Wes opens his mouth, but I cut him off.
“It doesn’t matter whether you’re the first or fiftieth guy I’ve been with, you can’t predict the future.”
He nods. “I know. My friends told me I was sabotaging my own happiness, and they were right. But you’re so damn perfect, Sol. You deserve so much more than I could ever give you.”
A growl of frustration burns in my throat, and I close the distance between us and shove his chest, sending pens rolling across the desk. “How many times do we have to do this? I’m not fucking perfect.”
He grabs my wrists, stopping me from shoving me again, and forcing me to look at him. “I’m not talking about the ridiculous expectations you put on yourself. It’s how I see you. To me, you are beyond perfect, Sol. Literally, in every way. And there’s nothing you can do or say to change that.”
I pull out of his grip and stagger backwards, breathing hard. “If I’m so perfect, why didn’t you say something? It’s not like you haven’t had the opportunity.”
Wes takes his glasses off and sets them on the desk, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I was going to. That Monday when you brought me lunch, I was planning to apologize. My parents told me off for the way I treated you and my friends did the same. But then, you showed up, bright and happy, like I hadn’t treated you like trash, and asked to be friends. It took me by surprise and to be honest, I was just relieved you still wanted to be around me. I was happy to take any scraps you were offering.”
I turn away with a groan.
“I figured you were over it,” Wes continues. “Over us. I didn’t want to ruin that by asking you to take a step backwards, so I suffered in silence. Which I deserved.”
“Why now, then?” I ask, steeling myself as I turn around.
Wes slowly shakes his head. “Because it’s over tomorrow. Once the fundraiser is out of the way, you have no reason to spend time with me and I needed you to know that I was sorry. That I hadn’t swept what happened between us—how I behaved—under the rug.”
I nod because I don’t know what to say. He’s said so much, but at the same time nothing at all.
“I’ve enjoyed our meetings,” he says softly. “I loved spending time with you, but maybe you can share your secret, because every second was the worst kind of torture.”
“What secret?” I ask.
He gives me a lopsided smile. “How you managed to move on. Because I’m trying, but I just can’t.”
Something cracks in my chest, and I sink onto the bed, resting my elbows on my knees as I push my fingers through my hair. “There is no fucking secret,” I mutter. “I never moved on. I never even tried.”
Silence fills the room and I wonder where we go from here. We’re both as hopeless as each other it seems, but Wes hasn’t said he’s changed his mind, only that he regrets making the decision in the first place. I can’t put the offer of something more on the table again just for him to walk away. I don’t think I could survive the rejection a second time.
The desk creaks as Wes moves, and he sinks to his knees before me. I lift my head, eyes widening in question, but he reaches up and cups my jaw, his lips parted, and his eyes slightly narrowed.
“Sol.” He breathes my name, and it’s neither a question nor an answer.
I tilt my head, nestling against his broad palm, my eyes drifting shut as I rub my nose along his thumb. “Wes.”
His other hand gripping my knee, he moves closer, but I don’t open my eyes. His breath is warm against my lips, and I swallow, desperately waiting for him to close the gap—to make that final leap.
When his soft lips tentatively brush mine, I crumble. Perhaps I should ask him what this is—what we’re doing. Maybe we should talk a little longer. But I’m done with words. When our lips touch a second time, I reach for him, the desperation I’ve been holding back for so long set free. My fingers stroke his face, his neck, before hungrily trailing down his sides, seeking more skin.
Wes moans, his mouth never leaving mine as he peels off my leather jacket, his warm fingers sliding under my Henley. I grip him tight, torn between wanting his skin on mine and losing his mouth, if only for a second. But then Wes makes the decision for me, breaking our kiss and tugging off my shirt before doing the same to his own.
We stare at each other for a half second, wild eyed and breathless, and then he pounces. Pushing me back on the bed, his tongue sweeps into my mouth as he layers his body on mine, and I groan at the feel of him. My fingers try to push down his sweats, but he grips my hands and pins them above my head while he kisses me like he might die if he stops.
My hips roll, my body aching for more. I’m already hard in my jeans and Wes’ cock is digging into my hip through his sweats, though he ignores my body’s pleas.
“Stop,” he growls against my lips. “I’ve been dreaming of this for a month. Let me worship you the way you deserve.”
His words halt my breath, and his grip tightens on my wrists as he kisses and nips along my jaw, his tongue teasing the sensitive spot below my ear until I’m squirming.
“Wes,” I plead.
He ignores me, his mouth trailing kisses down my arms and along my shoulders. Writhing beneath him, it’s the sweetest torture, but as he moves lower, releasing my wrists, he lightly closes the fingers of one large hand around my throat and my body stills, every muscle relaxing.
“Look at you,” Wes rumbles against my skin, his fingers tightening their grip. “Desperate for my cock.”