Danger. Names sound different when they’re careful.
“We’re good,” I say, too fast. “Rule one, remember? Lots of PDA. No mess.”
“Rule two was no sex, if I remember right.” His thumb strokes my jaw slowly. “Too late now. Also, I read the fine print. Nothing about not kissing my fiancée good morning.”
“Fake fiancée.”
“Mm,” he hums, and his lips brush mine.
He doesn’t rush. He sets the pace like he’s got all day and a map. I should keep it playful—one of us has to—but my body goes traitor fast, arching into him, fisting the sheets because if I grab him, we will not make it downstairs before New Year’s.
He breaks just enough to breathe. “I’m not letting you float, Foxy.”
“Rude again.” I aim for sparkly. “I’m excellent at floating.”
“Yeah.” He kisses my cheek, the corner of my lips, the soft spot beneath my ear. “And I’m excellent at holding you up.”
My laugh trips, helpless. There it is—the line that makes my chest go tight and stupid.Don’t fall, Joy. There’s a cliff here, and you didn’t pack a parachute.
I slide a knee over his thigh to buy myself a joke. “Are you flirting with me on Jesus’s birthday?”
“I’m staking a claim,” he breathes, and his palm slides lower, fingers finding bare skin. “Last night felt right, doll. I want more.”
Air thins. Heat pools. My smile does its job—bright, unbothered—while my heart sprints toward the cliff edge.
“Greedy,” I manage.
“For you?” His tongue finds my throat. “Can you blame me?.”
The kiss that follows erases every smart thing I’ve ever thought. He maps my body, memorizing coordinates. My nails drag down his back.
“Are you sore?” he rumbles, biting my neck.
“I am. But also wet. And I want you.”
He grins, rolling on top of me. “I’ll go easy,” he says hoarsely, reaching for the side table to grab a condom. He teases myentrance before sliding home. I bite down on his shoulder to muffle the sound.
“I’m sorry you’re sore, baby,” he mumbles into my neck, his abs rolling over my front, his forearms coming to rest on either side of my face. “It was hard to hold back when I could tell you wanted it rough.”
“You loved it too,” I say, twirling my hips, savoring the fullness I feel. Every thrust is slow, deep, him bottoming out with a groan, sliding out again.
“Go on, baby, help yourself to what you need.”
My vision starts to blur, my teeth catching his bottom lip and biting down, my legs spreading wider on their own accord. The grateful, resounding rumble going through Wesley is a reward on its own.
“Bite down harder,” he rasps. “I need a few mean pumps, baby. Okay?”
I nod, pant, lift my hips to pull him in deeper, my peak overtaking, flesh smacking flesh, the sound obscene and so perfect.
“That’s my girl,” he rasps, pumping harder, “so good at taking my cock.”
