I nod, and he does it again. And again. I’m barreling toward the orgasm that I’ve been denied too many times for my liking. He goes back to rubbing the area and fucking me at the perfect pace. I dig my nails into his skin as a silent threat because he better not stop.
“Please Wes, please,” I plead, meeting his thrusts.
“Let go, Angel. Show me how tightly you can squeeze my cock.”
His permission is all I need to get there, crying out as the release slams into me so hard, I swear I black out. I hardly register being pushed down onto the mattress while he pounds into me and groans when he finds his own release.
We’re both breathing hard as we come down, and suddenly what we admitted to each other comes back and the fear crashes back into me. Wes lifts himself up, walking out of the room and I take an extra moment to make sure my muscles can actually move. As I sit there, he walks back in, kneeling between my thighs, and cleaning the area with one of my washcloths. He presses a gentle kiss to the inside of my thigh that has my breath catching.
Then, he grabs my discarded shirt from the floor, his voice low but firm. “Arms up.”
I do, only because I’m feeling too vulnerable to be naked right now.
“Get into bed.” His voice is back to that gruff demanding tone hegenerally has.
I’m so tired and sated to argue, even as the worries of what happens next linger just out of reach. I climb into bed, and watch him pull on his pants before approaching me again.
“Are you staying?” I manage to squeak out, not sure which answer I want more.
He freezes, clearly not expecting the question. “Do you want me to?”
I pull the blankets up to my chin because I don’t know which answer he wants to hear, and I don’t know which one I want to say.
“No, you need to be with Bruno,” I manage to say, and he nods, though I don’t miss the way his shoulders drop, either in relief or disappointment.
But he agrees, and does the same thing he’s done each time he’s left me in my bed before. Presses a kiss to my forehead, and whispers, “Goodnight, Angel.”
CHAPTER 34
Wes
Things shiftedwith Bailey after that night. Everything between us had been gradually changing between us. But that night was the turning point. Since then we’ve fallen into a kind of routine. Bruno and Sadie play and we end up in bed together, but never for the entire night.
Neither of us push to spend the night. It’s like we both know that would officially change everything. And I’m still worried about what would happen if I were to share a bed with another person. Not only am I concerned about my ability to fall asleep, but what may happen once I do. If I hurt her I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.
Bailey never seems to mind because she likes her space. I think the semblance of distance makes her feel safe, which is fine by me because I never feel fully safe, even on my best days.
My time is mostly spent volunteering at the animal shelter, and I still don’t have an update on Bruno. Bailey’s been trying to convince me to make it official and adopt him, but somethingkeeps holding me back. I don’t know what it is, but I just can’t take the final step past fostering him to making him mine.
I also continue helping Jameson at his property, and that’s how I end up fully roped into Thanksgiving dinner at his house that Sutton has officially begun calling a “friendsgiving.” The name alone made me not want to come.
Sutton also convinced Bailey to attend. While she put up an argument about us riding together, she finally gave in on one condition. We take her car so she’s not squished with Bruno and Sadie.
To which I conceded on my own condition—that I drive.
“Fine,” she huffs, tossing me her keys. She’s wearing a dark red sweater dress that hangs above her knees. My mind immediately dove straight into thoughts of pushing it up and burying my face between her thighs, makinghermy meal for Thanksgiving instead of going to this dinner.
We get in the car and I have to adjust her seat all the way back because she may be tall, she’s not as tall as me. The look she gives me is more of a glare while I adjust everything.
“Now I’m going to have to fix all of that back to how I like it,” she grumbles.
I shrug.
“You could’ve just let me drive, it’s not like it’s far.”
“I prefer to drive.”I prefer to be in control.I don’t tell her the full truth—that I don’t like other people driving me at all becauseI feel like they’ll crash. It’s not that I don’t trust her specifically, I just don’t trustanyone.
“Yeah, yeah,” she grumbles.
