Page 59 of The Hearts We Fumble
There’s no warning this time. No teasing buildup.
He thrusts into me hard and deep, stealing the breath from my lungs. A strangled moan escapes me, my fingers clawing at the sheets as he folds himself over me, pressing me flush to the mattress. His weight, his heat—it consumes me.
His mouth skims my ear, voice rough and desperate. “How the fuck am I ever supposed to get enough of you, Wy?” he pants, his breath ragged. “I can’t. I won’t. This is what I was afraid of.” His fingers tighten over mine, pinning me beneath him as he thrusts again, deeper this time. “One taste, and I knew—I fucking knew—I’d never be able to let you go.”
My chest squeezes, a storm of emotions crashing into me all at once.
I squeeze my eyes shut, overwhelmed by him, by the way he’s burying himself inside me like he’s staking a claim. My body moves with his, meeting him stroke for stroke, but my mind spirals.
Because I know what’s coming.
The crash after the high. The moment this ends and I’m left to pick up the pieces.
Zane rears back, his muscles tensing, before he slams back into me, his body so unrelenting, so intense, I swear I feel it in my bones. The bed creaks beneath us, each powerful thrust shaking something loose inside me—not just physically, but something deeper. Something I’m not ready to face.
This angle. This feeling. The way his skin slicks against mine, sweat mixing, breaths tangling, hearts racing in sync.
It’s everything.
And I already know I’ll never get enough of him either.
But what happens when he walks away?
What happens when I have to let go of the only person who’s ever made me feel like I belong to something bigger than myself?
Zane holds everything. Every shred of me. Every fragile, breakable piece of my heart.
I’ve always thought of myself as strong. I’ve been through hell and survived.
But I’m afraid if I lose him, I’ll lose myself in the process.
Zane presses a lingering kiss to the back of my neck, his thrusts growing desperate. The need in his movements bleeds into mine, our bodies working together in sync, chasing the inevitable. His grip tightens, one hand sliding between my stomach and the mattress, his fingers searching, finding the swollen bundle of nerves already pulsing for him.
“Come for me, baby.” His voice is a low rasp, thick with want. “Let me feel my firecracker detonate around me. Take everything I have. Let me feel you fall apart on my dick.”
“Oh God, Zane—please.” My plea comes out breathless, my body tightening around him, strung so tight I might snap.
I slam my hips back, meeting him thrust for thrust, the sharp slap of skin-on-skin pushing me closer to the edge. His fingers stroke my clit, circling, pressing, demanding, until the stars start to flicker, a molten wave spreading through every limb.
“Give it to me, Wyatt.” His voice is thick and strained. “I want all of you.”
Those words—those five words—are my undoing.
I shatter, my orgasm crashing into me so violently, I forget to breathe. My body spasms, gripping him tight, and he groans, a deep, throaty sound as he jerks inside me, finding his own release.
For a moment, neither of us moves, our bodies tangled, his weight pressing me into the mattress, our hearts pounding in sync.
Then, slowly, he pulls out, his lips skimming the back of my shoulder before he releases me. My muscles are useless, but Zane doesn’t give me the chance to recover. He takes my hand, helping me stand, and just when I think he’s going to let me find my balance—he bends down, sweeps me into his arms, and carries me into the bathroom.
The warmth of the room contrasts with the lingering chill on my skin, but Zane doesn’t set me down right away. Instead, he presses me against the cool marble counter, his grip firm but gentle as he keeps me locked in place. His hands roam, slow and deliberate, tracing every dip and curve of my body as if memorizing me all over again.
“Zane,” I whisper, my breath hitching when his lips graze my jaw.
He smirks, his fingers trailing down my spine. “Just making sure this is all real, firecracker.”
With a final lingering kiss against my bare shoulder, he lowers me onto my feet. My legs feel unsteady, weak from everything we just did, and he steadies me with a firm grip on my waist.
He doesn’t bother covering himself, and I don’t have the energy to pretend I care about modesty either. His body is all sharp angles and taut muscle, but it’s his dick—still half hard—that makes my pulse skitter.
