Page 85 of Haunt Me, Maybe

“How the hell did I get so lucky?” he muttered, almost to himself. “A better man would walk away. But this pussy?” His hand slid between us to cup me possessively through my jeans. “This belongs to me now. No take-backs.”

Heat flooded my face. My core. I nodded—fast and frantic.

He walked us backward until the backs of my knees hit a narrow cot in the corner. Folded blankets were stacked neatly on top; the clockkeeper must use this for overnight repairs. Wes swept the blankets across the thin mattress in one rough motion and then turned to me.

“Lie down.”

The command was quiet, but it brooked no argument. I obeyed, my heart slamming and thighs already trembling. He followed me, caging me with his arms, his mouth finding mine again while his hands made quick work of my clothes.

Sweater gone. Bra gone. Jeans and underwear yanked down in one impatient tug. But my socks he left on. Like the small vulnerability of it made him hungrier.

He stripped himself even faster—shirt torn over his head, pants shoved down, and boxers kicked aside. He was thick and flushed and curving upward as he settled between my legs until the heavy length of him got trapped against my belly.

“Watch,” he ordered, and then leaned back to rub himself through the slick mess I’d made.

He coated himself deliberately, teasing my clit with every pass until I arched helplessly.

“You’re dripping for me,” he growled.

And that’s when it hit me. Holy shit. This was happening. Right now.

I was about to lose my virginity on a creaky cot in the clock tower, to a ghost who’d haunted my heart until it couldn’t help but love him. The reality crashed in on me; the sheer size of him, the fact that he was going to be inside me—all of him—and there was no going back.

Nerves choked me. My breath hitched from the sudden spiral of what if I can’t take it? What if I freeze? What if⁠—

Wes stopped moving. Completely. The teasing, sticky drag of him ceased, and his eyes searched mine in the growing light.

“You’re uneasy,” he said.

I bit my lip, cheeks burning. “I’m sorry. I can’t stop thinking⁠—”

“Don’t apologize.” His voice dropped lower, firmer. “Look at me.”

I did; shaky and wide-eyed. He gathered my wrists in one big hand and pinned them above my head with gentle but unyielding strength. The other hand cupped my jaw, thumb pressing lightly against my lower lip until I opened for him.

“You don’t have to think right now,” he promised. “You don’t have to decide. You don’t have to worry if you can take it, or how much it’ll hurt, or what happens after. That’s my job.”

My breath stuttered out.

“I decide how slow we go. I decide how deep. I decide when you come—and how often.” His thumb pressed harder against my lip, parting it to feel the edge of my teeth. “All you have to do is listen. All you have to do is feel. Can you do that for me?”

The spiral in my chest cracked wide open, and relief flooded through, cool and crisp. I nodded.

“Words,” he reprimanded.

“Yes,” I whispered. “I can do that.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Wes

She was unraveling beneath me in the best way.

Even pinned with her wrists trapped in one of my hands and her body caged by mine, her hips kept rolling in small, helpless circles that dragged my cock along the soft skin of her belly.

Every slide left a slick trail of her arousal between us, and her breath hitched higher.

I felt all of it, the way she grew wetter with every second I held her down. The way her thighs trembled and parted wider without me asking. The way her eyes locked on mine like I was the only thing keeping her from flying apart. She liked this.