Hailey’s POV
The bedroom is thick with summer-night heat trapped inside the walls.
The ceiling fan spins lazy circles above us, doing almost nothing except stir the scent of him—sweat-slick skin, cedarwood cologne gone smoky from hours of teasing, and that sharp, primal musk that’s all arousal and all Ryan.
My own scent is already everywhere: the sweet-tart bloom between my legs, the salt on my throat where he’s been licking, the faint coconut trace of my body lotion now completely ruined.
My wrists are still pinned in his left hand, the rough calluses on his palm scraping my skin every time I tug.
The pressure is just shy of bruising and I want more of it. His right hand is buried inside me—three thick fingers now, stretching, curling, the wet squelch of my own slick obscenely lou
