CHAPTER forty-three #14
In one fluid motion, I straddle him, watching his expression transform with surprise, then unmistakable hunger.
The air between us seems to crackle with electricity.
I lean close to his ear. "Then show me. Show me exactly how much you want me."
His gaze shifts, hungry and predatory, like a wolf eyeing its prey.
He devours the sight of me, his arousal evident beneath me as I straddle him.
"Mm, someone's very eager tonight," he teases, voice husky with want.
"I'm done waiting, Zach... I... want you," I breathe between desperate kisses.
Zach's eyes darken, desire blazing like wildfire in their depths.
"God, you're trouble," he mutters.
His hands travel a scorching path from my flushed face, down the column of my neck, across my collarbone, until they reach the swell of my breast.
He pauses, looking up at me through thick lashes, a wicked glint in his eyes. I gasp when his fingers capture my sensitive peaks, rolling them between his fingertips.
"Zach!" I whimpers, lips parting, savoring the pleasure he's giving me.
"Do you like that, baby? When I do this?"
I nod. "Yes..."
I begin to grind against him, making Zach hiss as his fingers squeeze my breast more firmly. His hardness strains against his pants, desperate for release.
Our touches grow bolder, more urgent. Each caress of his fingers feels like lightning striking in my skin, electrifying every nerve ending in its path.
Zach's hands tremble as he gathers the hem of my sweatshirt in his fists. He lifts it slowly, like he's unwrapping something fragile, and his breath catches audibly when the sweatshirt finally clears my chest.
For a long, suspended moment, he freezes, simply staring as my breasts come into view—my skin flushed with anticipation, nipples peaked from the cool air or, more likely, the heat of his attention.
He looks both reverent and stunned, his gaze sweeping over every curve and shadow as if he's memorizing my anatomy for the rest of his life.
He swallows, Adam's apple bobbing once, and when he speaks, his voice is unsteady, almost shy.
"God, you're beautiful," he whispers, not quite daring to touch.
His hands hover just above my ribcage, warm and open, before he finally traces them along my sides, thumbs brushing the lower curve of each breast.
Before I can even think, his palm finds the small of my back, and he eases me down onto the mattress, following me until I'm lying flat beneath him.
I can feel the pounding of my own heart in my ears, the room narrowing to the space between our bodies, every inch of me tingling under his gaze.
With a shaky inhale, Zach dips his head, dark hair spilling forward.
His lips part, his tongue darts out to wet them, but he doesn't move closer until our eyes meet. He waits, searching my face for a sign—hesitation, fear, or, God help him, anything that means "stop."
He finds only fire and longing; my pupils are blown wide, mouth parted, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. I reach out, threading my fingers through the silk of his hair, and pull him gently toward me.
"I want to taste you," he says, voice raw and uneven, scraping across vocal cords that only moments before had been calm and measured.
I barely manage a nod, too full of want to trust my voice.
"Say it, baby." Zach's words are a trembling demand. "I need to hear you say it."
"Yes," I breathe. My hips roll forward, a plea written across my whole body. "Kiss them, bite them, suck them... do whatever you want, Zach. Please."
His restraint snaps, but the violence in it is all hunger and none of fear. He cups my breast—tentative at first, as if he might shatter me—but I arch into his palm, and his grip tightens, thumb circling the tip until I shiver.
Without warning, he dips his head, mouth closing over my nipple, sucking hard.
My mind, usually a latticework of logic and control, disintegrates. The only thing real is the hot pull of his mouth and the flash of his teeth as he grazes the sensitive skin around my areola.
Zach alternates between soft, fluttering licks and rough, insistent sucks, never settling into a pattern. His hand kneads the fullness of my breast while the other maps the slope of my waist, memorizing the line where it dips in, the sharpness of my hipbone.
When he releases my nipple with a wet pop, he looks up—not at my face, but at the mark his mouth has left. He smiles, almost proudly, before lavishing the same attention on the other side, tugging gently with his teeth, lapping at the raw peak until I whimper.
I try my best to stifle the sounds crawling up my throat, but each whine and gasp only makes Zach more desperate. He shifts, pressing my back into the mattress, his own body a barrier, caging me in.
I can feel the hard line of his erection even through his sweatpants, pressed firmly against my thigh.
Instinctively, I grind against it, seeking friction, my hands clawing at his shoulders, his arms—anything that gives me leverage. The world shrinks to the frantic rhythm of our bodies; even the air seems electrified, vibrating with hunger.
"Fuck, Caroline," he groans, voice muffled against my breast. "You drive me crazy. I can't get enough of you."
Zach captures my mouth again, kissing me hard and hungry as his hand trails down my waist and slips inside my pink cotton sleep shorts.
His fingers cup me over my lace panties, and I feel his lips curve into a smirk against my mouth.
"Baby," he whispers against my lips. "You're absolutely soaked for me."
He circles my nipple once more with his tongue before kissing a line between my breasts, down my sternum, then nipping softly at the skin just above my navel.
I nearly sob at the loss of contact when he pulls away, but Zach only lowers himself to his knees, hands gripping my hips for dear life.
He tugs my sleep shorts down slowly, as if savoring the anticipation—first exposing the smooth skin of my belly, then the narrow strip of lace panties beneath.
He pauses, looks up at me, and waits, the question in his eyes clear: May I?
My hands tremble as I brush his hair back from his forehead.
"Please," I tell him again, this time barely a whisper. "I want you."
He hooks his thumbs in the waistband and drags both shorts and panties down in one smooth motion, letting them pool around my ankles before lifting each foot gently to free me from the fabric. The tips of his fingers trace a lazy pattern along the curve of my thigh, then inch upward.
My pulse batters at my throat, my eyes glued to his as he leans in, inhaling deeply at my heat.
He presses a reverent kiss against my inner thigh, lips soft and patient. Then another, higher still. When his mouth finally reaches my center, his tongue flicks out—testing, teasing.
The first touch sends a shockwave through me, hips bucking involuntarily, my fingers clutching desperately at the sheets to anchor myself.
Zach laughs softly, the vibration of it humming against me, and then he sets to work in earnest—the slow, circular motion of his tongue, the gentle scraping of his teeth, the relentless pressure of his lips.
My composure vanishes.
I moan shamelessly, my fingers tightening in his hair, my entire body focused on the pleasure he's building inside me. I've never felt so exposed, so entirely under someone's control—and yet, the consent is mine at every turn, his every movement a question, my every reaction an answer.
Zach's eyes meet mine, dark with desire but impossibly gentle. "I'll be gentle," he promises, his voice a reverent whisper.
"Tell me if it's too much."
When he eases a finger inside me—my first time feeling anyone but myself—the newness of the sensation steals my breath. He watches my face as he curls his finger just so, finding a spot I never knew existed.
As he carefully adds a second digit, a strangled sound escapes my throat.
My eyes flutter closed as his fingers work their magic, each thrust sending electric currents through my trembling body.
I bite down on my lower lip to keep from crying out, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps as I hover at the precipice of something I've only ever imagined.
"Look at me," he says, voice suddenly sharp, and I obey, meeting his eyes as he makes me fall apart. "You're so fucking gorgeous when you come," he whispers, and the words push me over the edge.
I come with a shudder, vision fracturing, hands clutching at his shoulders.
Zach holds me through every pulse, slowing only when I collapse back against the pillows, boneless and panting.
I've never felt anything like this—like I'm floating and drowning all at once. Everything feels both impossibly sharp and wonderfully hazy, like I'm experiencing the world through new senses entirely.
He rises from between my legs, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, then crawls up my body to press kisses to my forehead, my cheek, my lips—each one softer than the last.
When I finally open my eyes, I find pride and awe in his expression, a softness that has nothing to do with lust.
He tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear, and I realize I'm smiling, giddy with the aftershocks of what just happened.
He presses our foreheads together, and for a moment, neither of us speaks. The silence is full, not awkward—more like a secret we've both been waiting to share.
My breathing finally steadies—just enough for me to notice the prominent bulge still straining against Zach's sweatpants.
My eyes drift downward, lingering there a little too long as heat blooms low between my thighs.
"What about you?" I ask, my voice rough and husky with lingering pleasure.
Zach follows my gaze, his lips curving into that slow, knowing smile that always ruins me. "Oh, did you think we're done, babe?"
"Aren't we?" The question slips out breathless... and maybe a little too hopeful.
"Caroline, baby," he murmurs, voice dropping to a low rumble that vibrates through me. "We're just getting started."
Oh thank fuck!