Page 84 of Roaming Holiday

He slides the condom on, lining himself at my entrance as he takes one of my breasts in his mouth and grabs the other. He rocks into me slowly at first, then all at once. The pressure, pleasure, pain—I can’t help releasing a strangled moan. I clamp my mouth shut, slightly embarrassed.

“Are you okay?” Wesley asks, a concerned furrow in his brow. “Do you want me to stop?”

I dread even the idea. I shake my head and bring him closer. “Don’t you dare.”

He chuckles, hooking his elbows under my knees to grasp the back of my neck and keep me in place. “That’s my girl.”

His rough voice invigorates those three words, only adding pleasure to each thrust. My body tenses with pleasure as the new angle brings him closer inside me than before.

“Fuck, Wesley, oh my god.”

I claw at his arms and fight to memorize the feeling of every inch. Even with his chest flush against mine, it’s not close enough. I know he thinks the same; his touch wanders my body without breaking the kiss or rhythm. My breasts, my waist, my hips. His hands are never empty, always filled with some part of me. It makes me feel more vulnerable than ever before. I feel seen, caressed, worshiped.

We move in sync, our pent-up lust melting together to make every stroke as euphoric as the last. I tremble at the wet sounds and cling tighter to him.

“Listen to how fucking good we sound together,” he whispers.

We shift back into the middle of the bed and Wesley tosses my legs over his shoulders. He moves with intention, precision. Being the subject of that precision sends a warm, silky feeling through my stomach, intensifying at the sound of his grunts and moans. Goosebumps shoot down my legs as I clench around him. The tighter I cross my ankles behind his head, the harder he fucks and the more numb my body gets.

“Oh, shit, I—” The words die on my lips as I climax again.

Wesley slows, bracing an elbow beside my head. I run my hands down his body, feeling the sheen of sweat over his skin. I’ve craved his body, his smell, his taste for months—and I’m devouring the whole fucking meal. There’s no one I want more than him.

“How many is that now? Two?” he asks, slightly breathless.

“You’re counting?”

He looks at me as if I should know this. “Of course. Anything less than three is unacceptable.”

I laugh. “Then you’re in luck because that was the third.”

“Good.” He kisses me, and even though my legs feel like jelly, I push him onto his back and straddle him.

Butterflies ripple through my body at the ravenous look in his eyes, and I quickly fix my hair and hope it doesn’t look like a rat’s nest. Both of us moan as I lower onto him, twitching and rocking my hips to adjust to this full feeling.

Wesley reaches behind me and grips my ass. “Watching you ride me is the best goddamn view in the world.”

A smile pulls at my lips. I brace my hands on his chest to ride him faster. His head falls back as he mutters a bunch of curse words in Maldanian. He snatches my hips to take control, his muscles tensing. He groans and thrusts harder into me as he comes, and it’s hot enough to make me come, too.

I collapse against his sweaty chest. For moments, we lie together and slowly catch our breaths. His arms close around me and I shut my eyes as the feeling creeps back into my limbs and the world spins a little less.

“We should’ve done that weeks ago,” I mutter.

He chuckles, planting a kiss on my head before discarding the condom to settle in bed with me.

I want this—forever. I want him in bed beside me, smiling, laughing, holding. The world stops when I’m with him, and there’s no one I’d rather be frozen in time with.

Once I read Maia’s text about coming home late, I silence my phone and set it on the nightstand. Warmth spreads through my belly at the sight of Wesley waiting for me. With his shirt on, I slide into his arms and tangle our legs. He draws circles on my thigh across his waist as his other hand wraps around one of my curls.

His heart beating under my palm, I trace one of the scars on his chest and feel the ridges of puckered skin. I tilt to look up at him.

“You said I’m your first ethical job… what was it before?” I ask, my voice soft.

He pauses, trouble tugging at his face. He opens his mouth to speak, but all he can manage to whisper is, “Another time.”

It couldn’t have been that bad if the head of security assigned him as my bodyguard. I don’t press the subject, kissing the spot I’m resting on before closing my eyes.

The evening slips by, accompanied by the unspoken fact that I’m spending the night. Wesley cooks me dinner—if marinara sauce dumped on pasta counts as cooking—and I perch on the countertop to watch him work, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips. I only make it three minutes before wrapping my arms around him from behind. Pressing my lips to his bare skin isn’t enough affection. So I clamp one of his meaty muscles with my teeth.

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