Chapter Twenty-Three
Skylar
My whole body’s still pulsing. Thighs trembling. Breath uneven. I can’t fucking move.
Zane stands there, looming over me, eyes dark and full of something I don’t know how to name. His chest rises and falls, lips still wet with me. He unbuttons his jeans slowly, as if he’s giving me a second to catch my breath. But I don’t want to catch up. I want all of it.
I push up onto my elbows, still dizzy from the high, but my body is already reaching for him. I can feel the heat rolling off him, see his cock straining against the denim.
“Take them off,” I whisper, voice shot to hell.
He freezes for a breath, before shoving them down.
My mouth goes dry. His cock’s already hard, thick, flushed, so fucking perfect I ache from looking at him.
I sit up fully and reach for it. My fingers wrap around the base, and he lets out a sharp hiss through his teeth.
“Sky…”
I stroke him once, and then again.
His whole body goes tight. I catch the pulse under my hand, see the way his head tips back for a second, jaw flexing as he tries to hold it together.
“Open that sweet fucking mouth for me,” he grits out.
I don’t hesitate. I sink down onto my knees in front of him and take the tip into my mouth.
His hand flies to the back of my head, not pushing, just keeping me there.
I take him deeper, lips sliding down his length, one inch at a time.
His whole body shudders. A low groan rips from his throat.
I suck harder, hollowing my cheeks, letting him experience every inch.
I look up at him. He’s braced with one hand on the hood of the car, the other holding my head in place.
His grip tightens.
“Fuck,” he mutters, breath catching.
I pull back just enough so he can fuck my mouth.
And he does.
Slow at first, like he’s testing how deep he can go, how much I can take.
Then deeper.
Rougher.
His hips jerk forward, cock sliding against my tongue, hitting the back of my throat.
I keep my lips tight and let him use me, and take what he needs. Saliva drips from the corner of my mouth, but I don’t care. I want him wild and desperate.
His fingers tighten in my hair, pulling enough to sting.
“Fuck… Sky—”
His rhythm falters and his thrusts become erratic. He’s close. I feel it in the way his cock twitches, the way his abs clench and flex with every movement.
His voice breaks on a groan, hips stuttering.
Suddenly, he pulls out.
I look up at him, breathless, lips swollen, spit trailing down my chin.
“I need to be inside you,” he growls, dragging me to my feet like he can’t fucking stand to be apart for one more second. “I need to have you wrapped around my cock.”
He spins me around and lifts me onto the hood of the car.
His mouth crashes against mine, messy and frantic. His tongue finds mine, claiming me all over again.
He grabs his cock and drags the head along my slick folds before he stills.
“Fuck,” he mutters, forehead dropping to my shoulder. “I don’t have a condom.”
I freeze too, chest heaving, heart pounding. My whole body is strung tight, throbbing, aching for him. I’m soaked, swollen, and fucking empty. All I can think about is him sliding into me, stretching me open. I crave it more than I crave my next breath.
“I’m on birth control,” I whisper, dragging his mouth back to mine. “I swear. I’ve been on it for years.”
His hands grip my thighs harder, holding me wide open.
His cock jerks against my pussy. His mouth brushes mine, teeth catching on my lip.
“Fuck, are you sure?” His voice is thick with restraint. He braces one hand against the hood of the car, the other digging into my thigh. His eyes are wild, chest heaving with each breath.
“I’m clean,” he grits out. “I’ve fucked no one bare before.”
He drags the head of his cock through my slick folds, groaning at the sensation.
I can see the moment it hits him, how fucking wet I am. How ready and hungry.
“Shit, baby,” he mutters. “You’re dripping for me.”
I grip the edge of the car. “Then fuck me.”
He grabs the base of his cock, positions it, and pushes in.
The stretch steals the air from my lungs. He sinks in slowly, cursing under his breath, his fingers gripping my thighs hard enough to leave marks.
“Fuck,” he growls. “So fucking tight.”
I whimper, head falling back. He doesn’t stop until he’s buried to the hilt, every thick inch of him inside me.
He leans forward, forehead pressed to mine.
“You feel so fucking good. I don’t think I’m ever gonna get enough of this.”
Then he moves.
He pulls back enough to drag his cock almost all the way out before driving in hard enough to knock a gasp from my throat.
The car rocks beneath me. My back arches. He does it again. And again. Each thrust brutal and deep, the kind of fucking that leaves marks, that makes you forget your own name.
“Fuck,” he growls. “It’s like you were made for me.”
His fingers grip my hips, bruising tight, dragging me down to meet every filthy thrust. He doesn’t hold back. Not when I’m already unraveling under him.
I dig my heels into the car, trying to brace myself, but it’s no use.
He’s everywhere.
His cock buried inside me.
His body pressing me down until I can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything except feel.
“You take me so fucking good,” he says, each word rough with strain. “So tight around my cock. Shit, baby, look at you.”
I drag my gaze to his, and the second our eyes meet, something inside me snaps wide open. His eyes are dark and wild, his lips parted like he can’t catch his breath.
I wrap my legs around his waist and lock them there, heels digging into the small of his back to drive him deeper, harder.
“Don’t stop,” I moan, voice broken.
“I wasn’t planning to,” he says, before shifting his rhythm.
It’s rougher. Meaner.
As if he’s lost all control.
My body arches to meet every thrust. I feel every inch of him, every drag and push, every filthy promise etched into the way he fucks me like he can’t help himself.
“Fuck,” he growls against my mouth, lips brushing mine but not kissing. “You’re gonna fucking ruin me.”
He slams into me harder. Filthier. A savage rhythm that has my body clawing toward release. My nails scrape his back, my head drops forward, lips brushing his jaw as I moan his name.
He shifts the angle, hitting that spot that makes me see stars, and I cry out, clutching at him, lost in it. Every thrust pushes me closer to the edge, every breath I take is laced with him.
“Are you gonna come for me?” he rasps. “Gonna come all over my cock?”
I nod, too far gone to speak, too full of him to care how desperate I sound. My body’s coiled tight, aching, shaking with the need for release.
“Then fucking come,” he growls, snapping his hips once, twice, hard enough to punch the air from my lungs.
And I do.
Hard.
Loud.
My head tips back, a strangled moan tearing from my throat as the orgasm crashes over me, violent and all-consuming. My spine bows, muscles locking tight, fingers clawing at anything as wave after wave drags me under.
It’s not gentle. It’s not soft. It’s a brutal kind of pleasure. Blistering heat licking through my veins, every nerve set alight, every thought burned away until there’s nothing left but the blinding, soul-wrecking high of it.
“Fuck… Zane—” I cry out, voice breaking as my body jerks beneath him, completely undone.
My walls clamp down around his cock, pulsing around him, clenching so hard I catch the twitch of him inside me, sense the way he stutters, fights to hold on.
He groans low in his throat, eyes dark and locked on mine. But he doesn’t let up or stop. He keeps fucking me through it, riding out every tremor that racks my body, chasing the explosion building in his own.
“Shit… Skylar… fucking hell,” he says.
His thrusts turn frantic, deeper, harder, each one rougher than the last as he chases his release. His abs clench, every muscle in his body pulls tight like a wire about to snap.
I feel it in the way he trembles, the way his hips jerk, every movement unhinged, primal.
His jaw locks, eyes squeezed shut for a second as he sucks in a sharp, broken breath. A sound rips from his throat, a half-moan, half-snarl and then I watch him shudder. Full-body, violent. His hands grip my thighs, holding me there.
“Fucking hell,” he chokes out, voice catching as his body bucks once, twice, until he stills for a second.
He spills inside me—hot, thick, pulse after pulse—his cock twitching as he grinds again and again, lost in the release. His head drops to my shoulder, breaths ragged against my skin, chest heaving with every exhale as he fucks me slowly, riding out his orgasm.
When he stops, he doesn’t pull out. He stays there, buried so deep it is like he’s part of me now. His chest presses against mine, slick with sweat. Every breath is ragged, every muscle in his body still trembling.
His hand lifts, fingers threading through my hair.
He brushes it back from my face with a touch so careful it makes my chest ache. His thumb grazes over the scar above my eyebrow. That tiny mark I’ve tried to forget, but the one he sees.
Then he leans in and kisses it.
His mouth lingers on the scar, his lips brushing over that mark as if it’s something sacred.
He pulls back just enough to look at me. His gaze is fierce, dark, but there’s something raw hiding underneath.
His thumb drags slowly across my cheek, over that damn scar, then down, following the shape of my face.
That signature Zane edge is still there… cocky, dangerous, untouchable, but there’s a softness to him now.
“I promise you,” he says, voice low, breath still uneven from everything we just did. “This time, I’m not fucking running.”
He leans in and kisses me.
I believe him.
Even if I shouldn’t.
Even if it’s reckless, wild and stupid. Because right now, Zane doesn’t feel like the boy I should run from.