Page 11

Wyatt

I wish I could say Zane didn’t affect me. That after he stormed out of my room, slamming the front door behind him, I rolled over and went to sleep like it didn’t matter.

Except that would be a lie.

Instead, I lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling, my body thrumming with frustration. Five minutes passed—five long, excruciating minutes—before I finally accepted that he wasn’t coming back.

So I took matters into my own hands.

Reaching into my nightstand, I pulled out my vibrator, my fingers trembling slightly as I switched it on. The moment it pressed against me, I bit down on my lip, squeezing my eyes shut. It wasn’t the toy I wanted. It wasn’t my own hands I craved.

It was him.

His mouth on me. His hands pinning my hips down. His voice rasping in my ear, telling me how much he wanted to ruin me.

His scent still lingered in my sheets, and between that and the pent-up tension he’d left me with, it took no time at all before I shattered, back arching, his name caught on my lips.

When the group text came through the next day—an invite to Colter’s for a postgame celebration—I should’ve ignored it. I should’ve stayed in and tackled the mountain of homework I’d barely started.

But the second I saw Zane’s name in the thread, his three-word reply confirming he’d be there, I was up from my desk. No hesitation.

Homework and responsibilities forgotten as I rushed to the shower, standing under the hot water longer than necessary, like it could rinse away the memory of last night.

I told myself I was dressing casual—just a crop-top hoodie, distressed denim jeans, and my fleece booties—but the truth was, I still reached for my curling iron, running it through a few strands of hair. I still did my makeup, keeping it subtle but just enough to highlight my eyes.

I didn’t text him.

I thought about it—debated asking if he wanted to give me a ride—but I knew better.

If he hadn’t reached out first, it meant he wasn’t going to. And maybe that was a good thing.

Maybe I needed the distance.

The driveway is packed when I pull in, headlights bouncing off the sea of cars, my gaze instantly locking on Zane’s GTO parked in the grass beside Reed’s Mustang. He’d never risk parking where some drunk idiot could ding his car, which means he got here early—probably before half the people showed up.

I don’t know why that knowledge makes my stomach twist.

Shaking it off, I park at the edge of the property and climb out, the sound of music and conversation drifting from the backyard.

The girls are already gathered in the Adirondack chairs around the firepit, their laughter mingling with the crackle of burning wood. But my eyes drift past them, searching before I can stop myself.

Until I find him.

Farther back, near the bonfire barrel, he stands with Colter and Hayes, the orange glow casting shadows across his sharp jaw and broad shoulders.

His head tips back as he laughs at something Colter says, the deep, familiar sound cutting through the noise around me, sinking beneath my skin.

I inhale, gripping my keys a little tighter.

One night.

I can get through one night without falling back into whatever the hell this is.

At least, that’s what I tell myself as I start toward the firepit.

Zane’s gaze flicks toward Colter, who’s deep in conversation with Hayes, beer bottle in hand, his expression serious. The moment he realizes Colter isn’t paying attention, his eyes are back on me.

I feel it before I see it—the slow, unhurried way his gaze drags down my body, lingering just a little too long on the slivers of skin peeking between the rips in my jeans and the exposed strip of my stomach between my cropped hoodie and waistband.

He lifts his beer to his lips, his eyes never leaving mine as he takes a slow swig, the movement deliberate, like he’s daring me to look away first.

I don’t.

But my pulse betrays me, hammering in my throat as I close the distance to where the girls are sitting.

All the chairs are full, so Tatum shifts to the side, making room for me to perch on the armrest next to her.

“You look cute.” She smiles up at me. “You thirsty? We can grab you a drink.”

“What are you drinking?” I ask, trying—and failing—to keep my attention from drifting back toward Zane.

“Hallyn and Ava made jungle juice. There’s beer and some other stuff too, but I wasn’t really paying attention.”

I nod, and she pushes to her feet, linking her arm through mine as we head toward the house.

The second the back door closes behind us, muffling the bonfire sounds, my phone vibrates in my pocket.

Tatum is already crossing the kitchen, pulling out cups from the cabinet, when I slip it out to check who it’s from.

The name on the screen makes my stomach drop.

Zane.

I hesitate, my thumb hovering over the message, knowing damn well I shouldn’t care.

But that’s the thing about Zane. Even when I tell myself I don’t, I always do.

Zane: Where are you going?

I bite my lip, fighting the smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.

Glancing up to make sure Tatum isn’t paying attention, I quickly type out a reply. We’re getting drinks. Be right back.

We opt for jungle juice, the kind that tastes like candy but sneaks up on you if you’re not careful. After last night, I’m fine nursing just one cup. I want to be able to drive home even though I only live a few blocks away. I want just enough to loosen up.

Tatum clinks her cup against mine before we head back outside, where the crackling fire casts warm flickers of light across the yard. Reed’s setting up a few extra chairs around the firepit, and before I can pick a seat, Zane strides over and drops into the one directly across from me.

It’s intentional.

He leans back, legs spread, the flickering flames highlighting the sharp angles of his face. The stretched collar of his hoodie exposes the base of his throat, and when he lifts his drink to his lips, his gaze latches onto mine like he’s waiting for something.

I settle between Everly and Tatum, willing myself to focus on the conversation. The guys are talking about today’s game against the Kings—a rivalry that once ran deep before Hayes and Eric Osten finally buried the hatchet.

But my mind isn’t on football.

My phone vibrates in my lap.

My breath hitches, and when I glance up, Zane is sliding his phone back into his pocket, lifting his drink in silent command. Check it.

I drag my bottom lip between my teeth, my pulse kicking up as I pull out my phone.

Zane: I’m going to use the bathroom. Tell the girls you want to grab a blanket from your car and meet me around the side of the garage.

My eyes narrow as Zane pushes himself to stand, the firelight flickering across his sharp features. Without a word, he tosses his empty beer bottle into the recycling bin along the side of the house, then jogs up the steps and disappears inside.

I sit there, pretending to listen as Everly and Tatum vent about a professor who’s been a complete nightmare all semester. Everly is stressing over her grade while Tatum plots ways to turn the tables on him.

Feigning a shiver, I rub my hands up and down my arms. “I’ll be right back. Gonna grab the blanket I left in my trunk.”

Tatum’s brows knit together. “Want me to come with you?”

“No, no,” I rush out, maybe a little too quickly. “You stay. Keep chatting with Ev. I’ll be right back.”

She studies me for a beat before nodding, shifting to get more comfortable in her chair.

I leave my purse at her feet—another layer to sell my excuse—and slip my keys into my hoodie pocket, though I have no intention of going anywhere near my car.

Finishing the last sip of my jungle juice, I toss the cup in the garbage and round the side of the house, the cool night air tightening my skin. I barely make it a few steps down the driveway before a strong hand grips my forearm, yanking me back against a solid, familiar chest.

Zane.

I know it’s him before he even leans down, his breath warm against my ear.

“It’s me,” he murmurs, voice thick, rough.

His hand slides down, fingers threading through mine, and he doesn’t give me time to react before he tugs me across the driveway, leading me toward the far side of the garage. The shadows here are thicker, the only light coming from the moon and the distant glow of the bonfire.

There’s nothing over here. No people. No distractions. Just the stretch of trees lining the edge of the property, creating a perfect cover.

Zane doesn’t stop until my back is flush against the cool siding of the garage, the chill of it biting into my heated skin. I suck in a sharp breath through my teeth, but the sensation is quickly forgotten when his chest presses against mine, a solid wall of heat and muscle pinning me in place.

His fingers grip my chin, tilting my face up until I have no choice but to meet his gaze.

His eyes are dark. Hungry.

And when he speaks, his voice is pure gravel.

“What the hell are you doing to me, firecracker?”

The darkness cloaks us, but my eyes slowly adjust, tracing the hard lines of his face and the sharp cut of his jaw. His breath fans over my skin, warm and unsteady, and my own chest rises and falls in sync, anticipation coiling inside me like a tightly wound spring.

“Do you have any idea how hard it’s been to get you out of my head?” Each word is thick with frustration.

My heart stutters, pounding against my ribs. I shake my head, my breath catching in my throat.

His lips curve, but there’s no amusement in it. Only something darker, heavier. “Why does it feel like you get off on pushing my buttons?”

He leans in, dragging the bridge of his nose along my cheek, inhaling deeply like he’s trying to breathe me in, like he’s starved for something he shouldn’t want.

“Are you trying to drive me fucking crazy, Wy?”

“N-no.” The word barely makes it past my lips, shaky and unsure.

“I don’t believe you.”

His foot nudges between mine, tapping my boot, his silent demand clear. Without hesitation, I spread my legs, my body obeying him before my mind even catches up.

His hand slides down, the backs of his fingers grazing the front of my jeans, the heat of his touch searing through the denim.

“All night,” he murmurs, voice like gravel, “all I could think about was how hot your pussy felt against me. How badly I wanted to see how wet you were for me.”

I tip my head back, the cool siding biting against my scalp, my lashes fluttering shut as my body betrays me, aching for more.

“Does that turn you on, baby?” His voice dips lower, a whisper of sin against my ear. “Tell me—did you touch yourself after I left?”

“Oh God, Zane,” I moan, the sound spilling from my lips before I can stop it.

His hand tightens on my waist, his breath ragged. “That’s right, baby. It’s me.”

I swallow hard, my pulse hammering. He waits, his grip firm, his presence suffocating in the best way.

“Yes,” I confess, my cheeks burning. “I waited for you, hoping you’d change your mind and come back. When you didn’t…” My voice falters, my body trembling. “I couldn’t take it anymore.”

Zane groans, his forehead dropping against mine for half a second before he tilts his chin, his lips hovering over my cheek.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his palm flattening against the front of my jeans. “I can feel how hot you are through the denim.”

A whimper catches in my throat, my legs threatening to give out.

Why does he have to do this now? Here—when we’re only a couple hundred feet away from our friends? When the heat between us is suffocating, undeniable, and impossible to control?

Why not when I’m somewhere we could take our time and enjoy it?

“Turn around,” Zane orders, and without thinking, I do as he says.

It takes me a second to realize he’s dropped to his knees, but when he rakes his fingers up my thighs and grabs my ass, I moan again.

I want his hands all over me. Everywhere. I don’t want a single inch left untouched.

He reaches around, between me and the garage, and unbuttons my pants. I help him by unzipping them, earning me a “Good girl.”

When he tugs my pants down my thighs until they're at my ankles, I groan. His heated breath feathers along my cool skin, his fingers dragging up my inner thighs.

“Fuck,” he curses. “You’re soaked for me. Even your thighs are slick with how turned on you are.”

I bite my bottom lip hard enough to sting, muffling the moan threatening to spill from my mouth. My entire body is on fire, my knees threatening to buckle, but his strong grip keeps me steady.

He presses a kiss to my hip, his stubble scraping against my sensitive skin, sending a fresh wave of heat coursing through me.

“Lean over farther for me, firecracker. Arch your back and stick your ass out.”

He drags his teeth over my ass before he pulls my underwear down my legs, adding them to my jeans around my ankles. When he spreads my ass cheeks apart, my face heats again, only this time in embarrassment. It’s short-lived, though, because as quickly as my mind goes there, it’s gone. All I can think about is how Zane’s mouth is on me.

It's on my pussy, and it feels better than anything I’ve ever dreamed of.

He presses his hand down on my lower back, giving himself better access, and keeps my ass spread farther for him. His tongue moves with purpose—caressing my clit, dipping into me, then grazing lower, his breath hot as he circles the place no one’s touched before.

“Oh fuck yes,” I groan, earning me a low hum.

He moves lower to fuck me with his tongue again, adding his finger to brush lightly over my swollen bud.

My body moves on its own now, and I can’t stop it. I’ve never felt anything like this as I grind my pussy against Zane’s face.

“Come for me, baby,” he murmurs, pulling back to shove his finger inside me. “Oh fuck, you’re so tight. Holy fuck,” he rattles off, biting down on my ass cheek as he adds a second finger along with his thumb, continuing their assault on me.

I can hear the distinct sound of a belt buckle, followed by a zipper, and all I can picture is him jerking off as he fucks me with his long fingers. The visual sends stars dancing in my vision, and before long, my release crashes through me. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt, causing me to tremble to the point I’m worried I’m about to collapse on the ground right before Zane’s strong arm bands around my waist.

He quickly stands, pressing his mouth against my cheek, and orders me to press my legs together.

It takes me a minute to realize what he’s doing, but once he starts to move, there’s no mistaking the glide of his dick between my thighs.

Oh fuck, he’s using my arousal to slide between my legs. He’s fucking my thighs.

He wraps his hand around my throat, tilting my head back until it’s leaned against his shoulder.

“Kiss me,” he orders, and I turn my head, pressing my lips against him.

My scent, my taste is on his lips, and it unleashes something inside me that I don’t think I’ve ever felt before.

Biting on his lip, he groans, his fingers tightening on my throat. Rocking my hips back to meet his, I add friction to where he slides between my legs, over my pussy lips.

He kisses me again before pressing his mouth against my ear.

“I better never hear another word about me not being into you and these incredible curves. You hear me, firecracker? Our first time together, the first time I’ve ever felt this sweet pussy on my dick, I want my dick to get off from sliding between these beautiful fucking thighs. The next time we’re together, I’ll have you wrap them around my face while I devour you. You hear me?”

Next time?

I can’t say anything. I’m completely at his mercy. I’ll say or do anything he wants.

“Yes—God, yes. Anything. I’m yours.”

A deep, guttural sound rumbles from his chest, his grip tightening. My breath catches. “Damn right, you are,” he growls. “Say it again.”

“I’m yours, Zane,” I whisper, my voice trembling with truth. “I’ve always been yours.”

Before I can even process what’s happening, his hands are everywhere—dragging up my thighs, gripping my hips, keeping me steady as if he knows I’m seconds away from falling apart. His fingers stroke through my slick heat, his touch both teasing and possessive, like he’s claiming every inch of me.

“Fuck,” he rasps, his voice strained as he increases his thrusts between my thighs. “You feel so good.”

My breath catches when he brushes his finger over my swollen bud, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure up my spine. My body responds instantly, hips rolling against his touch, chasing the friction I so desperately need.

“Zane—” His name leaves my lips in a breathless moan, and I swear I feel his whole body tense, like hearing me like this is wrecking him just as much as he’s wrecking me.

He leans in, burying his face in my neck, his heavy breath uneven. “You drive me fuckin’ crazy, you know that?”

I don’t answer. I can’t.

Not when his fingers coax me closer to the edge.

Not when his body trembles against mine, like he’s fighting just as hard to hold on.

I don’t care about anything else at this moment.

Not where we are. Not who could find us.

All that matters is this—us—both of us coming undone, piece by piece.

Zane keeps me pinned against the garage, his body still pressing into mine as I struggle to catch my breath. My heart is pounding, my limbs weak, my mind hazy with the aftershocks of what we just did.

Slowly, he steps back, tucking himself into his jeans, but his gaze stays locked on me, his expression unreadable. I’m still bracing myself against the wall, wondering how the hell I’m supposed to walk back to the party with the evidence of him still slick on my thighs when he suddenly drops to his knees behind me again.

A sharp inhale catches in my throat.

I shudder as his hand slides up my leg, his fingers dragging through the wetness still coating my skin. His slow touch is deliberate. It’s like he’s memorizing every inch of me all over again. My thighs twitch when his fingers brush my entrance, slipping inside me once more, curling deep like he’s unwilling to let me go just yet.

A soft whimper escapes me, my body instinctively arching toward him. I should say something. Should stop him.

But I don’t.

And when he stands, his chest pressing into my back again, his voice is a low rasp against my ear. “Open your mouth, firecracker.”

I do.

The moment his fingers slide past my lips, a quiet moan hums in my throat. I taste him. I taste us. My tongue flicks against his skin, teasing and savoring, and the deep groan he lets out sends a thrill straight through me.

“Fuck, that’s my good girl.” His praise is rough and barely restrained.

I should feel self-conscious or embarrassed. Instead, heat pools low in my stomach at the raw possession in his voice.

Before I can even think to respond, I feel something soft brush between my legs. My breath hitches. It takes me a second to realize what he’s doing.

He’s wiping me clean.

My throat tightens, and for the first time tonight, I’m left speechless. Zane doesn’t take care of people. He doesn’t look after anyone—not like this.

Yet here he is, moving with quiet precision, making sure I’m okay.

He finishes by tugging my panties back up, his fingers brushing along my hips before helping me button my jeans. His touch lingers for just a second longer than necessary before he pulls away and tosses the towel into a bin near the front of the house.

He straightens, his eyes dark and unreadable as he steps in close again.

“Meet me at my place after you leave.”

It’s not a request.

And we both know better.

Because when have I ever been able to turn down Zane?