Page 50 of The Hearts We Fumble
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?
Chapter Twelve
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.
