Page 12

Zane

It takes everything in me to keep my cool, to walk back into the party like nothing happened.

Like I didn’t just have Wyatt in the palm of my hands, unraveling beneath me. Like my whole world didn’t shift in the span of a few stolen minutes against the side of that garage.

But no matter how much I tried to play it off, I could feel the weight of it pressing down on me—an unshakable certainty that everything I thought I knew, everything I had planned for my future, was no longer set in stone.

Because now, I can’t stop seeing her in it.

I’ve spent years convincing myself it wasn’t possible. That I couldn’t have her. That I shouldn’t want her. But the second I let myself give in, every excuse, every carefully constructed wall I’ve built crumbled around me. And now, the only thing that matters is her.

Wyatt.

I watch as she grabs her blanket from the car, weaving her way back to our friends with the kind of practiced ease that almost made me believe she wasn’t affected.

Except I catch the way her hands tremble slightly as she tucks the blanket around her shoulders. The way she fidgets with the hem, avoiding my eyes. And when she makes up some excuse about getting a phone call from her mom, I don’t call her on it—I just let her have the out.

By the time I come back outside with another drink for her, she’s settled back into her chair, laughing at something Tatum said.

I wasn’t sure if she wanted more jungle juice, but I wouldn’t let her drive home anyway. If she wants another drink, I’ll make sure she has one, and when the night ends, I’ll make sure she gets home safe.

When I hand her the cup, she tilts her head back against the chair and just… looks at me.

Like she’s seeing me for the first time.

The weight of her gaze sends something sharp and electric racing through my chest, tightening my grip around my beer bottle. I can feel Tatum watching too, flicking her gaze between us before finally clearing her throat.

“When you’re ready to leave, I’ll take you home,” I murmur. It’s not a question. We both know that.

Wyatt blinks once, then takes a slow sip of her drink. “Okay.”

We stay for another hour, long enough for the party to start winding down, for Hayes to disappear inside with Everly, and for Reed and Tatum to start making noises about heading in too.

Wyatt yawns, and her eyes flick to mine—just for a second, but it’s enough.

I don’t hesitate. “I’m gonna head out,” I announce, stretching like it’s just a casual decision. “You ready?”

She doesn’t argue. Just nods once before standing and tugging her blanket tighter around her shoulders.

Colter barely notices as we left. He knows I only had one beer, and as far as he’s concerned, I’m doing him a favor by making sure Wyatt gets home safe.

If only he knew the truth.

The drive back is quiet, the road stretching dark and endless before us. My hand rests on her thigh, a quiet claim, a silent reassurance.

After a few minutes, she slides her hand over mine, threading our fingers together.

I exhale through my nose, tightening my grip.

The moment we pull into the driveway, I glance over at the main house. Empty. Myla is out of town in Tennessee for her game tomorrow, and Dad flew out after the Hornets matchup against the Bulls.

It’s just us.

And for the first time in a long time, it doesn’t feel like something I have to fight.

I didn’t watch the game, but I caught the score—Hornets took the win in overtime. Another victory, another step closer to the playoffs.

It doesn’t matter much to me right now. Not with Wyatt sitting beside me, her fingers still loosely curled around mine, her warmth seeping into my skin.

Pulling up in front of the guesthouse, I kill the engine and glance over at her. She’s watching me, waiting. There’s a quiet anticipation between us, heavy and unspoken.

“You wanna stay with me?” I murmur.

She doesn’t hesitate. Just gives a small nod, like she knows exactly what I’m asking and doesn’t need to think twice about it.

“All right then.” I smirk, pushing open my door. “Hang tight. I’ll get yours.”

I move around the car, and the second I open her door, her hand finds mine again, fingers lacing through mine like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like we’ve always fit this way.

Inside, the warm glow of the lamp in the corner casts soft shadows across the room. The guesthouse is more like a studio apartment—open and cozy. A half wall separates the bedroom from the living space, and the far wall is all windows, looking out over the pool and hot tub.

I hit a button on the wall, and the automatic curtains glide shut, closing us off from the outside world.

When I turn back to Wyatt, she’s smiling softly, pressing her lips together like she’s trying to hold it back, but it only makes her dimples more pronounced.

Something tightens in my chest.

Reaching up, I trace my thumb along her cheek, and she leans into my touch, her breath shaky.

“Am I dreaming, or is this really happening?” she murmurs.

I smirk, brushing my fingers through the strands of hair framing her face. “You’re not dreaming. This is real.”

She exhales a slow breath, closing her eyes for a moment before opening them again, like she’s grounding herself in the reality of this. Of us.

“I guess it’s just hard to believe I’m here,” she admits.

A war wages inside me—this deep, aching urge to tell her I’ve wanted her here for years. That no matter how much I fought it, she’s always been the one thing I could never get out of my head. But I don’t know if it’s the right thing to say, not with how things ended between us before.

Not when I can still see the uncertainty in her eyes, the hesitation that says she’s not sure she can trust this—trust me.

“What’s that look for?” she asks, searching my face. “What’s wrong?”

I shake my head. “Nothing’s wrong. It’s perfect. You’re here, and I couldn’t be happier.”

She studies me, eyes flickering across my face like she’s trying to find any trace of a lie.

“You really mean it?” she asks softly.

I nod, squeezing her hand. “Of course I do. If you think tonight didn’t mean anything to me, you’re wrong.”

Her breath catches, and all she says is, “Okay.”

Like she wants to believe it. Like maybe she does—but she’s still afraid.

And I get it.

One night doesn’t erase the past. It doesn’t undo the way I hurt her. It doesn’t prove that I won’t let this—let her—slip through my fingers again.

It’s going to take more than words. More than one night.

I don’t know how to tell her or explain that I don’t even have the words for what this is—what it’s always been.

Instead, I do the only thing that makes sense.

“C’mere,” I murmur, tugging her closer, hoping like hell she’ll let me show her.

She presses a hand against my chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt, but she doesn’t push me away. I grip her chin, tilting her head up until her lips are just a breath away from mine.

Her eyes flutter closed, anticipation humming between us, but I don’t move right away. I watch her, soaking in the way her breathing shifts, the way she leans in, the way she’s waiting for me to close the distance.

Then, finally, I do.

The kiss is slow at first, deliberate. A moment stretched thin with the weight of everything we’ve never said, everything we’ve never done. But when she fists the front of my shirt, holding me there, something snaps. My hands tangle in her hair, dragging her closer, desperate for more—more of her, more of this, more of us.

I bend down, gripping the backs of her thighs, and she lets out a startled screech as I lift her into my arms. Instinct kicks in, and she wraps her arms around my neck, breath warm against my skin.

The last time I carried her like this, she was three sheets to the wind, so her memories of it are probably a bit blurry.

“What the hell, Zane?” she gasps, her laughter breathy, her eyes flickering with something between excitement and disbelief. “What are you doing?”

I grin, pressing my nose to the crook of her neck, inhaling her soft, familiar scent. “Taking you to my bed.”

The words settle between us, weighty, unspoken things lingering beneath them. But she doesn’t protest.

When I step into the room, I drop her onto the edge of the mattress, and she bounces once before collapsing back with an exaggerated harrumph.

She props herself up on her elbows, watching as I kneel in front of her, hands already reaching for the button of her jeans.

Her breath catches. “Zane?”

There’s something in her voice—hesitation, nerves. It’s not fear, but it’s something, and I don’t miss the way she presses her knees together like she’s suddenly hyperaware of how much I can see.

I hate that she might be second-guessing herself with me.

“Wyatt.” My voice is softer now, steady as I slide my hands up her thighs, fingers grazing the denim. “You know you can tell me to stop at any time, right?”

She swallows hard, eyes searching mine, but she doesn’t say anything.

She lifts her hips, letting me ease her jeans down her legs. It’s only when the denim falls away—and the shadows shift just enough—that I realize what I missed in the dark. Black lace. Barely there. My breath hitches.

She shifts, pressing her thighs together again like she wants to hide, but I don’t let her.

Reaching for her hand, I pull her up, guiding her to sit up as I grab the hem of her sweatshirt and tug it over her head. She lets me, her breath coming quicker now, and the moment she’s bare before me, she whimpers, tilting her head back.

“Zane,” she moans, the sound wrecking me from the inside out.

The sweatshirt lands somewhere on the floor, forgotten, and I waste no time pulling off my hoodie and kicking off my shoes. There’s no hesitation now, just the heavy weight of everything we’ve been holding back pressing down on us.

“I know this might feel like things are moving too fast,” I murmur, searching her eyes. “And maybe they are. If you want to slow down, just say the word.”

She huffs out a small laugh, shaking her head. “Are you serious? You think this is moving too fast?”

I rub the back of my neck, smirking. “I mean… kinda?”

She gives me a look—one that’s warm and amused and so deeply Wyatt that my stomach clenches. “Zane. I’ve been waiting for this since I was in seventh grade.”

I raise a brow, tilting my head. “Seventh grade?”

Her cheeks flush, but she doesn’t look away. Instead, she squares her shoulders and blurts, “Since I watched Road House .”

I bark out a laugh, shaking my head. “Oh, so that’s where the Patrick Swayze obsession comes from.”

“If it wasn’t Road House , it was Dirty Dancing .” She shrugs, feigning innocence, but the pink on her cheeks gives her away. “What can I say? I had a type.”

I grin, closing the distance between us, my hands finding her hips as I murmur against her lips, “And what? You think I fit the mold?”

She exhales, her breath shaky as she tilts her head up to meet my gaze. “I think you ruined it for everyone else.”

Damn.

I crash my mouth against hers, and just like that—I’m gone.

“It was the whole forbidden thing,” she admits with a soft smile, her eyes glimmering with something I can’t quite place.

I grip her ankle and tug her toward me, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss against the delicate skin of her inner ankle. She shivers beneath my touch, and I smirk, dragging my lips higher.

“So you don’t think this is moving too fast?” I murmur against her skin, my breath teasing her.

She shakes her head, biting down on her lip as her gaze flicks to my jeans. Her chest rises and falls in uneven breaths, anticipation thick in the air between us. Holding her heel against my chest, I reach for my button and zipper, shoving my jeans down my legs until they pool at my feet, leaving me in nothing but my boxer briefs and the heavy weight of my desire for her.

“Take off your bra, firecracker,” I rasp. “Let me see you.”

She exhales a shaky breath, then nods, fingers reaching between her chest to unhook the clasp. The straps slide from her shoulders, and the second her breasts spill free, my grip tightens around my length through the cotton.

She shifts, rubbing her thighs together, and I growl low in my throat, knowing exactly what she’s doing.

“Open your legs,” I command, my voice rough, my control slipping. “Are you wet for me?”

Her hands instinctively move to cover her chest, but she nods, slowly letting one foot drop to the mattress, parting her thighs just enough to send my blood rushing south.

My gaze drags over her, taking in the white stretch marks along her hips and inner thighs, and the soft, luscious curves that make my mouth water. If she’s self-conscious about them, I’ll take my time proving to her just how fucking beautiful she is.

I drop to my knees, pressing a trail of open-mouthed kisses along her calf, up the side of her knee, and higher, teasing the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.

When I reach her core, I press my mouth to the top of her mound and inhale deeply, letting her scent consume me.

She groans, flinging an arm over her face like she can’t handle the way I’m unraveling her. “Oh God,” she exhales. “Zane, what are you doing?”

I smirk against her skin, letting my fingers trace over the places my mouth will soon follow.

“Memorizing you,” I murmur. “Because after tonight, nothing will ever be the same.”

The second my tongue flicks against her, I groan, the taste of her lighting a fire deep in my gut. I drag my tongue up her folds, slow and purposeful, savoring every inch of her.

“Oh fuck,” she whines, her voice breathless, her fingers twisting in the sheets. “More, Zane. I need more.”

I press an open-mouthed kiss against her, letting my breath tease her slick heat. “Touch your nipples for me, baby,” I murmur against her skin, my voice low and rough. “Show me how bad you want it.”

A shudder rolls through her as she brings a finger to her lips, slipping it into her mouth before trailing it down to her breast. She tweaks her nipple, rolling it between her fingertips, her back arching at the sensation.

A deep hum of approval rumbles in my chest. “That’s it, firecracker.”

Sliding her panties to the side, I reveal the glistening heat waiting for me. My fingers skim through her wetness, teasing, exploring. I ease one inside her, and she gasps, her body tightening in response.

“Please…” Her hips lift off the bed, searching for more.

I turn my wrist, adding a second finger, curling them to find the spot that has her thighs trembling around my head. She moans, her body writhing, her hands gripping the sheets like she’s barely holding on.

When I withdraw, her arousal coats my fingers, slick and warm. I drag it over her folds, up to her clit, circling the swollen bud before pushing back inside her, this time pressing my thumb against her clit in slow, calculated movements.

Her breath hitches, and she moves against my hand, chasing the pleasure I’m giving her. But I’m not done.

I pull away completely, ignoring her sharp intake of protest, and shove my boxer briefs off, climbing over her. With one arm beneath her, I lift her, guiding her higher onto the bed until her head rests against the pillows.

My mouth hovers above hers, and I watch her through half-lidded eyes, my lips curving into a smirk.

“Now,” I murmur, pressing my body against hers, letting her feel exactly what she’s done to me. “Let’s see just how much more you can take.”

I fold her body beneath me, one leg wrapped around my hip, the other draped over my shoulder, completely open for me. My cock throbs at her entrance, slick and ready, but the second I press forward, reality slams into me.

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath, dropping my forehead against hers. “I forgot a condom.”

Wyatt blinks up at me, her breath hitching. “Wh-what?” She shakes her head, her fingers tightening against my back. “You forgot until now?”

I exhale sharply, dragging my hand over my jaw. “I haven’t needed to keep them around. It’s been a while.”

Something shifts in her expression, her lips pressing together like she’s fighting a smile. I narrow my eyes, then swat her ass.

A yelp turns into laughter, the sound bubbling between us. “You can’t be mad at me for being happy about that, okay?”

I roll my eyes, reaching between us, dragging my fist over my length, still slick with her arousal. It takes her a second to realize what I’m doing, but when she does, her breathing changes, hitching in her throat.

“Zane…” she hums, arching slightly, pressing her wet heat against me. “It’s okay… if you don’t want to use one, I mean.” She lifts her arm, brushing her fingertips over the inside of her bicep. “I’m on birth control. The implant. So I don’t have to worry about forgetting to take a pill or anything like that.”

I pause, my grip tightening at her hip. “Are you sure?” My rough voice is barely above a growl.

Instead of answering, she tilts her hips, her legs wrapping tighter around me, coaxing me forward. “What do you mean, am I sure?” She slides her arms around my neck, pulling me down until our lips brush. “Of course, I’m sure.”

I deepen the kiss, pouring everything into it—the restraint, the need, the fucking relief of knowing this is happening, raw and real.

Pulling back just enough to meet her gaze, I swallow hard. “I’ve never done this before. Not like this. Not without one.” My voice drops. “I was tested a few months ago, but like I said… it’s been a while.”

She strokes her fingers down the back of my neck, her gentle touch grounding. “I trust you, Zane.”

She whispers those same words I asked her last night, and I hadn’t realized how much I needed to hear them again until now.

With a low growl, I grip her thighs and push forward, sinking into her heat, knowing there’s no turning back. A strangled moan slips past her lips as I stretch her, inch by inch, until I’m seated deep, buried to the hilt. Wyatt’s legs tighten around my waist, drawing me closer, anchoring me to her like she’s afraid I’ll slip away.

I won’t. Not tonight. Not ever again.

Sliding my fingers into her hair, I cradle her face between my palms, tilting her head just enough for my lips to brush against hers. When I pull out and thrust back in, harder this time, her back arches, her nails raking down my spine—not enough to hurt, but enough to leave a mark. Enough to remind me she’s here, beneath me, around me, mine.

A growl rumbles low in my throat. “You feel incredible, baby. So wet, so tight… like you were made just for me.”

“Zane,” she gasps, voice wrecked and breathless as she clings to me, arms locking around my neck like she’s holding on for dear life.

I shift, adjusting my angle, and when I reach between us, brushing my thumb over her clit, she shatters, her body tightening around me in a vise grip. My name falls from her lips in a broken moan, her thighs trembling against my sides as she falls over the edge.

The sensation rips through me, pushing me right over with her. I bury my face against her neck, my groan muffled against her skin as I find my release, pouring myself into her until there’s nothing left.

Neither of us moves for a moment, our bodies tangled, breaths ragged, the weight of what just happened sinking in.

Finally, I roll onto my side, dragging her with me, wrapping her up in my arms like I’m afraid she’ll slip through my fingers if I don’t.

The lamp beside the bed is still on, but I don’t bother getting up to turn it off.

Instead, I hold Wyatt close, her bare skin warm against mine, and drift off to sleep—like this is where she was meant to be all along.