Chapter 41
Chapter Forty-One
Slick, calloused hands gliding up my thighs.
Tantalizing silk caressing heated skin, sending pulses of need through me.
Insistent fingers hooking under lace, waiting, always waiting.
Dark, stormy eyes snare my gaze. Tender. Affectionate. Hopeful.
I never want to look at anything else.
Arched hips and a keening moan—permission granted.
The gentle slide of silk against oil-slicked skin, and finally, finally, I’m bared before him.
He doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe, doesn’t touch.
My thighs part on their own, the invitation he’s waited for, and—
Sleep leaves me in a disorienting, receding wave, lapping at the edges of my consciousness.
I moan softly, struggling to grasp onto the blurry vestiges of my dream, trying to chase it—him—but it slips away like water through my fingers.
I arch into nothing, clinging to a touch that isn’t real.
So close, we had been so close. My thighs slide smoothly against each other, still slick with last night’s oil, but that’s not the only reason.
The throbbing ache between my legs is unbearable.
There’s a subtle movement behind me—I freeze.
Zev is still in bed.
Slowly, ever so slowly, I crane my neck to look at him.
Tides ravage me, body and soul.
My husband is lying on his stomach, his gorgeous head resting on his bicep.
The blanket pools around his waist, leaving his tanned back bare for me to appreciate—the broad width of his shoulders, the ridged lines of contracted muscle.
A myriad of scars crisscross his skin, some shallow and thin, others deep and jagged.
My fingers itch to trace them, my heart desperate to know the story behind each one.
His brow is smooth, blissful sleep chasing away any worries.
Long lashes cast dark shadows across his prominent cheekbones, and Tides help me, I’m drowning.
My pulse quickens. I’ve slept beside this heartbreakingly handsome, chiseled man for months now.
And I’m aching for him—just like he wanted me to be.
Careful not to make even the whisper of a sound, I turn back.
I’m weak, Tides plunge me into your unforgiving depths, I’m weak.
My hand presses flat over my chest, as if that might steady the racing thrum of my heart. Slowly, my fingers inch down, over the full curve of my chest, lying flat over my belly.
Lower.
Lower.
The amount of gathered wetness is embarrassing.
I work my fingers, biting my lip to contain the soft sounds.
My back arches slightly, a whimpered moan escaping my lips, unbidden.
A prickle of awareness dances along my spine—the weight of a gaze, the stillness of held breath.
I freeze.
Zev doesn’t make a sound, but I just know.
My husband is awake.
Something shifts in the air. I still my hand, but it’s too late.
His voice is ragged, scraping against the silence like a struck match. “What are you doing, wife?”
What am I doing? Praying for the Tides to flood my veins with water and freeze it.
The mattress shifts as he inches closer. His breath is hot against my neck as he peers over my shoulder. A low growl rumbles in his throat.
He swallows hard. Then, he swallows again.
“Do you want me to leave?” Tension coils around every syllable.
“No,” I murmur. I flex my wrist, and his breath stutters.
A beat. A muttered curse.
“Then, do you want a hand, Mayah?”
I want to snort—he’s so corny.
But I’m burning with need, and it’s not enough.
It’s. Just. Not. Enough.
My heart’s pounding for all the wrong reasons—or maybe all the right ones. I’ve stopped caring which is which.
His large hand slowly splays over my abdomen. “Yes, Mayah?” he asks, his voice low and deep. His tongue curls around my name in a silken caress.
If I refuse him, I’m certain he’ll listen. He’ll leave and let me chase my release alone. He’ll tease me about it later, sure, but Zev is the type of man to respect my wishes.
A good man.
“Yes,” I breathe.
The air around us crackles.
“Tell me if you change your mind.”
And then his large hand covers mine.
Oh.
My.
Tides.
It’s embarrassing how quickly he unravels me with just his masterful fingers. I’ve barely settled back into my own skin when he rolls me onto my back, climbing atop me, setting hot kisses to my throat.
“Skies, I’ve dreamed of this,” he breathes, voice cracked with longing. “You—just like this.”
His eyes are dark, his lips, ravenous.
“I’ve been starving for you, Mayah. All these months. Right beside me, yet painfully out of my reach.” His teeth nip at my earlobe, his stubble rough against my cheek. “I need to taste you, baby. If that’s not what you want, you need to tell me to stop. Now.”
My eyes lock with his with a painful desperation, fingers curling in his dark hair.
“Don’t stop.”
That’s all the encouragement he needs.
Stubble scraping against ribs, a soft kiss pressed over my navel, tongue dipping inside just for a heartbeat, and then he’s—oh.
I forget who I am.
I forget why I’m here.
Zev. Zev. Only Zev. My Zev.
I can’t, I-I need, I’m going to—
The tide crests, and I go with it.
He doesn’t stop.
“No more, I can’t take any more, please,” I keen, thighs clenched around his head in a death grip.
“One more,” he growls into my flesh. “Give me one more.”
And I do.
I’m a boneless, melted heap of pure contentment when Zev crawls back up and gives me a slow, slick kiss that tastes like the sweetest sin.
“You have no idea the power you hold over me,” he murmurs against my lips. “You undo me, Mayah.”
He wraps me in his strong arms, nuzzling my neck and breathing in my scent.
He doesn’t ask for anything else.
But I want more. I want him.
And I’m tired of fighting it.