Chapter 3
Ashlyn
I was surprised when he pressed his lips to mine, but I didn’t resist him at all.
I don’t think a single cell in my body opposed.
It’s hard work pretending to be tough, stubborn, and unafraid when you’re in the house of a man like Zane. His body alone is enough to make you forget what you were saying, and possibly, who you are.
So when Zane pulls me against him, my body naturally responds. My back arches, my nipples grow hard against his warm chest, and I naturally rise to my tiptoes to allow the kiss to go deeper.
His tongue finds mine, teasing it softly without being pushy. He nibbles on my lip, coaxing a small, involuntary moan from my mouth into his.
He smiles against my lips.
“You really never do this?” he asks.
“Which part?” I ask, and it earns me a raspy chuckle.
“All of it.”
“I’m not a virgin if that’s what you’re asking,” I say, biting my lip before going on with the next part. “But I’ve also never been with anyone that really knew what they were doing.”
It’s a terrible thing to say about my ex. He tried his best; I think. But he had nothing on the guy standing in front of me. No one has. It’s enough to have me asking, Mitchell who?
“Well, you are in luck, sweetheart,” Zane says with a smirk on his face. “Because while I don’t usually do things like this either, I’m feeling pretty confident right now.”
I smile, but it fades, and I pull back. “Wait, what do you mean you don’t usually do things like this? No offense, but you come off as a guy who has been…who has a lot of experience…who has no issue with…”
He chuckles again.
“I mean, I don’t usually hook up with photographers,” he says, and I feel the heat rise to my cheeks.
“Oh. Right.”
“But I can definitely make an exception because I’m not used to photographers being as sexy as you…”
This time, I am the one with the smirk crawling across my lips. I press them back to his and the rest comes naturally.
He picks me up and carries me over to the couch, laying me back before grabbing my leggings by the waistband and peeling them off of me. It’s no easy feat considering they’re wet, but thanks to every flexing muscle in this man’s upper body, he has no trouble with it at all.
A moment later, he sends them flying before he crawls on top of me, kissing me again before working his way south. His lips brush my neck and collarbone, and the hair of his perfectly manicured face tickles the skin behind my ears.
I giggle, pressing my hands to his chest, and Zane grins.
“You’re so cute,” he muses. “And fucking delicious.”
He flashes a smile at me and then continues on his journey south.
He spreads kisses slowly along the swell of my chest until his mouth finds my nipples.
He plants two kisses on them, making me shudder and moan at the hot, teasing contact before he pulls the straps of my tank top from my shoulders and lets it fall.
Then he covers each one with his hot mouth, pampering them both with attention that has me bucking against him.
He does this just long enough to send heat surging through my body.
He moves lower and lower until he has the band of my panties in his teeth and is yanking them down.
As his mouth covers my anticipatory nerves, I silently thank God that I took a little dip in the hot tub before this happened. It’s been less than an hour ago I was army crawling through the flora and fauna outside. As his tongue finds my clit, I moan and whimper as he licks and suckles it.
He is so fucking skilled with his tongue.
Zane goes down to his knees at the end of the couch, laces his arms around my thighs, and yanks me hard against his hungry mouth.
“Fuck!” I let out in a whimpering scream as he dismantles me from reality. I used to be a daycare worker until I started as a full-time paparazzi photographer. Now, I am hooking up with a supermodel. This can’t be real. This can’t be my reality. It’s a fever dream…one I don’t want to wake up from.
His tongue flickers with a speed I’ve never experienced before.
My vision blurs around the edges, and I arch my back.
I stare up at the vaulted ceiling of his mansion, but close my eyes as the orgasm rushes through me in violent waves.
My thighs tighten and shake with every release.
Then every nerve begins to dull as my body attempts to recover.
But Zane doesn’t give it the chance.
“I’m finished,” I murmur, running my hand through his hair.
“No, you’re not,” he responds, his mouth still on me.
I look down at him. His hair is tousled from my groping, and the arch of his shoulders is smooth and tan.
He is so fucking hot as he continues to shower my pussy in kisses.
After I register what he said, I stare at him.
He must see the questioning look on my face, because he answers without looking up.
“You’re finished when I say you’re finished,” he says.
“But I came…” I tell him. Surely, he knows. Surely a man like him, a man of his experience, knows how a woman’s body reacts while she has an orgasm.
“Once,” he says, and when the dots finally connect, his tongue has found my clit again. I let out a scream as the nerves light on fire again. He’s going for round two, and it’s something I’ve never experienced in my twenty-five years of life, and I’m not so sure I will come again.
That is, until I feel a second orgasm building in my thighs, swelling until its fireworks through my nerves, even more intense than the last one.
“Oh, Fuck!” I scream as the orgasm surges through me. I can feel Zane smiling.
After my body begins to ache, he pulls back with a cocky grin on his lips. I let him have his moment of ego. Honestly, he earned it.
When he comes to his feet, the towel falls, and he is standing in front of me in all his glory.
Zane Calloway is a gorgeous man. I’ve seen him many times in his tight boxer briefs, plastered on the front of magazines and billboards, but seeing his naked body in person is a whole different experience.
The abs, the quads, the glutes, the tight package that looks like it’s about to spring loose makes my mouth water.
He pulls his swim shorts down, revealing his girthy cock. He’s hard, smooth, and veiny; he’s bigger than I’d imagined.
I swallow hard, and Zane’s eyes go dark, but his lips curl devilishly in the corners, and he crawls back on top of me. Part of me doesn’t know if I’ll be able to take it. The other part of me doesn’t give a flying fuck. This man can split me in half if he wants to, and I’d probably ask for more.
He runs the tip over the length of me, keeping his eyes locked on mine as he does. It’s a small amount of contact, but he might as well have said open sesame because both of my legs part instantly. I am open and ready for him. I need him.
“Good girl,” he says with a gravelly tone, and my lips part in anticipation.
He slides himself inside me, slowly at first and then all at once, filling me up with him.
“Fuck,” I whisper as I stretch around him. He touches every nerve inside me. Some have been aching to be touched for so long, and others I didn’t even know existed. I am so aroused, I’m delirious.
Slowly, he moves, gliding in and out of me.
I wrap my legs around him, gripping his shoulders in my hands as I ride him, relishing every thrust, etching the entire experience into my memory.
I want to keep this experience with me forever.
Even if it ends with losing my job, and I never see him in person again.
This moment is going to be a slowly developed Polaroid, hanging in the darkroom of my mind like a secret.
As we find a rhythm, a learned dance from what I am picking up, he picks up the pace, quicker and quicker until he is driving in and out of me with enough force to shatter me into more pieces than my camera on the floor.
“Oh god,” I cry out, and so does he. Most men, from what I’ve heard, aren’t super vocal, but not Zane. When our orgasms overtake us, we are both loud enough to wake the neighbors and not just the one next door.
Zane hops up and grabs the towel, wrapping it around himself. Then he returns with a dry hoodie and a pair of gym shorts and tosses them at me.
“Thanks…” I say, slipping into them. After that, I grab my things, sans the broken camera, and head for the back door. Zane chuckles.
“You can go out the front,” he says.
“Are you sure?” I ask. “It might look sus if a girl is seen leaving your house in the middle of the night.”
“That wouldn’t look sus at all,” he says, emphasizing the age gap in our slang. “But it might look bad if someone catches you trampling my hydrangeas.”
“Good point,” I say before walking out the front door. My car is parked around the corner, but I don’t mind the walk. I can use all the fresh air I can get after whatever the fuck just happened.