One Temptation

Too Deep (Chapter 73)

Sorry for updating so late everyone, life has been so busy lately, and I just haven't found much time to write.

It's a lonngggg one so enjoy.

Maybe even a... mature warning?

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Mads POV:

I hated packing.

Like genuinely. Hate it. Hate the piles, the stress, the chaos, the way everything feels like it's missing even though it's all probably right in front of me. Hate how I always end up throwing clothes across my room while somehow still convinced I'm forgetting something major.

Then there's also something about packing that feels too...final.

Like every time I shoved something into my suitcase, it made camp feel more real.

And God, the fact that it was a full-ass week. A whole week away. No parents, barely any teachers, just a bunch of hormonal teenagers pretending they're not plotting things they definitely shouldn't be doing in tents.

And here I was, on a Sunday afternoon, shoving clothes into my bag while trying—and failing—not to think about my boyfriend.

He wasn't even here yet and somehow he already had my heart stuttering and my thighs pressing together like they had a mind of their own.

He was coming over soon — I'd asked him to help me pack. But the truth is that I just wanted him near me so I didn't feel like I was going insane. It was a dumb excuse just to see him before we left tomorrow.

Because I kept thinking about sleeping in the same tent with him. About what the nights might feel like—how close we'd be, how easily a hand could slip beneath blankets.

What it would feel like to wake up tangled around him for seven days. With his voice all low and rough in the morning. The thought alone had me clenching my thighs together.

I was addicted to the way he looked at me, talked to me, the way his voice dipped when we argued or how it completely wrecked me when he murmured my name.

West, in that tight black shirt he always wore.

West, shirtless, towel low on his hips after a shower.

West, his hand sliding over my waist, slipping lower, lower—

Nope. Nope.

I sat up quickly, trying to focus.

I dragged open the drawer and started sorting through the usual stuff, tossing plain black cotton into the bag. But then I froze.

Because there it was.

The set.

That red lingerie I'd bought when I was out shopping with Lia and Em. It was impulsive. Something I'd laughed about, saying I'd never wear it. But on Friday I ended up telling West about it, and now I wasn't sure if it was a joke anymore.

The lace was delicate, and barely-there. The cups were soft and see-through and the straps were thin enough to snap if someone pulled just a little too hard. The matching thong? A scrap of nothing, just teasing string and illusion.

I remembered what West had said. How his voice dropped when he'd whispered something about a red lip and heels to match. The way he looked at me like he could already see me in it.

God, that look had me wet for hours.

And now, holding it in my hands?

My cheeks burned hot.