Chapter 15

Hailey

Christian’s fingers weave through mine, warm and assertive. As I follow him toward his bedroom, the air between us crackles with anticipation.

The door closes behind us with a soft click, and suddenly, we’re in his world. He turns to me, his eyes smoldering. “Hailey,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky. “I need to worship every inch of you.”

His hands trail up my arms as he leans close, his breath hot against my neck. He whispers his sinful thoughts. Suddenly, my shirt is off, and my bra is across the room. “God, your breasts are perfect.”

His fingers whisper over my nipples, which ache for so much more. Yet still… “Is this a mistake?” I voice the worry in my head.

He pulls back, and our foreheads meet. “I will stop if you want me to.”

I don’t think that’s what I want, but in this moment, it’s really hard to know. “I have Dana on repeat in my head.”

“I know she thinks I’m a cad, but I want this with you. This isn’t a game to me. I can wait until you feel ready. There is no pressure.”

My heart pounds in my chest. My mind races between wanting this, wanting him, and the nagging voice in the back of my head that worries this is the first domino in everything falling apart. But the way Christian looks at me, like I’m the only person in the world, drowns out the doubt, at least for now. This is different , I tell myself. It has to be different. I can be different.

“I do want you,” I tell him, leaning in. Our tongues move in a sultry dance.

He licks the shell of my ear. “I want to trace every curve and dip with my tongue, feeling you tremble under my touch.”

I close my eyes, and my pants are on the ground. He moves us to the bed and spreads my legs wide. As his fingers part my pussy, he grazes my clit. Everything he does lights me on fire. I moan.

“I want to hear the sounds you make when you come,” he says. “But if you want to stop, just tell me.”

He takes my hand and places it on his cock. It’s hard, and it’s huge. I stroke it a few times. Right now, I’d do anything he asked.

“I’m going to make you forget those boys you’ve been with. I’ll show you what a real man can do.”

I manage to nod. I want all of that and more, hanging on his every word.

“I’ll stop whenever you say,” he assures me, but his words are a mere formality. My body is already answering him, yearning for his touch.

His hands roam with purpose, mapping the terrain of my skin. There’s a reverence to it. “Tell me,” he demands, his fingers pausing at the curve of my waist. “What do you like?” His question is earnest, a genuine quest to learn what will bring me pleasure.

A nervous laugh bursts forth. “Honestly, it was always…simple before—missionary, quick, three pumps and done.” The admission feels both liberating and embarrassing under his gaze, which never wavers, never judges.

“I think we can do better than that,” he replies, a grin playing on his lips.

His touch becomes feathery light. It dances across my flesh, igniting trails of fire. “More,” I breathe.

He obliges, and his fingers find the tender peak of my nipple, pinching slightly as I urge him, “Harder.”

A deep moan vibrates from his chest as he complies, his hands moving more boldly now, claiming every inch of me. Then, his palm meets the curve of my backside in a firm spank that echoes through the room. The sting blooms into a rush of warmth that pools at the center of my desire. I can feel how wet I am, and it’s as if he senses it too. “I’ve been waiting my whole life for you,” he murmurs.

Standing before me, he watches me a moment with eyes darkened by raw need. “Suck my cock,” he commands.

There’s no hesitation in me as I rise, then drop to my knees and take him in my mouth, savoring the salty taste of his skin, swirling my tongue around the tip before taking him deeper.

His fingers lace through my hair, guiding me with gentle insistence until I’m taking him as far back as I can go. “Swallow,” he instructs, and I feel him throb in my throat. I strum my clit and moan my own pleasure. He groans, and pride swells within my chest. I love making him come undone like this.

But just as he teeters on the edge, he pulls away, leaving me empty but eager. “Get on the bed,” he says, and I scramble to comply.

“Show me how you please yourself. I’ve only heard it. Now, I want to see.”

His confession hangs in the air, freezing me in place for a moment. My cheeks flush with embarrassment and arousal as I process his words. But then I spread my legs wide, revealing myself in all my vulnerability and arousal, glistening under his hungry gaze. I reach down to circle my wet clit, slow at first but gradually increasing in speed and pressure. My other hand travels to my breast, pinching and pulling at the nipple, just the way he did.

He groans, a guttural sound, and I open my eyes to see him stroking himself. After a moment, I lose myself in the rhythm of our mutual pleasure. My hips lift off the bed, seeking more, pushing against my own fingers as I chase my climax. Suddenly, I’m there, on the cliff’s edge, and with a cry that echoes off the walls, I tumble over into blissful oblivion.

Before I can catch my breath, he’s moving, the rustle of a foil packet punctuating the heavy air. He rolls the condom on, and climbing on top of me, he lifts my leg over his shoulder. As he enters, he stretches me wide, filling me completely. His movements are measured at first, allowing me to adjust to the new angle, the fullness.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he says again.

“Stop talking,” I pant. “Fuck me the way you like.”

That’s all the permission he needs. His restraint shatters, and he slams into me, hard and fast. Our bodies collide with a slapping of skin, and each thrust pushes me farther into the mattress, the forceful rhythm driving us both toward another peak. There’s nothing gentle now, only raw, primal need, and it’s exactly what I crave.

My fingers twist into the sheets, knuckles blanching as an intense wave of pleasure crashes over me. Holy shit—the intensity of it buckles my thoughts, scatters them like leaves in a storm. His body is an unyielding force, driving us both toward a crescendo that shudders through me, leaving me breathless and quaking.

He groans, and with a few final thrusts, I feel him tense, the unmistakable sign of his own release. The warmth spreads between us as he fills the condom, his movements slowing to a stop.

Collapsing next to me, he pants, his breath ragged and hot against my neck. After a moment suspended in the afterglow, he peels himself away and stumbles to the bathroom.

The sound of running water filters out, and when he returns, there’s tenderness in his touch as he cleans me up. “That was…better than I ever imagined,” he says. He pulls me in close, his arm a secure band around my waist as he spoons me from behind. In minutes, his breathing evens into the deep rhythm of sleep.

This feels good—too good—but now, in the quiet, I have to wonder what it means . Christian didn’t make promises of forever or sell me dreams, but he did say he wanted something with me. What ? What if I get emotionally attached? Is that what he wants? But what will that mean for me? For Addison?

The night stretches on, and I’m left to wonder if I’ve made a mistake. I suppose only time will tell.

I rise in the early morning, muscles sore yet strangely energized, and shuffle to Addison’s room, leaving Christian asleep. It’s farther down the hall than usual. Her soft coos and the rustling of blankets greet me as I enter, and as I prepare for her feeding, my thoughts churn like the formula in the bottle.

I take Addison in my arms and gaze down at her as she begins to eat, her eyes closed in trust and contentment. With each pull from the bottle, she draws more than just nourishment, she takes a piece of my heart, filling spaces hollowed by neglect.

As I burp her gently and place her back into her crib, the silence returns, my constant companion in solitude. I sit back in the glider, a sentinel in the quiet, watching over her as dawn creeps through the blinds. I chastise myself, realizing I’ve likely fallen into the same trap again, giving everything without expecting anything in return.

Maybe it’s not about being a priority to someone else, I realize. Maybe it’s time I become a priority to myself.