Page 74 of Wild Card 13

Her forehead dropped to my shoulder, her breath hot against my neck, and she whispered something I couldn't hear, something I didn't need to hear. Her hips rolled against my hand, and I watched her come apart against my fingers, watched the tension in her shoulders, the way her mouth fell open, the way she said my name—broken, desperate, like it was the only word she remembered.

Her hand grabbed my shoulder, shoved hard. The bed caught me before I understood what was happening—my back hit the mattress, the springs groaning under the sudden weight. I blinked up at her, and she was already moving, climbing over me on hands and knees, her auburn hair swinging forward to brush against my bare chest. The lamp light painted her in gold and shadow, and I watched her settle her thighs on either side of my hips, her bare cunt pressing against the rough denim I was still half-trapped in.

She was looking down at me with those dark brown eyes, her glasses slightly askew, and there was a stillness to her that hadn't been there before—a quiet control that made my breath catch. She reached down, fingers closing around my cock still slick from her mouth, and guided the head to her entrance. Just rested it there, the tip barely touching her wet heat, not pushing. Waiting.

"If we're doing this, we do it my way." Her voice was low, steady, stripped of the tremor from a moment ago. "Don’t make this soft."

And before I could answer, before I could even breathe, she grabbed my wrists and pinned them against the pillow above my head. Her grip was surprisingly strong—the same hands that held my hair, that dug into my thighs—and she squeezed, a warning, a claim.

"Lucy?" I didn't know what I was asking—permission, explanation, mercy. The name came out raw, scraped of all the easy charm I'd carried since I was a kid. She didn't answer. She just adjusted her grip on my wrists, dug her knees into the mattress, and lowered herself onto me.

The head of my cock pushed into her, slow, deliberate, and I feltevery millimeter of the stretch, the heat, the way her body opened around me like it remembered. Her jaw tightened. Her breath hissed through her teeth. She didn't close her eyes—she kept them fixed on mine, watching me watch her take me inside her, and the control in her gaze was the sexiest thing I'd ever seen.

She sank lower. My hips tried to buck against her, to drive deeper, but I was pinned, helpless under her weight and her grip. She took me inch by inch, her cunt clenching around me, her thighs trembling with the effort of control. When she was fully seated, when her hips pressed against mine and I was buried inside her to the hilt, she held there. Her chest rose and fell fast. The only sound was our breathing, ragged and loud in the quiet room.

"Don't move." The command was quiet, almost a whisper, but it cut through me like a blade. She held my gaze, her brown eyes dark and unreadable behind the smudged lenses. Her grip on my wrists tightened, and I felt her adjust, felt the tiny shift of her hips that sent a shock of pleasure through my whole body. Her lips parted, a barely controlled exhale. She was testing herself, testing me, seeing how long she could hold this moment before she broke.

I didn't move. I didn't breathe. My cock throbbed inside her, her heat wrapped around me, and I felt the pulse of her blood, the slick grip of her walls. She was so wet I could feel it leaking down my shaft, pooling against her thighs. Her glasses had slipped further down her nose, and I wanted to push them up, wanted to touch her face, but my wrists were in her hands and her command was a wall I couldn't climb.

She leaned forward, just a fraction, and her forehead touched mine. Her breath ghosted across my lips, and I saw the crack in her composure—the tiny tremble at the corner of her mouth, the way her eyes had gone glassy. She held me trapped beneath her, inside her, and she didn't say a word. The silence was louder than any sound we'd made tonight, and I knew, with a certainty that settled in my bones, that nothing would ever be the same after this.

CHAPTER 9

LUCY

NOW

The first thing I noticed was that every muscle in my body felt pleasantly heavy. Not sore. Just used.

As if I had spent the entire night forgetting how to hold myself together.

I frowned before I even opened my eyes.

The pillow beneath my cheek didn't smell like the lavender detergent I'd been using since college. It smelled warm. Clean. Familiar in a way that tugged at something buried deep in my chest.

Cedar.

Soap.

Ty.

My eyes snapped open.

Soft morning light filtered around the edges of the blackout curtains, turning the hotel room into a muted haze of gray and gold. The television was off. The air conditioner hummed quietly beneath the window.

The other side of the bed was empty.

My heartbeat stumbled.

No, no, no.Please let last night have been the most vivid, wildly inappropriate dream my subconscious had ever manufactured.

I squeezed my eyes shut again. Maybe if I waited another second...

The electronic lock clicked. The sound sliced through every hopeful thought in my head.

The door opened. Ty stepped inside carrying two paper coffee cups in one hand and a small white bakery bag in the other. His hair was still damp from a shower, curling slightly at the ends. He'd traded yesterday's team-issued polo for a faded charcoal Frosthawks hoodie and dark joggers, looking unfairly relaxed for someone who had apparently just detonated my emotional stability.

He stopped the second he saw me sitting upright. "Oh." A smile spread across his face before he could stop it. Soft. Genuine. Sleep still lingering around the edges. "You're awake."