Page 41 of The Final Faceoff
I need to keep them safe.
I need to claim them.
I need her.
I tighten my grip on her hand, my thumb brushing along her knuckles without thinking. She turns slightly, her gaze searching mine, and I know she sees it—sees everything I’m barely holding back.
I should say something. Crack a joke. Break the moment before she realizes what’s happening inside me.
But I can’t.
I move before I even think. It’s instinct, reaction—something deeper than either. My hand reaches for hers, hesitates, then shifts. Second-guessing myself when I never second-guess anything. But in that hesitation, my fingers catch the crinkled paper draped over her lap, tugging it slightly.
For a second, I don’t realize what I’ve done. Then I do.
And fuck me.
I see her.
A flash of soft, slick pink. Bare. Right there, with the wand deep, deep inside her. Lips swollen, glistening, and this shouldn’t be erotic, but fuck if it isn’t.
I swallow hard, my throat tight, my cock already straining, aching against my jeans. My brain short-circuits, flipping between two thoughts so fast it makes me dizzy—this is so fucking wrong and I want to spread her open and push it deeper just to see how she takes it.
Fuck.
I want to get a thicker toy and push it inside her, inch by inch, stretching her open until she’s gasping, until she’s clenching around it while I eat her pussy, until she’s soaked and desperate and begging for my cock. A cock she’ll have to beg for. I’d hold her thighs open, keep her right where I want her, slide that wand in alongside me just to see how much she could take, just to feel her lose her mind around both of us.
She’d be so fucking pretty like that, spread out, squirming, whining, needing.
And I’d give it to her. Every damn thing she asked for.
My jaw locks so tight I feel it in my teeth. My hand flexes against my knee, fighting the instinct to touch, to grab, to claim. The sheer, mind-breaking primal need to take care of her—all of her—is a storm raging inside me, and I have to breathe through it, have to fight the insanity clawing at my skin.
This is not the time.
This is not the place.
And Hailey has no fucking idea what she’s doing to me.
I force my eyes back up, barely catching the way her lashes flutter, the way she exhales softly as the technician moves the wand again, adjusting the angle. She reacts to it, and that’s enough to send a fresh wave of heat straight to my cock, enough to make me sit back, fists clenched, desperate for control.
I need to get my fucking head straight before I do something I can’t take back.
Because if I don’t, the next time I have the chance, I’m going to wreck her completely.
I jerk my gaze away, my jaw tight, my throat locked up like I swallowed a brick. My pulse is a frantic, unhinged thing, hammering through me, and I force my face into something blank, something that doesn’t show how fucking wrecked I am by one goddamn glimpse.
Before I stop myself, I move. My hand presses against her thigh. My fingers flex, grip tightening as my body fights itself. The lines blur between instinct and control, between the need to reassure her and something deeper, something I don’t have a name for.
A curse slips under my breath. My hand slides higher, gripping her waist instead. It doesn’t help. Heat radiates through my fingertips. The rise and fall of her breath brushes against my chest. Something deeper drags me under before I even know what’s happening.
She’s in my arms.
I don’t think. I don’t plan. My body makes the decision before my mind catches up. I pull her against me and hold on.
This isn’t careful. It isn’t polite. My arms lock around her, solid, unshakable, like I need to make sure she’s real. Like I need to make sure I don’t lose her—either of them. I need to make sure she knows I’m here—hers. Even when I can’t tell her that now.
She doesn’t pull away.
