Page 97 of Haunt Me, Maybe

“Last night was…” I swallowed and searched for the words. “Everything. And now it’s today, the festival. The trap. Gideon.” My voice cracked on the name. “I keep thinking…what if we lose? What if I’m not strong enough? What if I get it wrong and he—” Goddess, I couldn’t even finish that sentence. “And then after, if we win, what happens to us? To you and me? You don’t age. You don’t…change. I do. I will. And I don’t know what that looks like. I don’t know if we get a future or if I have to watch you stay exactly the same, and that’s almost worse⁠—”

He kissed me, cutting off the spiral before it could spin out. When he drew back, his forehead rested against mine.

“I don’t have the answers for most of that,” he said quietly. “I don’t know what’s going to happen tonight. Or after. I don’t know how long the ribbon holds, or if my curse will finally fade, or if I’ll get to keep existing the way I do now. But I know this: whatever time I have left—whether it’s weeks or decades or centuries—I want it to be with you. I want mornings like this. I want nights in the maze. I want every stupid, beautiful, terrifying moment you’ll give me.”

My eyes burned, but I couldn’t tear them away from him. I clutched at his hand harder, afraid I was dreaming.

“I love you,” he said. There was no drama. No grand speech. It was the truth, plain and simple. “I’ve loved you since you looked at me like I was something worth fighting for. And I’m not going anywhere unless you tell me to.”

A tear slipped down my cheek, and he caught it with his thumb.

“I love you too,” I whispered. “I think I have for a while. But I was too scared to say it out loud.”

He smiled, a real one that made my chest ache in the best way. “Then we say it now. And we keep saying it, every chance we get. No matter what happens tonight.”

He pulled me closer, tucking me against his chest. I curled into him and let myself feel it all: the fear, the anticipation, the love so big it threatened to burst out of me. We stayed like that for a long time, breathing in rhythm.

Wes’s fingers traced idle circles on my lower back, gentle and unhurried. Then they drifted lower, skimming the curve of my hip and the sensitive skin inside the waistband of my sleep shorts. I shivered.

His lips brushed my temple. “You’re thinking again.”

I was, but I couldn’t help it. Not when my body didn’t care about the multiple aches bombarding it. Not when it wanted Wes to add to them. To pin me down, spread me open, and⁠—

I groaned against his collarbone. “I can’t stop it.”

Goddess, he’d turned me into a sex fiend. One taste and I was addicted.

His hand slid across my skin as he tipped my chin up to meet his eyes. They were soft, but there was that familiar spark beneath the tenderness. The one that said he knew exactly what my body was remembering, even if my brain still spun.

“Fenn is grounding,” he murmured, thumb pressing down on my lower lip. “He probably won’t be done for hours.”

My breath caught, and heat bloomed low in my belly. My thighs felt bruised, my core tender, my whole body deliciously used and still protesting every shift.

I bit my lip. “I’m…really sore. Like everywhere.” Could I take him again?

A quiet laugh rumbled through his chest. “I was thorough.”

“You were,” I agreed, half-whimpering when I tried to press my thighs together and only succeeded in making the tenderness pulse harder.

I couldn’t hide the wince that followed. Maybe sex wasn’t such a good idea after all.

“We don’t have to do anything,” he said. “I just like touching you.”

His hand stayed at my hip, thumb caressing in soothing circles. The touch was light, barely there, but every pass sent tiny jolts skittering across my nerves.

I shifted again, trying to ease the growing need and only succeeded in pressing my hips closer to his palm. His eyes darkened instantly, his pupils blowing wide, and that slow, wicked smile curled the corner of his mouth like he’d caught me in the sweetest kind of lie.

“You’re getting turned on,” he hummed. It wasn’t a question. His thumb dipped lower. “Even sore. Even aching. Look at you, Trouble…you’re already wet again just from this. Aren’t you?”

It was his fucking fault! I was now a poor, addicted wretch who needed his touch despite knowing I’d probably split in half if we tried it again.

Wes leaned in, breath ghosting over my ear. “What if I promise to be very, very gentle?”

The words sank into me like warm honey, and my mouth went dry.

“You’re not playing fair.”

“Never claimed to.” His hand moved under my shirt, then higher until he cupped my bare breast. His finger circled my nipple with featherlight pressure. “I want to make you feel good.”