Page 19 of One Pucking Secret
I shake my head. “Absolutely not. I’m not spilling my guts to Mothers Against Drunk Driving, or anyone else for that matter, for public consumption.”
“Come on, Wyatt. This could help reshape the way people see you.”
“By picking at scabs until they bleed?” I step closer, the tile cold beneath my bare feet. “Youwant me to parade my parents’ ghosts in front of the world?”
“I know it’s hard, but isn’t it better to face the truth than let these lies tear you down?” Chloe says gently, taking a step closer.
“Better for who, Chloe?” My voice rises, frustration and fear breaking through. “For you? For your image rehab tour?”
“Better for you, Wyatt!” she snaps back, the echo of her words bouncing off the lockers. We’re inches apart now, breaths mingling, tension hot between us. “To clear your name and maybe—just maybe—to honor their memory.”
“By dragging them through the mud again?” I challenge, her body so close to mine I can feel the heat radiating from her. It sends a jolt of something through me, something not entirely born from anger. “You think that honors anyone?”
“Sometimes the truth hurts,” she whispers, her breath warm against my skin, trembling with emotion. “But it can also heal.”
“Easy for you to say,” I hiss back. “You’re not the one laid bare.”
We’re toe-to-toe now, the argument charged with something primal, the attraction we’ve been denying threading through the heat ofour words. The anger doesn’t dissipate—it twists, becoming something raw, something undeniable.
“Wyatt…” Her voice is softer now, but the intensity in her eyes is unmistakable. She’s so close, the heat between us blurring the lines between frustration and desire. The back-and-forth of our words only heightens the tension, tightening every nerve in my body.
Before I know it, I close the gap, my mouth crashing onto hers. A release of everything—anger, frustration, and unresolved emotions. Her lips meet mine with equal force, like she’s been waiting for this too, the spark between us igniting into something uncontrollable.
At first, her hands press against my chest, as if to push me away, but then they grip my shirt, pulling me closer. I feel her body responding, the way her lips move against mine with desperate urgency.
But just as quickly as the moment ignites, she shoves me away, her palms flat against my chest, breaking the kiss with a sharp gasp.
“Wait,” she breathes, her eyes wide, searching mine. There’s no denying the pull between us, but the weight of everything we’re dealing with hangs heavy in the air.
“Chloe.” My voice is thick with the words I haven’t said, the frustration that’s been simmering since college. I can see the conflict in her eyes, the walls she’s built starting to crack.
Her green eyes flicker with something deeper than anger or desire—something that scares both of us. And in that moment, I know she feels it too, the way we’re drawn to each other no matter how hard we fight it.
With a swift motion, she tangles her fingers in the damp hair at the nape of my neck and pulls me back to her. This time, the kiss is slower, more deliberate, but no less intense. It’s like we’re both trying to burn away the emotions we’ve buried for too long, finding something real in the chaos.
Our bodies press together, the argument forgotten as her hands slide down my chest, and I feel her tremble against me. It’s more than just lust—it’s the weight of everything we’ve been through, the unspoken understanding that we’re connected in ways we can’t fully explain. My hands move, finding the hem of her skirt, fingers creeping up the smooth expanse of her thigh, past her panties until they reach the heat of her.
“Mm. Just as tight as I remember,” I murmur, savoring the slick heat of her entrance as my fingers slide inside.
Her eyes flutter shut, head falling back against the locker with a soft gasp. “Your fingers…”
Without hesitation, I slip a third one in, drawing a sharp moan from her lips.
“Oh God,” she cries, her voice breathless, her body arching into mine, offering herself up to me.
“Good girl,” I whisper, pressing my lips to her neck.
She shudders beneath my touch, and I can’t help but grin, reveling in her response.
“Come for me,” I growl softly, teeth grazing her neck, just enough to make her tremble.
“Oh, fuck,” she gasps, gripping my hair, her body tightening around my fingers, her walls clenching in rhythm with each thrust. The locker room fills with the sound of her pleasure, her cries reverberating in the enclosed space. It’s intoxicating—her scent, the feel of her body quaking against mine, the raw intensity of the moment.
My name spills from her lips as she comes apart in my arms, her release leaving her trembling in the aftermath.
Then the moment shatters. A door slams somewhere in the distance, the sharp sound cutting through the charged air, jolting us both back to reality. Chloe’s eyes snap open, panic washing over her features.
For a beat, neither of us moves, the echo of the door still hanging between us. Then, with trembling hands, she pulls her skirt back down, her expression a mix of fear and regret.
