Page 60 of The Order of Disorder
“You know,” he murmurs, “a man’s resistance has limits.”
“That’s what I’m counting on.”
I shift forward, and straddle his hips again.
His hands hover near my thighs.
“You’re a menace,” he teases.
“I just want you,” I whisper, smiling.
He draws in a deep, rough breath. His eyes close. His hands move slowly up my sides, brushing the edge of my ribs like he’s still asking permission.
Then, finally,finally, he pulls me down and kisses me. Long and slow, like he’s starving, but still savoring every taste.
His mouth moves slowly at first, tasting, testing—then deeper, hungrier. The robe loosens under his grip. One tug, and it slips from my shoulders, pooling behind me. His hands trace up my thighs, over my hips. He sits up to kiss my collarbone,sighing, teeth grazing skin, and I pull at his shirt, dragging it off. Heat radiates between us.
I press him back down, my thighs bracketing his hips, the cotton of his briefs rubbing against me as I rock forward, slow and teasing. His breath stutters. His hands tighten on my waist.
I roll my hips again. He groans and palms my ass, grinding me harder against him. I reach down, hook my fingers beneath the waistband, and ease his briefs down. He lifts his hips in answer. When I free him, he’s hard and ready.
I stroke him once, slowly, just to feel the way he shudders beneath me. Then I lift, angle, and slide down—taking him in inch by inch until he’s fully seated inside me. The stretch makes my breath hitch, makes his head drop back.
I start to move. A slow grind. Sweat gathers between our bodies, but I don’t stop. I ride him with my hands pressed flat to his chest, feeling the tension ripple under his skin, the way his abs tighten. The way his fingers dig in to my skin. He lets me set the pace but he meets me thrust for thrust.
Every movement brings us closer. The sound of skin on skin, breath against breath. I lean down, mouth brushing his jaw, his throat, his shoulder. He holds on tighter as our bodies chase that edge. And when I feel his body tighten up, I start to roll my hips faster, riding him harder, until he groans, losing the fight to stay quiet. His hands clutch my hips, urging, anchoring, surrendering.
I feel him start to pull back, restraint flaring, but I shake my head and rock down hard, locking my thighs around him. I give a single nod.
His eyes flare. His hands slam up my back. He grits his teeth, growls my name, and lets go.
Heat floods me as he comes, and the sensation rips through me until I’m breaking open, riding the wave as it hits. I bitedown on my lip to keep from crying out, but it doesn’t stop the quake that rolls through me.
I collapse over him, chest to chest, forehead to sweat-damp collarbone, my pussy still quivering, and he holds me, both hands on my back.
The fan hums. The room settles. Our breathing slows. And there’s nothing but the weight of us, the warmth between us. The love.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THE DAYS START to blur together. Not like when Maze and Rox were here and nothing meant anything, when time oozed from one high to the next—this is different. For the first time since I got here, the days have shape and purpose. They just go by too quickly, my life becoming routine but for once, comfortable.
I work on the floor by Wyatt’s side all day—passing him a torque wrench without being asked, holding parts while he swaps out brake pads, scrubbing grease from sprockets while sweat rolls down my spine. My fingers are perpetually slick, the backs of my knees sticky under my cutoff shorts, but…I’m happy.
The rhythm of it helps. Keeps my thoughts off Ryder. Off Jake and Damian. Off Maze and Rox and their pills. It’s easier to stay in the moment when I’m holding a ratchet and have a job ahead of me.
By day, Wyatt and I have stolen moments. A kiss to my knuckles before he slides back under a bike. A look across the hangar that sends fire through my gut. His hand heavy on my knee when we eat lunch.
Once, in the parts closet, he pulls me into the dark and takes me against the shelves—his breath choked as he pumps into me, urgent and secretive. I come so hard I have to bite down on my hand to keep quiet.
When we step out, flushed and trying not to look guilty, Silas is standing ten feet away, just outside the door, watching.
At night, we crank the fan and turn the radio on for the noise. We kill the lamp, but light from the hangar still seeps in around the doorframe and through the cracks in the plywood walls. Banded in strips of gray light, we learn each other all over again. It’s strange and staggering, being this close to someone I know so well in a different context. He knows my tells, my likes and dislikes. I know his moods and what’s behind his silences. And now we know each other in new ways too: How sure and strong his hands are, how my body opens for him without hesitation, what makes us both come undone. It’s not just sex, it’s discovery, and every night it goes deeper. Every night he finds a new way to unravel me. We’re insatiable, and the more we take, the more there is to take.
The heat doesn’t let up. It’s late September, but the season is going late, and the concrete holds the warmth, keeping summer locked in the hangar. It’s in the air, the metal, our skin.
After lunch one day, Wyatt impulsively lifts me onto the edge of a workbench with a wicked grin, his eyes darting left and right before he laces fingers through my hair and bends down to kiss me. My ankles lock around his hips, pulling his hard body against mine, and with one palm flat against my back he pulls me in too, until we’re sealed together.
Heat flares through me as it always does when he touches me like this, making me suck in a breath when he pulls away, and when I open my eyes, I see Billy over his shoulder, strollingpast with a beer in one hand. He tips the bottle toward us with a crooked smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
