Page 78 of Mending Hearts
Waiting.
This is the moment he could end it. Sayslow. Saynot yet. SayOllie, don’t.
I’d stop. I would. We both know that.
His chest rises hard under my hand. His jaw flexes. But he doesn’t move away. Doesn’t take my hands off him. Doesn’t break eye contact.
Permission doesn’t always sound like words.
My heart is pounding so loud I’m sure he can feel it between us. “Tell me to stop,” I whisper. Not a challenge—a vow.
He swallows. Shakes his head once. Barely.
That’s all it takes. I drop to my knees.
For a second, I just look up at him. His chest rises fast. His hands flex at his sides like he doesn’t know whether to touch me or let me move.
I reach for him instead.
I hook my fingers into the waistband of his jeans. The denim is warm from his skin. Familiar. My pulse kicks harder as I pop the button, slow on purpose, watching his face the whole time. He clamps down on his bottom lip when I drag the zipper down.
“You’re killing me,” he mutters.
“Yeah,” I murmur back, pushing his jeans lower over his hips. “That’s kind of the point.”
I slide my hands over his thighs as I work the jeans down, taking my time. I’m not rushing this. I push the fabric past his hips, freeing him inch by inch, my fingers brushing bare skin as it’s revealed.
Fuck, his cock is long. Thicker than I remember. Solid in my hand. And there—just under the flushed head—a small silver barbell I’ve never seen before.
A piercing.
I stare at it for a second too long.
Of course he got one. Of course he changed while I wasn’t there to see it happen.
He’s beautiful in a way that makes my stomach dip. His dick the kind that promises stretch. Heat. That slow, steady burn that leaves you wrecked in the best way. My mouth actually waters at the thought of it. Of later. Of how he’ll feel inside me.
It’s been years.
Years since I’ve had him like this. Years since I’ve been down here, hands on him instead of fisting sheets alone andpretending memory was enough. There were so many nights that I told myself this was done. That we were done. That this—him, like this—was something I’d lost for good.
And now he’s here, in my hands.
I wrap my fingers around him. He fills my palm. My thumb brushes the barbell, testing. He sucks in a breath, hips twitching.
Yeah. He likes that.
Heat spreads low in my gut. My body remembers him immediately. No hesitation. No awkwardness. Like we didn’t lose time at all.
“Ollie.”
I look up.
My name comes out broken. Desperate. It hits me straight in the chest.
I used to hear that sound in the dark. Used to fall asleep with it in my ear. I didn’t think I’d ever hear it again.
Something hot and dangerous moves through me. Not just want. Not just hunger.
