Page 109 of Wild Card 13

He pulled back—not from me, but to reach across the cab, his body shifting under mine. The bench seat creaked, and I felt his bare chest brush my arm as he stretched toward the glovebox. His fingers fumbled with the latch—once, twice—and the plastic click of it opening cut through the silence like a gunshot. I heard him root through the contents, the rustle of papers, the slide of something small and foil-wrapped.

He came back to me with both hands. One settled on my hip, thumb pressing into the jut of bone. The other held the square of foil between two fingers, and I felt him raise it between us—an offering I couldn't see but knew by feel when the edge of it brushed my thigh.

His forehead dropped to mine, and I felt the shudder run through his whole body. The foil crinkled as he shifted it to his mouth, tearing it open with his teeth—an unpracticed motion, shaky and uncertain. I heard him spit the corner away, heard the wet sound of him rolling the latex down over himself.

Strong hands found my hips again. Guided me forward, a slow inch, until the head of him pressed against the inside of my thigh, the denim still separating us. He paused, his breath was ragged, his forehead still pressed to mine.

I lifted my hips, reached down between us, and unbuttoned my jeans. The denim loosened, and I pushed them down over my hips just enough—a frantic, clumsy motion, my knuckles brushing his stomach, his thigh, the latex-wrapped length of him. I heard his sharp inhale as my fingers grazed him.

I rose on my knees, positioned myself over him, and felt hishands tighten on my waist—not guiding, not controlling. Anchoring. Steadying himself as much as me.

The tip of him found me, and the contact was electric—a brief pressure, a promise, the barest edge of entry. I hovered there, trembling.

He said my name once more. A whisper. His thumbs traced small circles on my hipbones, and I felt the restraint in every muscle of his body, the way he held himself absolutely still beneath me, waiting.

I sank down.

The stretch was a shock—a fullness that stole my breath, made my vision white at the edges. I felt him pulse inside me, felt his hands fly to my hips, gripping almost hard enough to bruise.

A sound left his throat, low and broken, a wordless surrender that vibrated through his chest and into mine. The dark pressed in around us, the only reality the heat of him filling me, the ache of the stretch, the tremble in his fingers as he held me suspended over him.

We breathed together in the black, his forehead against mine, his chest rising and falling against my bare skin. The lake lapped somewhere beyond the glass, the stars turned, and I felt him slowly, carefully, press a kiss to my shoulder—soft, reverent, like I was something holy.

"I love you," he whispered against my skin. The words landed raw and unguarded, scraped clean of pretense. "I've loved you since I was fifteen years old and you laughed at a joke that wasn't actually funny. I've loved you through every game, every bus ride, every time I told myself to shut up and say it." His voice cracked. "I love you, Lucy."

I pressed my forehead to his, the tears I hadn't noticed brimming over, hot on my cheeks.

I couldn't speak.

I moved instead—a slow roll of my hips, a shift that made him gasp, that made his fingers dig into my waist. The motion was tentative at first, learning the rhythm of him in the dark, but his hands found my face, his thumbs brushing the tears away, and the tenderness in that gesture undid me.

Ty moved with me, matching my pace, his hands sliding frommy face to my back, pulling me closer, closer, until there was no space left between us.

He buried his face in my hair and said my name again, broken, and I felt the wave cresting in him, the tension pulling taut.

I met him there, rising to meet that edge, my legs tightening around his hips, my breath catching against his ear.

We were a single note held too long, trembling on the brink—then we broke together, a shudder that ran through him and into me, his cry swallowed by my mouth, my own gasp lost in the salt of his skin.

The heat of him flooded me, and I felt myself clench around him, a pulse that echoed his, and his arms wrapped around me and held me like I was the only solid thing left in a dark world.

I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and held him as he trembled, as his breathing slowly steadied against my collarbone.

His hand slid up my spine, fingers threading through my hair, and we stayed there, locked in the quiet aftermath, the cab a cocoon of heat and whispered breath and the soft creak of the bench beneath us.

Tucking me into his side, Ty brushed a loose curl behind my ear.

I let out a slow, delighted breath. “I love you, too, Ty.”

“Good way to end your birthday?” Ty teased, his signature jovial levity returning slowly.

“Best eighteenth birthday ever,” I breathed.

CHAPTER 14

LUCY

NOW – MONTHS LATER