Page 107 of Made for Mayhem

I crossed the room in a few steps, the wood floor cool beneath my bare feet, and stopped in front of him. His hand loosened around the can as I reached out, setting it down on the end table beside us.

“You’re always so patient,” I murmured.

His brow furrowed, lips parting to say something, but I didn’t give him the chance.

I slid into his lap, straddling him, the hem of the hoodie slipping higher up my thighs. His breath hitched, and his hands came up to my hips in a steadying grip.

My fingers found the edge of his jaw, the faint stubble rough under my touch. His eyes searched mine, heat and disbelief warring there. With him looking at me like this, I wasn’t scared of the future. I was scared I’d hate myself forever if I let this man walk away from me twice.

“You think I’m patient?”

I trailed my thumb along his cheek, then smiled. “You’re the most patient man I’ve ever met.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, the sound vibrating through both of us. “Not anymore.”

The space between us disappeared.

His mouth met mine with that same careful heat that had been simmering between us for weeks—steady at first, then hungry. All the restraint we’d both been clinging to fell away.

The day, the carnival, the crowd—it all blurred until it was just this. Him. Me. The quiet hum of the house and the soft sounds of the night around us filtering in through the open windows.

When I pulled back, his forehead rested against mine, his breathing uneven.

“Now what?” he said.

“Now”—I kissed along his jaw, waiting until he tipped his head back. When my teeth grazed over his skin, he let out a low groan—“Now, you take me to bed.”

His hands slid beneath me, strong and certain, and I was in the air. My arms flew around his neck with a startled laugh that turned into a soft gasp when he adjusted his grip.

“Ty,” I squeaked, half protesting, half dizzy. “You can’t just⁠—”

“Yes, I can,” he said, the grin in his voice impossible to miss.

He started down the hall, his steps steady even with me clinging to him. I was short, curvy, and expecting him to set me down any second, but he didn’t. Not once.

Ty nudged open the door to his room with my ass, the faint light from the hallway spilling across us. He kicked it shut behind him, the soft click of the lock echoing in the quiet.

His mouth found mine again as he set me on the edge of the bed, then shifted his weight forward until I was forced to lie back. My fingers tangled in his hair as his hands slid under the green hoodie, pushing it up.

“Fuck,” Ty said, his stubble scraping against my neck when he pushed it over my hips, revealing how little I wore underneath. “Every time I see you in one of these big hoodies, I can’t stop picturing you in just these little panties underneath.”

His hands slid over the fabric covering my center, pushing just hard enough that I gasped, my back arching against the mattress.

“Look at you, so wet already,” Ty said, still rubbing me over the fabric. “Have you been like this for hours, sweetheart?”

I nodded, words lost to me as he dropped to his knees on the floor and trailed open-mouthed kisses along my upper thighs.

“Tell me I can taste you,” he said, his breath hot against my skin. “Tell me I can have these pretty legs over my shoulders and lick up every drop like I wanted to weeks ago. I want to feel you come apart under me like I’ve been imagining for years.”

“Do it,” I managed, my voice breathless with even these little teasing touches. “Please.”

“What a good fucking girl you are, Daisy.” His fingers hooked under the fabric of my panties, pulling them down my thighs before tossing them aside.

I expected him to lift my legs up over his shoulders, staying on his knees to fulfill these dirty promises, but Ty was never quite what I expected.

Instead, he stood, stripping off his shirt with that one-hand overhead grab men did. Next came those short-shorts, leaving him in nothing but black boxer briefs stretched tight. His hand slid over his hard cock under the fabric, giving it a squeeze.

Moonlight cut through the window, painting him in a glowy haze that only amplified how chiseled every inch of this man was.