His lips curved against my skin. His hands slid further under my shirt, rough palms gliding over my stomach, up my sides, thumbs tracing just beneath my ribs. Not quite touching anything, but so close I could barely breathe.

I pressed my palms against his chest like I was going to push him away—but I didn’t. Instead, I pulled him closer. And then he moved again, his body aligning with mine so perfectly it made me dizzy. I felt everything. Every inch, every shudder of his breath.

I rocked again, a little harder this time, feeling the friction between layers of fabric, feeling the heat of him between my legs. A choked sound escaped him—half curse, half groan—muffled into my neck.

My hands fisted in his shirt, my nails digging into his back.

And Blake just let it happen. Blake let me use him.

I pressed my lips together, trying to hold back the sounds threatening to spill out. I couldn’t stop; I kept moving. Slow, desperate rolls of my hips.

Blake made a sound deep in his throat, his hands flexing against my waist as if he was trying not to grip me harder.

My stomach clenched, my legs trembled, everything inside me snapping, unraveling, falling apart.

A strangled noise escaped me as my fingers curled into his back, my head tilting back against the pillows.

I was losing.

I was losing so badly.

“Blake,” I gasped.

His lips ghosted over my throat, his breath ragged.

“I know, baby.”

Baby.

My whole body tensed.

I wasn’t sure if he realized he had said it, but the second it left his mouth, something in my chest snapped. I arched under him, shaking, gasping, struggling to breathe as it crashed over me.

“You’re gonna⁠—?”

I didn’t hear the rest of his sentence.

Because the tension inside me broke all at once, leaving me trembling beneath him—fully clothed, with nothing but friction, heat, and his body against mine.

I made a sound I’d never made before.

Blake swallowed thickly, his hands still gripping my hips. “Jesus.”

Humiliation hit me the second he went still.

I sucked in a sharp breath, mortified. My face burned.

And now, Blake was still here, still on top of me, every inch of him impossible to ignore. I could feel his ragged breathing, the way his fingers were gripping my hips like he was physically restraining himself from moving.

“Beverly.” His voice was soft.

I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Blake shifted, his hand cupping the back of my head, his fingers sliding through my hair. “Hey.”

I shook my head, my breath shaky.

His other hand rubbed slow circles against my back.

“You’re okay,” he murmured. “It’s okay.”

I lifted my head just enough to look at him.

His eyes were soft.

I had expected something else—discomfort, guilt, regret.

But there was none of that.

Just Blake.

Watching me. Waiting.