Winning the Heir Who Bullied Me novel Chapter 143

Chapter 143

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He pulls back slightly, his eyes locking onto mine. “Do you think you’re ready?”

I nod, breathless with anticipation.

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He bites his lip slightly. “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. It’s not like I was planning this–I mean, I hoped, but I would have been happy waiting and-”

1 frown, blinking. “What are you talking about?”

Nathan exhales, and he shifts, moving away from me.

I hear a drawer open and close, and a crinkle. When he returns, he’s holding up a foil packet.

I let out a huff of laughter. I was so far gone, I didn’t even think about protection.

“Boy scout, huh?”

Nathan groans. “My dickhead of a younger brother gave me a whole pack the day after he caught us together.”

“Oh my God.” I covered my face with my hands, mortified. “That boy knows no boundaries.

Nathan chuckles, “Tell me about it.”

“Well,” I lean up and kiss him, drawing him back down over me-“let’s not let his gift go to waste, shall we?”

His smile falters just slightly, a flicker of emotion passing through his eyes that tightens something in my chest. He carefully tears the foil packet open, then tosses the wrapper aside.

“I love you,” he whispers, leaning in to kiss me again–deep and reverent, like he’s savoring every second.

I thread my fingers through his hair, my heartbeat echoing the steady thrum of his. “I love you, too.”

He presses his forehead to mine, breathing me in, grounding both of us.

Then he lines himself up, pausing–that worn question in his eyes.

I nod. “It’s okay.”

The moment he begins to enter me, the breath whooshes out of my lungs. It’s slow, careful, deliberate–but even with the burn, I don’t want him to stop.

I cling to him, anchoring myself to the weight of his body, the way he murmurs my name like it’s sacred.

He gathers me in his arms and I feel treasured–precious.

And when he’s fully inside me, we both go still. Just breathing. Feeling.

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17:23 Mon, Oct 13 N***

Chapter 143

Then he starts to move, his thythm tentative at first, like he’s waiting for my cue. I meet his gaze, wrap my legs around him, and whisper, “Don’t hold back.”

And this time, he doesn’t.

The ache builds again, slow and consuming. Every brush of skin, every erotic sound he makes, pushes me higher.

He kisses me through it–my lips, my neck, the corner of my eyes when I can’t hold back tears.

His name escapes me in a breathless whisper, while mine falls from his lips in a groan against my skin.

We fall together–into rhythm, into heat, into each other.

When I come again, it’s not just physical. It’s everything. I splinter around him, with him, held together only by the grip of his hands and the way he says my name like it’s both a prayer and a promise.

He follows right after, his body tensing, breath catching in my ear as he groans my name into my shoulder.

We stay like that for a while–entwined, shaking, hearts crashing into each other like waves on the shore.

When he finally rolls to the side and gathers me into his arms, it’s quiet. Soft.

I bury my head in his chest and inhale deeply as he says, “Are you-”

“Shut up.” I smile into his skin.

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