Page 128 of Broken Blades

He made a sound low in his throat when I leaned in and pressed my lips to the scar above his collarbone. His hands found the zipper of my hoodie, dragging it down with agonizing slowness, like he was unwrapping something precious. The fabric fell open, and his breath hitched when he saw me—just a thin tank top beneath, no bra, nothing to hide the way my body reacted to him.

"Wyatt, I⁠—"

"Shh." His voice was rough, his fingers brushing my cheek before sliding into my hair. "Don’t be shy. Not with me."

He guided me back against the couch cushions, following me down until I was beneath him, his body covering mine in a way that should have felt suffocating but only made me ache for more. His mouth found my neck first, teeth grazing the sensitive skin before his lips pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses along my collarbone. I arched into him without thinking, a gasp tearing from my throat when his hand slid under my tank top, calloused palms skimming up my ribs.

Then his mouth was on my breast, tongue swirling over my nipple through the fabric before he pulled the tank top down, baring me to him completely. The first touch of his lips sent electricity racing through my veins, my back bowing off the couch when he sucked gently, then harder, marking me in a way that felt primal and possessive and absolutely devastating.

"Wyatt—" His name came out breathless, desperate.

He lifted his head just enough to meet my eyes, his own dark with hunger. "Tell me to stop."

I didn’t.

I couldn’t.

I reached for him instead, pulling him back down, my fingers tangling in his hair as his mouth claimed me again—kissing, sucking, leaving marks that would last long after this moment ended. Marks that would remind me, even when I tried to forget, that this had been real. That he had been real.

His hands slid down my body, fingers hooking into the waistband of my leggings. The air hit my skin as he dragged them off, slow and deliberate, like he was savoring every inch he uncovered. I should have been embarrassed—exposed like this, trembling beneath his gaze—but the way he looked at me, dark and hungry, made me feel powerful instead.

Then he was on his knees between my thighs, broad shoulders pressing my legs wider. The first touch of his mouth sent a jolt through me so sharp I gasped, fingers clutching the couch cushions. He groaned against me, low and rough, the vibration making my hips jerk.

"Fuck, you taste—" His voice was wrecked, hands gripping my thighs hard enough to bruise as his tongue dragged through me again. I whimpered, back arching off the couch, but he held me down, relentless. Every lick, every suck, every groan he made against my skin sent heat spiraling tighter inside me until I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but feel.

His fingers dug into my hips, anchoring me as his mouth worked me over—slow, deep strokes that had my vision blurring at the edges. I was going to come apart. I was going to⁠—

"Wyatt, I can't—" My voice broke, fingers tangling in his hair.

He growled, the sound vibrating through me. "Yes, you can." His tongue swirled, deliberate and devastating, and then his fingers joined, curling inside me just right⁠—

I shattered.

Pleasure crashed over me in waves so intense my toes curled, my back bowed, a broken cry tearing from my throat. He didn’t stop, didn’t let up, drawing out every last tremor until I was boneless and breathless beneath him.

Only then did he lift his head, lips glistening, eyes dark with satisfaction. "Mine," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the inside of my thigh before looking up at me. "Say it."

I couldn’t form words. Couldn’t think. Could only stare at him, dazed and wrecked and utterly his.

He crawled up my body, every movement controlled, predatory, deliberate. The weight of him settled over me—solid, overwhelming, real in a way that made my breath catch. Then I felt it—the hard length of him pressing against my thigh through his sweats, hot even through the thick fabric.

My pulse stuttered.

He braced himself on his forearms, caging me in, and for one heartbeat we just stared at each other. His chest heaved. Mine did too. The air between us felt charged, crackling with something that terrified and thrilled me in equal measure.

Then his mouth crashed against mine.

The kiss was different this time—deeper, hungrier, tinged with desperation that felt like drowning. I tasted myself on his lips, on his tongue, and the intimacy of it sent heat flooding through me all over again. My hands found his shoulders, nails digging into muscle as I kissed him back with everything I had.

This wasn't performance. Wasn't strategy. Wasn't part of any plan either of us had made.

This was real. Terrifyingly, devastatingly real.

His hips rolled against mine and I gasped into his mouth, feeling him hard and wanting and barely restrained. My legs wrapped around him instinctively, pulling him closer even though there was nowhere left to go.

He groaned, the sound rumbling through his chest and into mine. "Chastity…"

My name on his lips sounded like a prayer. Like a curse. Like surrender.