Page 117 of Scoring Lessons

His rough fingers reached for my center again, and his touch was firm, and oh, so good. Every thrust, and every brush, I felt on the tip of my fingers. The tips of my toes. My body burned, and I loved it.

“More,” I moaned. “Harder.”

“Olivia,” he moaned against my ear.

Our breaths were choppy. Our skin slick with sweat.

“Make me come, Wesley,” I cried out, the plea in my voice raw, desperate.

He fisted my hair, pulling it until I could meet his stare. “Say it one more time.”

He didn’t need to specify. I could see the possessiveness in his dark irises. I could hear the urgency in his voice.

“It’s you,” I cried out. “You’re the only one.” Even in the heat of the moment, I’d meant every single word. And I hope he knew that.

“Good.” Thrust. “Fucking.” Thrust. “Girl.” Thrust. His smile was so ever blinding. Pure bliss danced in his gaze.

My pussy clenched at his words.

“You look so damn beautiful like this.” His grip on my hair tightened. “With rosy cheeks and full of my cock.” His fingers picked up the pace as well as his thrusts. “So needy and eager to come.”

I arched my back and parted my lips in a loud cry. But even then, my eyes remained on him. When he hit that spot I loved one last time, my body quivered. My vision blurred when my orgasm hit me out of nowhere. Millions of fireworks exploded inside my body. Every nerve ending buzzed. It was too much, too fast, and better than I’d ever imagined.

His fingers continued to brush lazy circles around my clit. “So pretty,” he said, his lips resting against the side of my damp forehead. “Can you give me one more?”

“I can’t,” I cried out, my legs shaking.

“I know you can do it, Livvie girl.” His words were gruff like gravel. “I need it, baby. Milk my cock like I know you can.” His tone turned pleading as he pinched my clit slightly, just barely, and that was all it took for a second blinding orgasm to take over me.

“Fuck, yes,” he growled against my ear. He continued to push into me, but there was no rhyme or reason to his movements anymore as he chased his own orgasm. He thrust once, maybe twice more, then wrapped an arm around my lower belly as his whole body tensed and his cock swelled and spilled inside of me.

When our orgasms subsided, he slid out of me and kept his hold steady on me. I rested the back of my head on his shoulder as we both tried to catch our breaths.

“Let’s get you in the bath,” he said, dropping a kiss on the side of my head.

I only hummed, still too stunned with what had transpired to say anything.

The bathwater was still warm, and the lavender from the soap mixed with the scent of Wesley and settled over me. He had his arms wrapped around me from behind, and I relaxed in his hold as he moved his fingers slowly up and down my arm.

“I’ve been dying to ask about this for months,” he said quietly, tracing the outline of my butterfly tattoo.

I’d looked at it so many times that it had become part of the landscape of myself, something I stopped seeing. But under his thumb, it felt deliberate again. Like the day I’d gotten it.

“I got it a month or so after I broke up with Jack.”

His arms tightened around me at the sound of my ex’s name.

I sighed. “For the first time in a long time, I felt free. And I wanted to remember that feeling, even if I also felt like I was starting from scratch.”

The steam moved around us, and the water shifted with my breathing.

God. Was I about to do this? Was I going to let Wesley know the truth?

When I didn’t continue, he dropped a kiss on my shoulder. “We don’t have to talk about it.”

“No.” The word came out before I’d fully decided. “I want to.” I looked at the tattoo again, his thumb still resting against it.

The key fob for the hotel door wasn’t working.