In the next breath, Wesley scooped her up—cradled her like she was some tragic fair maiden—and took the stairs two at a time.
She hated how much she didn’t hate it.
In the room, he lowered her onto the bed and just looked. His gaze moved slow, as though he meant to memorize her piece by piece. Heat climbed her cheeks, and for the first time in longer than she wanted to admit, she fought the urge to hide.
Her eyes slipped downward, catching the way he undid the ties of his pants. Her breath caught; her mouth went dry. She bit her lip without thinking—and the sound that broke from him, low and ragged, cut through her like heat. A sound she knew she’d chase again and again, if only to feel this impossibly, terrifyingly alive.
He moved toward her carefully, every shift across the mattress measured, as though approaching a spell that might bolt if handled wrong. His eyes burned when he reached her—so much want, so much patience—that she hooked her leg around his and rolled them.
In a beat, he was flat on his back, breath knocked out of him, staring up at her with startled eyes before laughter burst free.
She leaned back, smug, hair falling like a curtain between them.
“I knew it,” he said, grin crooked, gaze burning. “Knew you’d be bossy in bed, too.”
Maude tried to suppress the smile tugging at her lips. Impossible. It broke free anyway, and in his gaze—shining, open, undoing her at the seams—she let it stay.
Then his hand slid up, firm at the back of her neck, guiding her down until their mouths met again. The pressure of him left her panting, every breath caught between protest and need.
She pushed back, fumbling only a moment before tuggingoff his pants. When she freed him, her breath stuttered, heat pooling low in her belly.
Her hand worked over him—up, down—greedy for every velvet-hard inch. She didn’t linger. She wanted more, wanted all of him, so she took him into her mouth. His taste flooded her senses: salt, heat, and something entirely his. She moaned around him, the sound vibrating down his length.
Wesley’s voice broke. He gasped her name as if it had been punched out of him, raw enough to brand her.
She dragged her lips from him slowly, savoring the wrecked look on his face, then crawled higher. Her knees bracketed his hips, body trembling with urgency as she sank down onto him.
It was slow—agonizinglyso. Every inch claimed had her chest hammering harder, her breath catching in small bursts. Their eyes locked, and the world narrowed to the space between them, to the stretch and the heat and the way he gripped her like he might drown without the anchor of her body.
His hands roamed as if he couldn’t decide where to venerate first—her thighs, her waist, the swell of her breasts, the curve of her face—before circling back, restless with awe. Everywhere, all at once.
They moved together, and fire curled through her core, wild and consuming—and for once Maude didn’t feel jagged or wrong. She felt wanted. Warm. Cherished. And lov?—
She cut the thought off before it could take flight, shoved it into the locked box where dangerous things belonged, and kissed him instead, whimpering when he caught her tongue between his lips like he meant to keep it.
Wesley’s hand clamped at the base of her neck, firm, possessive, the other gripping her waist hard enough to brand before driving upward—a brutal snap of his hips that punched the air from her lungs.
She broke with it, a cry ripped from her throat as he surged inside her again and again, faster, harder, the bedframe rattling to the rhythm of his body against hers. Every thrust stole her breath,bent her spine, tipped her head back until her voice shattered on every exhale.
Lights detonated behind her eyes, white-hot and merciless, as release tore through her. Her toes curled, nails scraping across his shoulders, and she screamed into the night as if the spell itself had claimed her. Wesley never faltered. He worked her through it, drawing every last cry until her voice broke into soft mewls, her body trembling.
Only then—when she was wrecked and pliant, chest heaving—did he shift. With a low groan, Wesley flipped her onto her back, pinning her to the mattress in one smooth motion.
“I could spend a year learning every sound you make,” he murmured against her skin, voice rough as gravel. His mouth trailed down the inside of her thigh, lips brushing sensitive flesh before he sucked hard enough to leave a mark. His hands slid higher, fingers urging her knees apart.
And then—saints—his mouth was on her. No hesitation, no mercy. The first stroke of his tongue had her jolting, too tender, too sensitive, but he only sighed against her, like her shaking was the only language he wanted. He licked into her slowly at first, a lazy tease that had her fists clenching the sheets, before his tongue flattened and dragged, before his lips sealed around her and sucked until she was arching off the bed.
She was undone in seconds, broken apart with his name caught between her teeth. He drank every bit of her down with a hunger that felt endless until she went slack beneath him, boneless and floating.
Only then did he crawl back up the length of her body, breath ragged in her ear as he disappeared inside her again.
He cursed—low, vicious, a word she’d never heard from his mouth before—and it made her clench around him, made her shiver. His mouth found hers, slower now, deep and unhurried. His kisses tasted of her, of devotion, of something that made her chest ache. One hand cradled her neck, thumb stroking the frantic pulse there; the other tangled tight in her hair.
They moved differently this time—languid, deep, each thrust a conversation she didn’t dare translate. Tears burned at the back of her eyes, temper rising that something so wrecking could feel so close to absolution.
Still, the tide built. Release coiled low, tightening with every thrust, every ragged sound in his throat. Wesley shook above her, cursing into her mouth—half-broken, half-pleading. She sobbed against him as it tore through her, the world blurring white. He followed with a guttural sound, dragging her down into the wreckage with him.
Neither of them moved for a long moment. Their breaths tangled, hot and uneven, his forehead pressed to hers. His weight pinned her—not suffocating, but grounding. Safe.
