CHAPTER fifty-eight #8
"You were so fucking beautiful tonight," he growls, his voice rough with possession.
"Every guy in there couldn't take their eyes off you.
It made me want to gouge their fucking eyes out just for looking.
" His pace suddenly accelerates, each thrust harder than before, the bed frame creaking beneath us.
"They can look all they want," he snarls against my ear, "but this—" he slams into me with punishing force, "this is mine. Only mine. YOU are mine!"
My moan tears through the room, primal and unrestrained. "God, yes!" I gasp, my voice breaking with raw need.
My hips buck wildly against his, matching his ferocity thrust for thrust.
The second he growls that possessive line, something inside me detonates. My hormones just heard his caveman voice and said, “YES, LET’S BE FERAL.”
Heat rushes through me so fast I swear my soul does a cartwheel.
God help me, but his possessiveness? That shit turns me on like nothing else.
His hands shoot up to capture my wrists, pinning them above my head in one swift, commanding motion. I'm completely at his mercy now, my body arching to take him impossibly deeper, silently demanding more of his savage possession.
He thrusts into me again, his cock pistoning in and out of my slick cunt with a brutality that leaves me breathless.
"Say my name—only mine," he growls, his hips snapping forward with enough force to make my entire body jolt.
"Zach!" I scream, the word tearing from my throat like a fucking prayer.
My body shakes with the beginnings of an earth-shattering orgasm. He doesn’t let up, his rhythm unrelenting, his cock fucking me so deep I can feel it in my fucking soul.
The whipped cream is smeared across my chest, my tits glistening with a mix of sweat and sweetness, and Zach's mouth is everywhere—my neck, my tits, my lips—as he claims me completely.
I am his, and he isn't going to stop until I’m screaming his name loud enough to wake the fucking dead.
He pulls back slowly, almost completely withdrawing, and I whimper in protest. His eyes burn into mine, wild and possessive.
"Say you're mine, baby."
"I'm yours," I gasp, desperate for him to fill me again.
He slams back inside me with such force that a scream rips from my lungs.
"Again," he demands, voice guttural. "Tell me you're mine. Forever mine."
"I'm yours!" Every thrust feels deeper than the last, his cock stretching me, claiming me. "I'm yours, Zach! Always..." Each word punctuated by the delicious friction of him moving inside me.
His face contorts with pleasure as he alternates between punishing thrusts and torturous slow strokes, like he's savoring every second of my surrender.
"I want to stay buried inside you forever," he pants against my mouth before capturing my lips in a bruising kiss. "Feel you clenching around my cock. Its fucking divine."
My legs lock around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back as I cling to him desperately.
"Baby," I gasp, my voice breaking as pleasure builds to an almost unbearable peak. "I'm so close—please don't stop." My fingers claw at his shoulders as the tension coils tighter and tighter inside me.
"Right there, oh god, right there," I pant, my hips bucking wildly against his, chasing the release that hovers just beyond reach.
"Tell me how good it feels," he demands, his rhythm becoming erratic.
"So—so good," I stammer as he hits that perfect spot deep inside me. "Harder, please!"
"Like this?" He slams into me, the headboard crashing against the wall. "This what you need?" Thrust. "No one gets you like this but me. Remember that." Thrust.
I can only nod frantically as another orgasm builds impossibly fast. "I'm gonna—"
"Come for me again," he commands, his thumb finding my clit. "Let me feel that tight pussy squeeze my cock."
The orgasm hits me like lightning, my whole body convulsing as I scream his name, the sound echoing off the walls.
My thighs clamp around him, trembling uncontrollably as wave after wave of pleasure tears through me.
Zach's rhythm falters, his eyes locked on mine as he follows me over the edge.
"I love you," he gasps against my mouth, the words spilling from him again and again as he pulses inside me. "I love you, I love you," each declaration punctuated with desperate kisses as he empties himself deep within me.
CHAPTER fifty-seven
CAROLINE
After Zach fucked me six ways from Sunday, we crashed hard. Sated, exhausted, warm. One minute we were talking in that soft, sleepy way you only do after the best night of your life, my head on his chest after we showered... and the next, I'm jolted awake by the violent buzzing on my phone.
I blink, disoriented. Thank God only the lamp on his nightstand is on — no harsh overhead lights, no interrogation vibes — just soft, golden glow.
Zach's arm is draped over my waist, pulling me close in that instinctive, unconscious way he does even in his sleep. It makes my stomach warm, makes me smile before I can stop it.
God, I love waking up like this. Wrapped in him. Safe. Wanted.
But the buzzing doesn't stop.
My attention snaps to my phone on the nightstand.
I reach for it quickly, squinting at the screen.
4:03 a.m.
Two missed calls from Sam.
One unread message.
A little bolt of unease zips through me as I tap her name.
The message pops up.
Just one word.
SAM
9-1-1
My heart slams so hard it's like it hits the inside of my ribs.
I shoot upright, breathing fast, already dialing her number with shaking fingers. At the same time, I shove my free hand behind me to nudge Zach awake.
"Come on, come on, pick up the phone," I whisper as it rings, dread climbing higher with each second Sam doesn't answer.
Zach stirs behind me, voice groggy and thick with sleep.
"Hey, babe... what's... going on?"
"We need to go," I blurt, already sliding off the bed.
That gets his attention. He pushes himself upright, blinking.
"What? Where? What time is it?"
I'm grabbing the hoodie he keeps in his dresser for me, yanking it over my sleep set with clumsy hands. "It's Sam, Zach. I think something's wrong."
The phone keeps ringing. She doesn't pick up.
I try again, panic clawing at my throat.
Zach is fully awake now — no trace of sleep left, just sharp alertness. "Tell me. What's happening?"
"She... she..." My voice breaks, my brain spinning too fast to string thoughts together. "She sent a 9-1-1 message a few minutes ago."
Every drop of color drains from Zach's face — like someone yanked the floor out from under him.
He's out of bed instantly, grabbing sweatpants and a shirt, throwing them on without looking away from me.
"Okay," he says, voice low and steady but his eyes full of fear. "We're going. Now."
I slip into my shoes with trembling hands just as he grabs his keys, and then we're out the door — both of us moving fast, hearts pounding, the hallway blurring as dread settles like ice in my stomach.
Sam needs us.
And something is very, very wrong.
The drive from Zach's place to our dorm normally takes ten minutes.
Tonight, he does it in five.
He's gripping the wheel so hard his knuckles have gone white, jaw locked, eyes flicking between the road and the dashboard like he's trying to will the car to move faster. My heart is hammering the whole time, every second stretching like it's trying to tear itself apart.
"Come on, come on..." Zach mutters under his breath, foot pressing harder on the gas.
Thank God there are no police cars around, because we would've definitely been pulled over otherwise.
The moment we park, we're both sprinting — across the lot, through the front doors, into the elevator. My hands won't stop shaking, and I keep tapping my foot, begging the elevator to move faster, faster, faster.
When the doors finally slide open, we run down the hallway.
I fumble the keys at my door — my fingers won't work, my breath won't settle — but I finally get it open.
We rush inside.
And then we stop.
Because Sam is on the floor.
Curled into a tight fetal position.
One hand clutching her stomach.
Her face twisted in unbearable pain.
She's crying — actually crying — and the sound that comes out of her is thin and sharp and wrong.
"H–he... lp... me..." she whimpers.
It feels like the air gets punched out of my lungs.
Zach drops to his knees so fast the sound echoes. "Angel," he breathes, voice cracking as he reaches for her.
She cries harder when he touches her, curling around the pain. "It hurts... Z—Zachy... it hurts..."
My vision blurs with tears. Sam never cries. Never complains. Seeing her like this feels like someone reaches into her chest and squeezes.
Zach doesn't waste another second.
He slides one arm under her knees, the other behind her back, and lifts her carefully — gently, like she weighs nothing.
Sam sobs into his shoulder. "It hurts... Zachy, it hurts so much..."
He's trying to stay calm, I can tell — but fear is carved into every line of his face.
"I know, angel," he whispers, voice tight. "I've got you. We're taking you to the hospital. Just hold on, okay? Hold on."
We rush out the door again.
Out the hallway.
Into the elevator.
Out into the cold morning air.
Zach climbs into the backseat with Sam, holding her close while she trembles and cries.
I jump into the driver's seat and slam the door shut.
Traffic is mercifully nonexistent at this hour. I speed the whole way, heart pounding so viciously it hurts. Every time Sam whimpers, I grip the wheel tighter.
We pull up to the ER entrance and Zach is out of the car before I even finish braking.
"HELP!" he shouts, voice sharp with panic. "Please — somebody help my sister!"
Two nurses rush out immediately with a gurney.
"What's going on, sweetheart?" one asks, crouching beside Sam as Zach lowers her onto the stretcher.
Sam cries out when they adjust her.
"It's okay, you're okay," the nurse soothes, brushing hair from Sam's damp forehead. "Can you tell me what hurts?"
"S–stomach," Sam gasps, clutching her side. "It's... sharp... it's— I can't—"