CHAPTER forty-three #16
We both laugh, hoarse and breathless, our foreheads brushing. It's a ridiculous, beautiful sound—half relief, half disbelief that this is real.
Then Zach dips his head and claims my mouth again, kissing me like he's starving for me, like he'll never get enough.
I feel stretched to the limit, impossibly invaded, and yet the sensation is intoxicating—a dizzy, heady cocktail of pleasure and triumph. I smile up at him, part delirious, part victorious, and he laughs softly, forehead falling to rest against mine.
"You're incredible," he murmurs, voice strained, as he pushes in slow and deep, like he's trying to memorize the feeling.
I gasp, the sound torn from somewhere deep in my chest, and for a moment neither of us move, both trembling under the weight of what we've just done.
"So are you," I whisper.
Then he starts to move—slowly at first, in shallow, reverent thrusts, as if he was afraid I might break.
Each drag and retreat kindle new sparks inside me, the sting giving way to something wetter and sweeter, my body feverishly adjusting around him.
My hands slide up his back, into the sweat-damp hair at his nape, needing to anchor myself to something real in this liquid, melting world.
He set a rhythm, gentle but insistent, the mattress beneath us creaking in time with our bodies. The pain is gone now, replace by a deep, rolling pleasure that built with every stroke.
I feel myself unraveling, each moan and whimper coax from my lips by the relentless pressure, the way his body fit mine so perfectly it was almost beyond belief.
Sweat slick our skin, our bodies slipping together in a frantic, tangled knot.
Zach's mouth is everywhere—my throat, my collarbone, the soft slope of my shoulder—sucking bruises as if intent on marking me as his in all the ways that matter.
He whispers my name over and over, voice thick with awe, like he can't believe I am real.
"I'm not gonna last, I—fuck, you're so tight, I—"
I press a hand to his cheek, my thumb brushing at the corner of his mouth. "It's okay. It's okay..."
The heat builds steadily, then all at once, like a hurricane gathering on the horizon. I can feel myself tightening, the pleasure stretching to the point of breaking, and I cling to Zach as if he's the only thing tethering me to the earth.
He thrusts harder, faster, his careful restraint unraveling as we both near the edge. His face contorts with raw, primal desire.
His eyes darken to a stormy gray, his eyebrows furrow in concentration.
A sheen of sweat glistens on his forehead, his cheeks flushed red with exertion. With each movement, his jaw clenches, revealing a hint of his strong, chiseled jawline.
And God, I love the look on his face—so fierce, so vulnerable all at once. Knowing I'm the reason he's coming apart like this sends a wave of warmth straight through me.
It's electric, consuming, almost too much to take in.
My nails dig into his shoulders, leaving red lines in their wake, and I feel a shudder run through him.
"Oh fuck," he groans against my ear. "Come with me, baby."
And I do.
I fall first, shattering around him with a raw, ragged cry.
The orgasm rolls through me in waves, every muscle in my body clenching, my vision whiting out as my body convulsed in his arms.
He pumps into me one last time before collapsing on top of me, his weight pinning me down but not uncomfortably so. We lay there together, both panting heavily as our hearts race to calm down from the intense passion that just consumed us both.
For the first time in my life, I feel utterly, gloriously spent. And happier than I ever thought possible.
"I love you..." he whispers.
"I love you more..." I murmur, smiling so wide my cheeks ache.
His lips curve into that devastating grin—the one that still makes my stomach flip like it's the first time all over again. God, he's so stupidly handsome when he smiles like that.
"Impossible..." he breathes, before leaning in to kiss me again—slow, gentle, a quiet promise sealed between us.
We stay there, tangled in the sheets and each other, smiling like idiots. The world feels small—just the two of us, hearts still racing, bodies still trembling from everything we just shared.
Years from now, I know I'll still remember the way he looked at me tonight—the softness in his eyes, the way love felt brand-new and endless all at once.
Our first night.
Our forever beginning.
CHAPTER forty-three
CAROLINE
Iget back to my dorm around eleven, hair a mess, lips probably still swollen, and the world's dopiest grin plastered on my face. Zach tried to convince me to stay over, but if I did, let's be honest—zero studying would happen tonight.
The man is way too good at distraction.
Besides, I've got two papers due and an exam tomorrow, and apparently, academic responsibility and being stupidly in love don't mix well.
Still, as soon as I flop onto my bed, the smile I've been trying to suppress breaks free.
My whole body feels like it's humming — like I've been plugged into a very specific kind of happiness. Every muscle is loose, my heart's light, and my brain's just playing a nonstop highlight reel of him.
I bury my face in my pillow and let out a squeal so undignified it could shatter glass.
Oh my god. Zach Westbrook. My boyfriend. My very hot, very talented boyfriend.
I kick my feet in the air like some lovestruck freshman, rolling back and forth until my blanket tangles around my legs.
I should be focusing on my paper right now, but instead, all I can think about is the way he looked at me, the way he said my name as he came, and how he seemed determined to make me come until I couldn't remember my own name—which happened more times tonight than I could count on both hands.
My cheeks actually hurt from smiling.
I think I'm doomed.
I force myself off the bed before I dissolve into another puddle of delirious giddiness and head to the bathroom. A cold shower—it's the only cure for whatever this intoxicating condition called Zach Westbrook is.
The water is freezing, but it helps. Sort of. I come out ten minutes later, hair dripping, feeling slightly more human... or at least less feral.
The dorm door creaks open behind me.
"Hey," I say, towel-drying my hair.
"Hi, Care..." Sam's voice is barely more than a mumble. She looks exhausted—her eyes have dark circles under them, and she's moving like every bone in her body weighs a ton. She drops her backpack and notes onto the floor with a soft thud before muttering, "Good night, Care."
I blink. "Uh,"
She doesn't make it two steps before collapsing face-first onto her bed, out cold in seconds.