If I was being honest, I hadn't been in a relationship since Hilda's death. The thought hadn't even crossed my mind. Relationships required more time than I could allot, so instead, I stuck to flings.

Meaningless one-night stands from clubs, hotels, or even the occasional blind date to appease my family, but never anybody close. Never anything that had the potential to matter.

Because the moment something mattered, it became a weakness. A liability. Something that could be used against me.

I wasn't naive. I knew what kind of life I lived, and what kind of enemies I had. Lionel had proven that well enough when he tried to kill me. There wasn't room for distractions, let alone attachments.

But as Wesley's mouth moved against mine, hard and insistent, I realized I'd let this one happen anyway.

His fingers twisted in my shirt, pulling me closer. I could have pulled away. I should have. Instead, I dragged my hands down his sides, feeling the sharp inhale he took when I slipped my fingers under his shirt, just enough to press against warm skin.

He bit my lip again, sharp and deliberate, and I nearly laughed against his mouth.

So fucking stubborn.

He liked to play sheep, but I wasn't oblivious to the fact that Wesley had far more fire in him than he cared to admit. And honestly? I was into it.

I pulled back just enough to look at him, taking in the way his pupils were blown wide, his breath uneven. His lips were already a little swollen, and for some reason, that made something twist deep in my chest.

"What?" Wesley demanded, his voice rougher than before.

I shook my head. "Nothing."

His fingers flexed against my shirt like he wanted to shake me, but instead, he just huffed, tilting his head up to kiss me again. This time, it was slower, not softer, but more deliberate. More controlled. Like he was testing the waters, figuring out just how much I'd let him take.

I let him take a lot.

His hands moved with more confidence now, skimming over my ribs, pressing into my back like he wanted to keep me there, locked against him. Like he was afraid I'd change my mind.

I wasn't going to. Not tonight.

I backed him up a step, then another, until his spine met the counter's edge. He made a quiet sound, almost surprised, but he didn't pull away. If anything, he leaned into it, into me, fingers still tangled in my shirt like he was trying to memorize the feeling of it between his fingers.

This was supposed to be simple. Just a way to take the edge off.

But the way Wesley's breath hitched when I dragged my lips along his jaw, the way his nails dug in when I pushed a knee between his legs—this didn't feel simple at all.

And it sure as hell didn't feel meaningless.

I should stop.

I didn't.

I pulled away just enough to let Wesley slip from between me and the counter. I grabbed his wrist and led him to his room. I halfway expected him to back out; to clam up once everything felt more real, but he didn't. He started unbuttoning my shirt with surprising speed, only stopping to help me pull his own over his head.

He was still breathing hard, his chest rising and falling unevenly, and I let myself take him in—the sharp angles of his collarbones, the way the dim light traced over his skin. I wasn't supposed to look. Not like this. Not like I wanted to remember.

But I did.

His fingers skimmed my stomach as he pushed my shirt off my shoulders, and I felt the hesitation in the way they lingered like he wasn't sure if he had the right.

"You gonna think this to death?" I asked, my voice low.

His lips parted, and for a second, I thought he might actually pull back, might rethink whatever this was before we crossed the point of no return. But then something shifted in his expression, something sharper, hungrier, and he shoved me back toward the bed.

I let him.

He climbed over me without hesitation, pressing his weight down just enough that I could feel the tension in him.

"Thought you were supposed to be the sensible one."

"Shut up," Wesley muttered, and then his mouth was on my neck. His teeth scraped against my skin, not quite a bite, but enough to make me exhale sharply, my fingers tightening on his waist. He had something to prove—maybe to me, maybe to himself.

Fine.

I let him take what he wanted. Let him press me into the mattress, let him set the pace, let him do whatever he desired.

I leaned forward, lips moving to his collarbone and I nipped at the area.

Wesley sucked in a sharp breath, his fingers flexing against my back like he wasn't sure whether to pull me closer or push me away. His indecision didn't last long.

He tilted his head back slightly, giving me more access, and that was all the invitation I needed. I traced my lips along his skin, slow and deliberate, feeling the way his pulse fluttered beneath my mouth.

"You're—" His voice faltered when I bit down just enough to leave a mark. He shuddered, his grip tightening. "You're doing that on purpose."

I laughed against his skin. "Obviously."

His response was a frustrated sound, half a growl, half a breathless laugh. "You're a menace."

"The pot said to the kettle."

I might've been a menace, but there was no way he couldn't see—couldn't feel—what he was doing to me.

As if on cue, his eyes dropped to my pants. His fingers moved to my zipper, pausing for a moment to glance at me as if to gauge my reaction before continuing. His fingers slipped into my waistband and I lifted my hips just enough to allow him to remove my pants and boxers in one motion.

His breath hitched, and for a second, he hesitated again, his fingers ghosting over my hip like he was still testing the weight of this decision.

"You're thinking too much," I murmured, reaching up to thread my fingers through his hair, giving a light tug that made him suck in a sharp breath. "If you want to do it then just do it."

Something in him snapped at that—maybe pride, maybe something deeper, but the hesitation disappeared. He leaned down, pressing a kiss just below my navel, slow and deliberate like he wanted me to feel every second of it.

I exhaled sharply, my fingers tightening in his hair. "Wesley—"

His lips curved against my skin. "I thought I was thinking too much?"

Cocky bastard.

I let my head fall back against the pillow, giving myself over to the sensation. His hands slid up my thighs, firm and sure, and his lips followed—

"Fuck," I cursed to myself when his lips wrapped around my cock. "Fuck, Wesley."

He glanced at me almost smugly but didn't dare stop, not that I wanted him to.

I wasn't the only one who'd been waiting for this, I realized. He'd wanted this as much as I had, and it was in moments like this that he wasn't able to hide that from me.

Wesley was good with his mouth. Too good. He was determined, too, not letting up until he pulled me apart completely.

"Wait," I said finally, my fingers tightening in his hair. I wasn't sure if the sound that left him was a groan or a whimper, but he pulled back obediently, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "C'mere."

Wesley shot me a look, but he climbed over me. I leaned up, nipping at his neck as he straddled me, hard enough that he groaned into my mouth, his hands fumbling between us. It took him a few seconds to undo his belt, and when he finally did, I quickly removed the remaining cloth covering his body and pushed him onto his back.

He sucked in a sharp breath, but before he could get his bearings, I was already leaning over him.

He exhaled sharply, his fingers digging into my shoulders when I took him into my mouth. It had been a while since I'd done this, but from the way his nails scraped against my skin, I'd say I hadn't lost my touch.

His lips parted, his breath coming faster now, and I knew he was close. So, so close.

"Wait," Wesley said, his voice breaking.

I didn't.

Not until he'd spilled into my mouth, not until he'd gone limp and trembling against the sheets, not until I'd taken everything I wanted from him.

When I was finally done, he sat up on his elbows, looking at me with fire still shining in his ocean eyes.

"Ass," he grumbled, immediately contracting himself when his legs locked around my waist.

I laughed. "You're welcome."

"Don't look so smug," he said, but his voice was breathless, his chest rising and falling quickly. "It's unbecoming."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Well then, Mr. Fancy-Pants," I teased, leaning forward so my lips brushed his as I spoke. "What would you rather me look like?"

He swallowed, hard. "Just—not smug."

"Then how about..." I trailed off, biting the spot just below his ear that had him sucking in a sharp breath, his back arching.

"Fucking hell," he breathed.

I hummed. "You like that."

It wasn't a question, but Wesley still nodded, his eyes falling closed. "Obviously."

"Good." I bit down again, and this time, he shuddered beneath me, his fingers pressing into my back hard enough to bruise.

"Are you going to make a move or...?"

I snorted, pulling back. "What's the rush?"

He shot me a look, his eyebrows knitting together.

"What?"

"Just fuck me already, will you?"

"Ask nicely."

His lips parted, but for a second, no words came out. When they finally did, they were rough and impatient. "Please."

"Since you asked so nicely..."

He stretched, his hand moved to a drawer and he fumbled around a bit before pushing a small bottle against my chest. , harder this time, and I felt the way his entire body trembled as I pressed against him. He was warm, pliant, and more than ready.

I blinked.

"What?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Nothing, I just didn't expect a prude like you to have lube readily accessible. What else don't I know about you? You keep a stash?"

"Do you really want to know the answer to that?"

"Maybe."

"You're ridiculous."

I shrugged before opening the bottle and coating my fingers in the liquid.

"I'm clean, you know."

"So am I."

"Good."

Without any other words, I slipped a finger inside. Wesley sucked in a sharp breath and his nails dug into my shoulders. I didn't give him much time to adjust. After a few minutes, I added another.

I watched him as I moved. The way his eyes fluttered, his breath stuttered, and the way his legs tightened around me as if to encourage me to do more. So, I added a third finger and kept moving until I found that bundle of nerves that had him squirming beneath me and letting out breathy moans.

"Fucking hell, Manolo," he whined.

"You sure you're ready?"

"God, yes."

I nodded and removed my fingers, watching his face the whole time. I poured a generous amount of the lube into my hand and coated my cock with it. Wesley watched me the entire time, his pupils blown wide. I gave him one more moment to prepare himself, and then I pressed into him. His mouth fell open in a silent gasp, his eyes sliding closed.

"Are you alright?"

He nodded, his fingers twisting in the sheets.

I pushed in a little farther, and his breath caught, his eyes flying open.

"Manolo—"

"Too much?"

"No." He shook his head quickly. "It's just..." I waited. "Good. Really, really good."

"You sure?"

"God, yes."

And he sounded like he meant it, too.

I kept going until I bottomed out and we were both breathing hard and fast. I ran my fingers over to the underside of his jaw, and then, finally, I started to move.

"Fuck," he breathed. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

"Still good?"

He nodded, his head falling back, and I let myself take him in. The flush spreading across his cheeks, the way his eyes squeezed shut, the way his chest rose and fell with every unsteady breath.

Seeing him like that was all the motivation I needed to pick up the pace.

"Yes," he gasped, his hands slipping down my back, fingers pressing into my skin like he was trying to memorize the feeling.

Like he knew how fleeting this was.

"Fuck, Wesley."

"Keep going," he pleaded. "Don't stop."

I'd be crazy if I did.

I moved faster, angling my hips to hit exactly where I knew would destroy him. I watched as he came undone beneath me, reveling in the sight.

"I'm—"

"Go ahead," I murmured.

He came, and hard. His back arched, his legs tightening around my waist. The feeling was enough to send me over the edge, too. I thrust into him once, twice, and then I was spilling inside him.

"Fuck," Wesley breathed, his voice ragged.

I pull out, roll over, and lay on my back beside him. For a moment, neither of us say anything. I glance at the small clock beside him. Two in the morning.

"When do you work later?"

"Night shift," he answered after taking a few minutes to calm himself.

I drifted from the clock to his chest and even though I shouldn't, I do. I rolled over, halfway on top of him, and instead of being the voice of reason like always, those alluring blue eyes pushed me to go further once again.