“Take off your shirt,” I demanded. Wes and I were standing in the hallway bathroom because that’s where the first aid kit was. He’d told me about it on my first day here. I wasn’t really a caretaker. I didn’t know how to be one, but I would do my best for Wes.
For the first time ever, I wanted to take care of someone. In the past, I was mostly concerned with myself, which I needed to be at the time. I had to focus on taking care of me or I would’ve faded away. But right now, I felt like Rebel Blue had helped heal me enough that I could care for someone else.
“Ada, I can clean this up,” he said, gesturing to the bloodstain on his shirt, which looked a lot bigger than it did in the truck. “You have to be freezing. Do you want to take a bath? I bet there’s bath stuff in your bathroom. I can start it for y—”
I didn’t let him finish that sentence, even though a bath sounded lovely. “Weston I-don’t-know-your-middle-name Ryder. Take off your goddamn shirt. Now.”
He let out an annoyed sigh and pulled his wet T-shirt over his head. I took in his form in front of me but tried not to make it obvious. I didn’t know how long I would’ve stared at him if I hadn’t had other matters to attend to, but it was probably an alarming amount of time. His chest was broad and muscular and bore a smattering of dark hair. The panes of his stomach were defined but not exaggerated.
The cut didn’t look too bad, thank god. I reached out to touch the skin near it and Wes hissed. “Your hands are fucking freezing!” he said between clenched teeth.
“Sorry,” I murmured. “Does it hurt?”
Wes shook his head. “Not really.”
“Good,” I responded. “So, I should probably clean it first, right?”
Wes’s mouth cracked into a smile. “Yeah, you should clean it first, or I can, and you can go take a bath and warm up your icicle hands.”
“No can do,” I said. I found a clean washcloth under the sink and wet it under the hot water. I took a deep breath before I dabbed the cut, which was a couple of inches long. Wes jerked away the first time I dabbed it, but then was able to stay still. I looked in the first aid kit and saw a bottle that said antiseptic spray, which sounded promising. I figured Wes would tell me if I was doing something wrong, but he stayed quiet after I grabbed it, so I continued, trying not to notice the way the air was thickening around us.
I sprayed the liquid on the cut, and Wes flinched. Next, I went for the familiar-looking yellow antibiotic ointment and used a cotton swab to apply some along the length of the cut.
“Is that good?” I asked.
“It’s good,” Wes breathed. So I found the biggest Band-Aid in the kit. I tore it open and thought about the best way to get it on the cut. I went with the tried-and-true stick-and-peel—starting with the pad on the cut, then slowly pulling the paper off and sticking the adhesive part to the skin at the same time. Once it was in place, I gave it one more firm press.
And then the lights went out.
The darkness charged the air around us with an electric current that I could feel in my bones. I heard Wes swallow before he murmured, “Rhodes.”
“What?” I whispered, not moving my hands from his body.
“My middle name is Rhodes,” he said. Weston Rhodes Ryder. That’s a good name, I thought. It was the last thing I remember thinking before he kissed me.
It was a short kiss. He pulled away after a few seconds, and I immediately missed his mouth on mine. I didn’t have to miss it for long, because he kissed me again, and again, and again. The space between the kisses got shorter, and the kisses themselves got longer, more languid.
This wasn’t like the bar or the kitchen. There was no frenzy. It was just us and these kisses. Slow and deliberate.
I skated my hands up his chest and onto his shoulders. I loved the way his warm skin felt under my hands.
He knotted his fingers in my damp hair and pulled my head back slightly, using his extra leverage to tangle our tongues together. I was desperate for him. I wanted to be closer. I pushed up on my tiptoes, and Wes dragged one of his hands down my body and over my ass. I lifted my leg, and he grabbed behind my thigh and hitched it up over his waist.
“Take me to your room,” I said against his mouth.
His hand tightened in my hair and his hips rolled. “Are you sure?” he breathed.
“Yes.” I don’t think I’d ever been more sure of anything. I tried to bring down the leg that he was holding, but instead, Wes hoisted me up, and my legs instinctively wrapped around him.
He carried me out of the bathroom and down the hall. I kissed and sucked at his neck as he walked. I heard him open a door, and even though it was dark and I’d never been in here before, I knew we were in his room.
It smelled like him. Like cedar.
Instead of taking me to his bed, which is where I was desperate to be, he set me down and stepped back a bit. He put his hand to my face, then moved it to my neck, then down over my breasts and stomach. His touch was so light that it made me want to scream.
He stopped at the hem of my shirt. “Can I?” he asked.
“Please,” I breathed. He gripped the bottom of my shirt with both hands and gently pulled it over my head. I was grateful that I’d put on one of my not-trashed black bras today. His nostrils flared as he took in the sight of me.
I didn’t even want to know what I looked like—probably a drowned rat—but I didn’t care, and apparently he didn’t either.
Wes tossed my shirt aside and knelt. He put his hands on my hips and kissed my stomach as he started to pull my leggings—torturously slowly—down. I was less lucky with the underwear—there were definitely a few holes in the ratty black thong—but he didn’t seem to care about that either.
I put my hands on Wes’s shoulders for balance as he helped me step out of my leggings. He tossed them on top of my shirt and looked up at me. This man was on his knees and looking up at me like I was the most precious thing in the world. He was touching me that way too—dragging his fingers up and down my thighs, over my hips, and under my thong. “You’re beautiful,” he said, then kissed each of my hip bones and got to his feet.
His words hit me just right. It’s not like I thought I wasn’t pretty, but I would be lying if I said my self-esteem hadn’t taken a hit after everything with Chance—especially in the bedroom. Chance and I had been together—a term I’m using loosely—for two years, then married for three and a half months. We had sex maybe ten times during that two-and-a-half-year period. When we were just dating, that didn’t really bother me, but after we got married, it started to take a toll on my self-esteem. I felt like I grossed him out, like he didn’t want me, and whenever I tried to tell him that I wanted to feel like he wanted me, he shrugged it off.
There was no doubt in my mind that Wes wanted me as much as I wanted him, and it made me feel free and bold and excited.
So I kissed him again. I wrapped my arms around him, wanting as much of our skin touching as possible. He held me tight, lifted me off the ground, and took me to his bed. When he laid me down, he did it gently. No one had handled me with such care before—not just during sex, but ever.
“I haven’t stopped thinking about this since the night at the bar,” Wes whispered. He was hovering above me. “Do you ever think about what would’ve happened if we hadn’t got caught?”
I nodded. I’d played that fantasy in my head over and over again the past few months.
“I wanted to fuck you against that wall.” Wes bit my neck softly. “When we got caught, I was just about to tell you my name because I wanted to hear you moan it over and over again while I was inside you.” He licked up my neck, and I drew a sharp breath. “And then you showed up here, and for the first time in my life, I felt lucky.”
I let out a breathy laugh. “I’m sorry I was so mean to you.”
“Don’t be,” Wes said as he rolled his hips into mine, and that made us both groan. “It weirdly turned me on.”
“Wes…” I said, suddenly nervous. “Before we do this, I—I—” I stumbled over my words, trying to get them out as quickly as possible because I didn’t know how he was going to react. “Sometimes it takes a while for me to get wet, and it’s not because I don’t want this or because I’m not attracted to you, because I do and I am—it’s just my body.” He didn’t respond right away, he kept biting and sucking at my neck.
Then he whispered against my skin, “Sometimes it takes a while for me to get hard because of my antidepressant, and it’s not because I don’t want you. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more.”
This moment felt raw and vulnerable and important. I wanted to see him. I knotted my fingers in his hair and pulled his mouth away from my neck, forcing him to look at me. “So,” I said, “we’ll get there together, then?” He swallowed and nodded.
“Tell me what you like,” he said.
I thought about it for a second, because what I’d liked in the past really didn’t matter—only Wes did now. Everything was different with him. “I like kissing,” I said, which won me one of his big-dimpled smiles and, of course, a kiss.
“Noted,” he said.
“And I like it when you talk to me,” I continued. “And when you bite me.”
Wes dragged one of his hands down my body—over my breasts, down my stomach, until his pinky skated under my thong. Heat followed his trail. “Should I tell you about how I almost came in my jeans in the kitchen? Just from touching you?” He brought his mouth down on mine and forced mine open so his tongue could make its way in. “Should I tell you about how I had to get in the shower and fuck my fist to the thought of you writhing on the counter?” Wes started to pull my underwear down. “Or should I tell you that your pussy felt so good on my fingers that I would literally die to know what it feels like wrapped around my cock?” He rolled halfway off me so he could drag my thong all the way down my legs and throw it across the room. Then he pulled me on top of him. “Should I tell you that I felt like I could taste you on my fingers for days?”
Jesus Christ. Not only did Wes ask me what I liked in bed, but he also followed through. This man was something else. I leaned down and kissed him. Hard. My hips started to roll of their own accord. Wes’s large hands were kneading my ass, guiding me to grind on his jeans. The pressure felt so good. He felt so good.
I could feel my body reacting to him—like lava rolling down my spine and pooling between my legs. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he said against my mouth. “Take what you need.”
Him. I needed him.
I sat up and brought him with me so we were upright and tangled in each other. I scraped my nails over his back and knotted my fingers in his hair. He kept one hand on my ass and unclasped my bra with the other. The sensation of the straps falling down my arms made me want to scream.
He made everything feel like too much. Or just enough. I didn’t know.
I was naked now, and getting wet, but Wes wasn’t in any hurry. He kept kissing me and touching me and letting me roll my hips on his jeans. After a few minutes, he flipped me onto my back again. He stood up, and I reached for him. “One second, sweetheart,” he said. “It’s time for these to go.” He unbuttoned his jeans, and I could see the veins in his forearms as he pulled them down and stepped out. I could see his dick straining against his briefs. It looked like the foreplay makeout session had worked for both of us.
“Briefs too,” I breathed. He flashed me a roguish smile and I might have been able to orgasm from that alone. It shot heat all the way through me. But he did what I said. He stood at the edge of the bed and pumped his length a few times as he looked at me lying naked before him. My mouth watered.
“You’re magnificent,” he whispered reverently. Normally, that would make me want to cover up and run away, but not with Wes. Instead, I preened under his praise, I basked in his sunlight.
He was back on top of me now, kissing me harder and with more urgency. His cock slid against my pussy and both of us gasped. He started moving his hips, and I met each of his thrusts. “Fuck, Ada,” he breathed. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
“Show me,” I said. With that, he brought one of my hands to his dick. I wrapped it around his length and pumped. He moaned. I did it a few more times and the arms that were holding him steady above me started to shake. I loved watching the effect that I had on him. It made me confident. It turned me on.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he said as he pulled my hand away. “Can I touch you now? Please, god, let me touch you.” Underneath him, I spread my legs more, inviting him to do exactly what he wanted. “Tell me I can,” he breathed.
“You can touch me,” I said. Wes wasted no time in sinking one of his fingers into me and I gasped. I could feel how wet I was—I could hear it, too, as he pumped his finger in and out of me—adding a second one after a few thrusts.
“You’re so perfect, Ada. You feel so perfect,” he said. “I want to make you come on my fingers, like I would’ve in the kitchen.” His thumb rubbed against my clit as his fingers moved, and I jerked. He smiled, knowing he was on the right track. His fingers curled inside me, and I jerked again. “Be good,” he said as he brought his other hand to my hips, holding me down.
His long fingers were hitting a spot inside me that my small ones couldn’t reach, and holy fuck, this man was going to do exactly what he said and make me come on them. He kept going, not slowing down, not speeding up, he kept a steady pace and I felt my orgasm starting to build. It felt foreign and overwhelming and wonderful.
I started to pant. “Wes,” I moaned.
“Fuck,” he said. “That’s right, sweetheart. Let go. Let me see you come apart.” My body started to thrash, but Wes held my hips in place. His fingers hit that spot inside me one more time, thunder boomed, and I fell over the edge.
“Oh my god,” I moaned as the orgasm rocked my body. Wes didn’t let up, he kept doing exactly what he’d done to bring me to the edge. My hips bucked, and I grabbed on to a pillow behind me—needing something to hold on to or else I felt my body would float away.
As I came down, Wes’s fingers slowed. He leaned over me to kiss me, and I could feel his cock against my thigh. Long, thick, and rock fucking hard. When he pulled away, he brought his fingers to his mouth and closed his eyes, as if savoring the taste, and I felt myself blush.
Fuck.
“I want you,” I said, clutching at his shoulders. “I want to feel your cock inside of me, please. I need more.” Wes brought his mouth down to mine again and kissed me firmly. I could taste myself.
“I haven’t done this since my last physical,” he said. “I don’t have any STIs, but I do have condoms.”
“I’m all clear too,” I said. I got tested right after the divorce. “But I would feel more comfortable if we used a condom this time,” I said honestly. I’d never had sex without one—even when I was married.
Wes kissed my temple and nodded. “You got it. Don’t move,” he said as he got up and crossed the room to his dresser. I saw him pull out a box and then a foil package before he walked back and knelt on the edge of the bed. I watched him hungrily as he tore the package open with his teeth and started to roll the condom down his length.
He was watching me watch him. Everything with him felt so charged. Once the condom was in place, he crawled back up my body slowly, deliberately, kissing, licking, and sucking along the way. When he slotted his dick at my entrance, I was already panting again.
Everything about him did it for me.
“Is like this okay?” he asked, and I nodded eagerly. I didn’t want to wait another second. When he slid the head of his cock inside me, it was like all of my bones melted. “Ada,” he said as he slowly worked himself in, “I think you were made for me.” It was a tight fit, so he worked slowly, pulling out and then sliding back in a little farther each time.
I was shaking beneath him, and I could see sweat on his forehead. When he was all the way in, he collapsed against my neck. “Fuck,” he groaned, kissing me there, “just give me a second.”
I could feel his heartbeat, and I knew he could feel mine—it was kicking so hard against my ribs I thought they might break.
Finally Wes started to move, and the world stopped. He started slow, thrusting in and out of me at an easy pace. It felt so good. “I’ve imagined what it would feel like to be inside you a million times,” he moaned. “My dreams don’t even come close.”
He started to pick up the pace. I clutched at his back, his hair, his ass—anywhere I could get my hands on. I wanted to touch all of him.
“Wes,” I moaned. “This is so good.” My voice was almost unrecognizable to my own ears.
“Say my name again,” he demanded.
“Wes,” I said. I chanted it over and over as he drove his hips against me harder and faster. I closed my eyes, nearly ready to fall over the edge again. But his hand gripped my jaw firmly.
“Open your eyes, Ada. There’s no one coming, no one to catch us. You can’t run away from me here. I want you to look at me when we come together.” I did what he said, and when I looked at Wes, he looked crazed—like he was possessed, but in the best way. I’d never seen him wild and undone, but this might have been my favorite version of him.
I felt the pressure build at the base of my spine. Wes kept his pace, knowing I was getting close. “I can feel you getting close,” he said. “Fuck, I can feel it.”
My moans were getting louder and so were his. Both of us were careening toward the edge of a cliff and we were desperate to fall. Wes kissed me sloppily and roughly, and when he bit down on my lower lip, I came. My whole body clenched and my toes curled. My moans turned into screams, and Wes started pounding into me harder and faster, racing toward the finish line, wanting to be there with me.
“Fuck, Ada” was the last thing he said before his body went still and he jerked haphazardly into me a few more times, then collapsed on top of me.
I felt his lips on my neck. “I didn’t know it could be like that,” he whispered.
“Me, either,” I breathed. I didn’t move. I wanted to cling to him and this moment for as long as I possibly could.
