by Tessa Bailey
“Yes,” she said, her eyes closing, legs tightening around his hips. “Please.”
She’d always rushed men through using their mouths on her breasts—and that was when they deigned to try. Most of them . . . okay, all of them lacked Wes’s finesse. Although could she call it finesse when his enjoyment was so authentic? As he took her left bud into his mouth and drew on it hungrily, she could feel him pulse against the seam of her romper, could feel the vibration of his groans straight through to her core. His hands were everywhere. In her hair, squeezing her waist, molding her opposite breast in his palm while he took liberties with the first.
I want him inside me.
Badly. Not once in her entire life had she been this wet, this eager, this hungry to feel that first pump of a man’s thickness between her legs, the roughness that came after. She wanted it all.
What if he lost interest after that?
When did she start caring if Wes was interested?
Did she care now?
What was he thinking right now?
Was she exceeding expectations or merely meeting them—
“Bethany.” She opened her eyes to find Wes looking at her from beneath heavy eyelids, his breath coming in short spurts. “What happened? I lost you.”
“I don’t know.” Honesty came to her lips without even a smidgen of coaxing or consideration. “I started thinking I want sex and then I spiraled.”
“Into what?”
“Wondering if you’d . . .”
He narrowed one eye. “If I’d . . .”
“Hit it and quit it.”
Wes was silent a moment, pensive even, which was kind of funny considering he was still skillfully kneading her right breast. Which, in turn, was still making her flesh contract and slicken. “Those kind of doubts about me are why sex ain’t happening yet.” Bethany opened her mouth to speak, but he beat her to it. “Your trust matters. It matters whether I’m leaving or staying. It just matters. You matter.” His forehead pressed against hers. “Now let me get you off like I’ve been dreaming about for weeks.”
She was a can of Pepsi and someone had shaken her and flipped open the tab. Her fears and follow-up questions went in ninety messy directions and canceled each other out. All she could do was hold on and feel. His mouth captured her right nipple and he circled his tongue around it, grazing it with his teeth and making her thighs jerk. A cry shot from her mouth. His hands pushed down the sagging back of her romper and landed on bare bottom cheeks, separated by whatever thong she’d put on after her shower. She couldn’t even remember the color.
“One thing at a time,” he rasped, seemingly to himself, rubbing his scruff over one of her puckered nipples. “Right now, I want to hear our ages don’t mean shit. Say out loud that they don’t mean a damn thing to either of us.”
“They don’t,” she managed, the pulse between her legs thickening and growing more urgent. “They don’t mean anything.”
He sucked a nipple into his mouth and let it go with a pop. “My mouth will always be the perfect age to make you come.” His hips thrust up into the notch of her thighs and bounced her three times. “That’s what counts, baby.”
Heat didn’t just permeate her loins, it bit in and twisted—and she was coming. Right there against the house, with her top down and this man she thought she hated providing her with friction for days. She sobbed through it with trembling legs and Wes staring her right in the eye. That was the part that robbed her of breath, of boundaries. She stared back and let him see how thoroughly he milked her orgasm. Continued to prolong it with sharp rolls of his lower body as if he’d read a freaking dossier on her preferences. She bit her lip and whined for him, telling him without coherent sentences that her pussy was spasming in his name. The connection she shared with him in those extended seconds was almost as satisfying as her climax. It went beyond intimacy—and it was making her painfully aware that she’d never really shared intimacy with anyone.
Never before had she given herself over to a man completely. She’d been faking, only letting them see what she chose to show them. With Wes, she had no choice but to let him in deeper. To stop thinking and feel. Without her overly analytical mind holding her back, her body let him take without reservation.
“There you are, darlin’,” he ground out against her mouth, his hands still exploring her bottom, using his grip to ride her up and down. “There the hell you are, leaving the proof of what I did to you all over me. Right where I want it. Good girl.”
The strain of relief left Bethany and she slumped, depleted, over his shoulder. Wes turned and walked them into the house, her legs dangling around his hips. All the way through the kitchen, the living room, and the hallway, she told herself to put her damn feet on the ground and go home, but she kept silencing herself in favor of one more minute in his arms. She had a million questions, like . . . mainly, didn’t he want an orgasm? That erection pointed toward an enthusiastic yes. But also, what happened now? Were they completely done being enemies? Did he expect to hook up with her again? Like on a regular basis? Was she okay with that?
Wes slapped her on the ass. “Stop thinking so hard.”
Bethany’s mouth fell open and she started to sputter a protest. What came out instead was, “What about you?” All breathy-like and simpering. “Don’t you want me to take care of, um . . . that?”
A male grunt. “I’m good.” He let her down in front of the door and laid a final firm kiss on her mouth. “It’s going to drive you nuts leaving something undone and that guarantees me a next time with you.” He winked. “Good night, Bethany.”
She walked to her car on Rubbermaid legs, wondering if the whole afternoon had been a dream. And refusing to acknowledge how much she wanted to stay asleep.
Chapter Fourteen
It was still dark the following morning when Wes walked into Grinders, the coffee shop on Main Street. He was gritty-eyed and more than a little cranky, to tell the truth. Sending Bethany on her merry way when she’d been inclined to return sexual favors had seemed like the only option at the time, but around two in the morning, he’d started wondering if he’d fallen out of the Stupid Tree and smacked his head on a couple of branches.
There in the darkness, he’d envisioned himself putting down roots in Port Jefferson, maybe even trying for something real and lasting with Bethany. Something more than sex. Or the wanting of it, rather.
He’d been up and pacing before the ink dried on that thought.
It was getting harder and harder to deny that Bethany made him wonder if more than a vagabond existence was possible. If maybe his presence in Laura’s life was positive and could continue to be that way.
Indefinitely.
But what about the hard lessons he’d learned in foster care? Was he going to completely disregard them now? Life could seem stable one minute and get shaken up like a martini in the next. Without warning or a satisfying reason. Was he setting himself up for disappointment? Loss?
Needing to clear his head with some manual labor, Wes had dropped off Laura at Outlander Ringtone’s house early this morning so he could make up for the time he’d lost on the flip yesterday. Demo was complete, thanks to Ollie and Carl proving their salt (and pepper), and this morning he was getting to work on framing out the walls they’d knocked down due to water damage. Bethany’s budget had allowed him to hire some garbage removers to haul off the debris, including the mangled floorboards, ancient appliances, and old insulation.
Wes could only hope a full day of woodwork would keep his mind off his own wood. But he wasn’t holding his breath. Not when he was already counting the minutes until Bethany showed up on the site. God help him, he couldn’t wait to see how she’d act around him now that he’d rung her bell a little bit.
Had she been everything he’d fantasized about?
Not even close.
She’d eclipsed anything his brain could have conjured up by a good thousand miles or so. All those times he’d gone home to his empty house dur
ing lunch breaks and beat off in Bethany’s honor, he’d imagined angry sex. Hate-fucking, to be exact. That wasn’t what he’d gotten. You didn’t have sex, Wes’s dick reminded him.
“No shit,” he muttered, sidling up to the counter of the sleepy coffee shop and waiting for the owner to mosey out of the back room. Oldies played from a radio on a corner shelf, just below a sign that read PILATES? I THOUGHT YOU SAID PIE AND LATTES.
Damn, that usually got a laugh out of him.
Wes leaned onto his elbows and buried his face in his hands, memories from the night before infiltrating like ninjas. No, there hadn’t been anything angry about last night. The whole evening, even before he’d brought Bethany out into the backyard, had been so . . . nice. The tea party, stealing touches with Bethany in the kitchen, putting Laura to bed and getting the L word dropped on him like a sack of stones. For the first time in a long time, he’d just lived in the moment without reminding himself it would end.
He’d let himself belong.
Bethany had a hell of a lot to do with that. Yesterday, they’d both been feeling their way in the dark. Together. Learning as they went.
Their relationship was supposed to be simple. They were going to swipe at each other until one of them gave in and pounced. But when it came time to pounce last night, he’d been more concerned with trust. Building a foundation. His mind kept telling him things weren’t possible, but his . . . heart had cotton stuffed into its ears.
Two college-aged kids, a guy and a girl, stumbled out of the back room, tangling ankles, both of their faces inching toward fuchsia. “Sorry for the wait,” said the girl. “What can I get you?”
Wes tried not to let his theory that they’d been making out show on his face. “Large coffee, please. Black.”
Before he’d finished placing his order, the bell rang over the door and in walked Stephen. Bethany’s brother had a frown on his unshaven face, distracted by a note in his hand, so it took him a moment to register Wes standing at the counter. Wes tipped his hat. “Morning.”
Stephen rolled back his shoulders. “Well, well. If it isn’t the competition.” He sauntered his way through a few tables, the note at his side. “I see I’m not the only one getting an early start. Where’s your partner in crime? Powdering her nose?”
A bug of irritation crawled up his neck. “Women don’t powder their noses anymore, man. This isn’t the fifties.”
The eldest Castle slowed his gait. “What do they do?”
“I don’t know, but it’s liquid and it lasts all day. That’s what the commercials tell me.” Wes took out his wallet and dropped the appropriate amount of singles on the counter. “And anyway, Bethany has been getting her hands dirty, just like she said she would. Don’t underestimate her.”
“Ah, Jesus. I know that tone you’re throwing at me. I know it because I heard it from Travis when he innocently started hanging out with Georgie.” He put air quotes around the word “innocently,” causing him to drop the note in his hand. With a curse, he stooped down to pick it back up. “All of a sudden, he was an expert on my kid sister and now you’re doing it, too. Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but this time it’s not going to end in an Italian honeymoon.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean—” Wes reeled his curiosity back in like a ten-pound trout. “You know what? Keep it to yourself.”
Stephen crossed his arms, leaned back against a table, and waited.
Wes took his time with his first sip of coffee. “I mean it. I don’t want to know.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Can I get you something?” called the guy behind the counter.
Stephen pushed off the table. “I’ll have a fresh squeezed orange juice, please.” He sniffed at Wes’s coffee. “Some of us want to live long, healthy lives.”
“Then I’d stop trying to piss everyone off.”
His old boss barked a laugh. “You’re in a mood.” He drummed casual fingers on the counter. “Maybe you want to talk through your renovation plans?”
Wes tilted his head. “Now, Stephen. You wouldn’t be asking me for inside information on the competition, would you?”
“Please. Like I need help winning.” Stephen unwrapped a straw and attempted to pop it into his orange juice cup, missing the hole several times. He stopped trying with a withering sigh. “I do need help with something, though.”
“What’s that?”
“What else? Kristin. She’s been leaving me these notes around the house.” He waved the piece of paper still wedged between his knuckles. “There’s some kind of significance to them, but I can’t figure it out.”
Wes held out his hand. “Want me to give it a read?”
Stephen hesitated. “As long as you don’t tell anyone the contents. Especially my sister,” he stressed. “Not that I can even decipher the contents, but still.”
“Not surprised. You still think women powder their noses.” Wes took the note and read the handwritten lines.
Things are going to change. Yes, sir. You can count on that.
Signed, your steadfast wife
Wes kept his features schooled. He was seriously regretting his promise not to tell Bethany the contents of the note, because he knew she’d get a kick out of them. Her sister-in-law was definitely as crazy as Bethany claimed. She was obviously hinting at the fact that she was pregnant, but instead of outright telling Stephen, she’d decided to terrorize him first. After that snide comment about Bethany, Wes couldn’t resist getting in on the fun.
He handed the note back to Stephen on a blown-out breath. “I don’t know, man. Sounds like she’s mighty unhappy. You been giving her problems?”
Stephen paled. “No. I-I . . . I mean, I don’t think so. You never know with Kristin. One minute she’s smiling at me like I hung the moon. The next, she’s watching me and chopping onions in this kind of focused, bone-chilling way . . .”
“Sure. Sure.”
“You don’t think she means things are going to change for the better?”
He was now Jim from The Office messing with Dwight. If only there was a camera lens he could shrug at sheepishly. “I don’t know, man. If I know one thing about women, it’s that you can always tell when they’re happy,” he said, pulling from his total lack of experience. “But when they’re suffering in silence? That shit creeps up and bites you.”
Stephen’s head bobbed. “You’re right about that, my friend.” He carefully folded the note and tucked it into his pocket. “I have some work to do.”
“Sounds like it.”
Wes contained his chuckle until Stephen left the coffee shop. He started to follow, but went back and bought a brownie with pink sprinkles for Bethany, rolling his eyes at the sappy gesture. Which was exactly the reaction she would probably give him, too. If he was trying to scare her off, tokens of his admiration ought to do it.
Fifteen minutes later, he arrived at the jobsite. He left Bethany’s brownie wrapped in a paper bag on the sawhorse and brought his coffee outside to get started on the framework. For the next two hours, he went back and forth, inside and out, using the table saw inside since construction couldn’t legally begin until eight o’clock in the morning and he didn’t want the neighbors complaining. He was so focused on his task that he barely noticed when people started to arrive, glancing around from behind his work goggles to find the film crew setting up.
Ollie and Carl were there, too, carting in the insulation and Sheetrock he’d asked them to pick up. They still had a couple of days before they could utilize those materials, since the plumber and electrician were set to arrive today. If they got the all-clear—and that was a pretty huge if—they’d keep on schedule, but Wes was pretty sure the electrical would need to be upgraded, to say nothing of the leaky pipes.
The sound of Bethany’s voice in the distance broke into his thoughts. Eager to lay eyes on her, Wes pushed his goggles back on his head and crunched through leaves and broken-up concrete on his way around the side of the house. Famili
ar voices reached him before he got to the driveway, one belonging to Bethany. The owner of the other one was Slade.
Something sharp drilled into his gut. Instead of making himself known and telling the cheesy host to get lost, he forced himself to wait and listen.
“You look beautiful today, Bethany,” Slade said.
Wes ground his teeth.
“Thanks. You look nice, too.”
He ground them harder.
“So listen, I was thinking . . .” Here it came. Slade was making a move. “I’m staying in town while we film and I don’t know any of the local spots. Would you be interested in showing me the best place to get dinner? My treat.”
Wes turned and braced his hands on the house, his gut a lake of fire, and it was in that moment he realized there was no turning back. He was invested in this thing between him and Bethany. Like, send-a-motherfucker-to-the-hospital-for-looking-at-her-twice invested. Their mouths and bodies had been in perfect sync last night, but there was more here. He didn’t just like her. Or lust after her.
He was falling for her.
This feeling wasn’t a fleeting one; it was sticking around.
Did that mean . . . he was considering sticking around?
His throat grew tighter while he waited for Bethany’s answer.
It finally came. “That’s a great offer, but . . .”
“But?”
Don’t push her, Slade.
“Are you involved with your foreman? That might have been insinuated, but I just couldn’t see the fit. If I’m being brutally honest.”
Wes ground his fist into the wall of the house.
“Um . . .” Bethany again. “‘Involved’ is a strong word. But it’s definitely complicated, I guess you could say. With Wes.”
He threw up a victorious fist. It’s complicated. She’d said it was complicated.