Page 62 of Heart Breaker

I reach over to the nightstand to dig out a condom, ripping open the foil with my teeth. Then while Lottie watches me with wide, vivid eyes, I roll on the condom and line myself up.

“Are you ready?” I ask, giving her one last chance to stop this before I fuck her into oblivion.

“I can handle your big cock if that’s what you’re worried about.”

I laugh, sitting back on my knees between her legs, taking my cock in hand, teasing her with the tip. “Oh, Lottie, you’re asking for it.”

Every inch through her wetness leaves me desperate for more of her. By the time I’m halfway in, I’m starting to lose control. My pulse pounds so hard I can hear it in my ears, every nerve ending feeling electrified, pleasure crackling beneath my skin and spreading through me with every passing second. I pause to give her time to adjust to my size before easing forward a little more. It shouldn’t feel this good with someone I’m faking a relationship with— a woman who’s walked into my life and rearranged every piece of it—but it does.

“You fit me perfectly, Lottie,” I groan, my gaze on her. This is what I’ve been aching for: Lottie underneath me, taking me the way I’ve ached to give it to her. The sounds we’re both making with every stroke of my cock into her wetness are obscene, turning me on even more.

“You’re so fucking wet for me, Lottie. Do you know how good that feels?” I’m already so fucking close, trying to hold on. “You make me so hard. I’m not going to last with you clenching my cock like that.”

“Your mouth is filthy,” she pants.

“And you like it. Just admit it.” I power into her, holding her hips, whispering praise against her skin. She’s my wife. She’s so perfect. She’s so wet and so tight. I tell her how good she is for me, how much I want her to let go, and how loud I want to hear her scream.

“Yes, Wes,” she whispers, tilting her head back as my mouth finds her neck and my hand traces the curve of her ribcage to the hem of her shirt. When I slip my hand underneath, squeezing her breast, she goes still.

The change is immediate. One second, she’s lost in the moment and the next her hand is wrapped around my wrist, stopping me. The moment breaks enough for me to look at her. Lottie’s eyes find mine, and suddenly I understand.

I feel that look all the way down to my bones.

Her scar.

Her emerald-green eyes flash with vulnerability and silent worry, and it wrecks me.

A dull ache settles in my chest—not because she stopped me— but because she looks braced for disappointment. Like she’s waiting for me to react. I don’t. I simply hold her gaze and let my hand fall away from the fabric. I cup her jaw instead. The relief in her eyes is brief but I know her well enough by now to catch it. She doesn’t owe me an explanation, and she definitely doesn’t owe me a part of herself she isn’t ready to share.

I lean in to kiss her, slowly, showing her that I’m still here and I’m not going anywhere. I want her to know that whatever she’s seeing when she looks at herself isn’t what I see. Maybe if I’m careful enough, she’ll start to believe it too.

“No pressure,” I say quietly. “No pressure ever. Okay? You never have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

She nods, and my heart squeezes quick and warm in my chest before I deepen the kiss until it’s just her mouth, my tongue, and the soft sounds I urge out of her.

Everything I’ve ever felt for another woman seems muted in comparison to this. Nothing comes close to the force pulling me toward Lottie. The intensity of it catches me off guard.

My eyes close for a second as something deep inside my chest gives way. For months, I’ve been fighting this. Fighting her. Fighting myself. And suddenly, I don’t remember why. I drag her closer, holding her. We both let out a broken sound as the distance between us disappears.

I stay there, forehead pressed to hers, trying and failing to get my breathing under control as she clings to me just as tightly. For one perfect moment, the rest of the world ceases to exist.

She keeps saying my name, the sound growing more desperate as she moves with abandon, chasing the feeling building inside her. I give her exactly what she’s asking for. The rhythm between us turning relentless, and I lose track of everything except her.

I roll her clit with my thumb, wanting her to ignite for me. My focus narrows until she’s the only thing left in the room. The only thing that matters. Every muscle in my body strains with the effort of holding on, of staying in control when every instinct in me demands that I let go.

Not yet.

I grit my teeth and force myself to wait just a little longer. Give her this. Give her everything. Whatever I have, it’s hers.

The intensity builds beneath my skin, growing hotter and harder to ignore with every passing second. It’s messy and all-consuming and far more emotional than I’m prepared for because this isn’t just physical. With her, it’s more. And somehow that makes it a thousand times worse and a thousand times better all at once.

I tell her she’s beautiful, that she’s unlike anyone I’ve ever known, that she’s completely ruined me. I don’t know if she hears it over the sounds between us in this room—frantic, breathless, completely lost in each other.

Then she tightens around me, coming in a burst of moans. I watch as she comes apart, her entire body giving in to her pleasure.

Her arms buckle and she collapses back against the mattress, unable to keep going any longer. The sight is devastating. Beautiful. Mine. It hits me like a physical force. I know right then that this is a moment I’ll remember forever—the kind that will replay in my head at the most inconvenient moments for the rest of my life.

I grip her hip harder than I mean to, overwhelmed by the force of what she’s doing to me. Then the pleasure hits. It hits again and again, each wave stronger than the last. My jaw clenches as I fight for control, every muscle in my body straining to hold on for just a little longer.