Page 55 of The Hearts We Fumble
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.
Chapter Thirteen
Wyatt
I spent all of Sunday tangled up in Zane’s sheets.
Now, there’s a sentence I never thought I’d say.
By the time Monday rolled around, I was still so blissed out, my body humming with the memory of his hands, his mouth, the way he completely unraveled me, that dragging myself out of his bed felt impossible. But real life had a way of ruining good things, so I forced myself home, showered, and attempted to look like a functioning student instead of a woman who had spent the past twenty-four hours letting Zane wreck her in every way possible.
As if going to class wasn’t already torture, focusing was downright impossible. I should’ve earned extra credit just for managing to walk through the door.
And Zane? That asshole was making it worse.
Every time a new text from him came through, my stomach tightened, my skin prickled with heat, and my thighs pressed together beneath the desk. It was like he knew exactly what he was doing—like he got off on knowing he could still get to me even when he wasn’t in the same room.
Turning my phone on silent might’ve helped, but of course, I forgot about the notifications syncing to my laptop. One after another, they popped up in the corner of my screen, teasing me, taunting me.
Zane: I can still taste you on my lips.
