Chapter 18 Zatanna #2
He groans low in his throat at the sound of his name like that. Then he turns me slightly, angling my body more fully against the counter, one hand gripping my hip, the other still between my thighs, rubbing me through the fabric in slow, punishing strokes.
I’m breathing too hard. The mirror behind me is fogging with each broken exhale. His chest brushes my back, his mouth at my neck, his body hard and hot and close enough that I can feel exactly how much he wants this too.
“Do you have any idea,” he says against my skin, “how hard it was to sit across from her when all I could think about was you?”
I whimper.
His fingers slip just beneath the waistband of my panties, enough to find bare skin, enough to make every muscle in my body lock with anticipation.
Then something in him snaps.
His eyes go dark. Really dark.
“Fuck it,” he mutters.
Before I can even catch my breath, he hooks his fingers into the fabric and yanks.
The sound of lace tearing is shockingly loud in the bathroom, a sharp, filthy little rip that goes straight through me.
I gasp, staring down in disbelief as he tears them clean off me and lets the ruined scraps fall to the floor.
“Oh my god—”
He doesn’t answer. He looks at me.
At my thighs, trembling and slick. At the mess he’s exposed. At the way I’m already shaking so hard I can barely stand.
Then he drops to his knees.
The sight of him there, this huge, ruthless man kneeling in front of me in an expensive suit with his tie half undone and his mouth still red from kissing me, is so obscene and so perfect that I almost come from that alone.
“Aleksei,” I whisper, voice wrecked.
His hands slide up my legs, spreading me wider, his palms firm and possessive on the insides of my thighs. He looks up at me once, his eyes burning.
Then his mouth is on me.
I cry out, the sound bouncing off marble and mirror as his tongue drags through me, slow and thorough, tasting everything. He groans at the first taste like he’s been starving for this, like he’s wanted it for days and can’t believe he’s finally here.
“Oh—God—”
He licks me again, deeper this time, and my knees nearly buckle. His grip tightens, holding me open for him, his thumbs pressing into the soft flesh of my thighs as he eats me like a man possessed.
There’s nothing careful about it. Nothing polite.
Just hot, hungry, relentless pleasure.
He works me open with his tongue, broad, deliberate strokes that make my hips jerk helplessly against his face. Every time I try to pull away from how overwhelming it is, he holds me there, making this low, rough sound in his throat that tells me he’s enjoying every second of my desperation.
“You taste…” he murmurs against me, breath hot and ragged. “Fuck, Zatanna.”
Then he goes back in, harder.
His tongue circles my clit, then flattens over it, and I slap a hand over my mouth to stop from screaming. My other hand flies into his hair, fingers tangling in the thick dark strands as I clutch at him for balance.
He likes that.
I know he likes it because he groans and drags me even closer, his face buried between my thighs, his mouth filthy and devoted and devastating.
The counter digs into my hips. My whole body is on fire.
He sucks my clit into his mouth and I moan into my palm, my legs trembling violently now, my thighs trying to close around his head. He won’t let them. His hands keep me spread, keep me open, keep me exactly where he wants me while he devours me like he has every intention of making me fall apart.
“Aleksei, please—”
He pulls back just enough to look up at me, mouth wet, expression savage. “Please what?”
My chest heaves. “Don’t stop.”
A slow, wicked smile touches his mouth. “Not a chance.”
Then he slides two fingers through my slick folds, teasing my entrance, not pushing in yet, just letting me feel the breadth of them there while his mouth goes back to work on my clit.
The combination nearly kills me.
I cry out his name and he finally pushes inside, slow and deep, curling his fingers immediately in a way that makes my body seize.
“Oh my god—”
He pumps them into me in a steady rhythm, every thrust matched by another brutal lick of his tongue. My head falls back against the mirror, my mouth open, my breath coming in broken sobs as pleasure climbs fast and hard and merciless.
He knows exactly what he’s doing.
He works me like he’s learned my body already. Like he knows the spot that makes my thighs shake, the pressure that makes my clit throb, the pace that pushes me closer and closer until I’m hanging right at the edge.
His free hand slides up my stomach, under my dress, and cups my breast through the thin fabric, thumb scraping over my nipple just enough to send another jolt through me.
I’m not going to survive this.
“Aleksei— I’m—”
He moans against me, the vibration sending me over so hard I can’t even finish the sentence.
My orgasm tears through me in a hot, violent rush. My knees give out, my whole body shaking as I come against his mouth and fingers, crying out so loudly I’m amazed the whole damn restaurant doesn’t hear me.
He doesn’t stop.
He keeps licking, sucking, working me through it while I tremble and writhe, helpless and oversensitive, tears stinging my eyes from the force of it.
Only when I’m whimpering and weak and barely holding myself upright does he finally slow, dragging one last languid lick through my folds before he pulls his fingers out and rises to his feet.
He looks wrecked.
His mouth is wet. His jaw is tense. His eyes are almost black.
He lifts those fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean while watching me.
The sight is so filthy my body clenches again.
“Still think I should go back out there?” he asks, voice rough.
I can barely breathe, let alone answer.
And somehow, terrifyingly, he looks like he’s only getting started.
My mouth opens, but nothing coherent comes out.
I’m still shaking, still pinned between the bathroom counter and the hard line of his body, trying to remember how breathing works while Aleksei stands in front of me with my ruined underwear at his feet and my taste still on his mouth.
He watches me like he’s waiting for an answer. Like he knows I can’t give him one.
I swallow, my throat dry. “You’re insane.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “That isn’t an answer.”
My legs are barely holding me up. “No,” I whisper, because it’s all I can manage. “No, I don’t think you should go back out there.”
Something in his face shifts. Satisfaction, dark and male and dangerous.
He steps closer again, crowding me against the sink, one hand bracing beside my hip. The other slides up my thigh, slow now, almost gentle, and I shiver from how sensitive I am.
“She’s still waiting,” I say, though it sounds weak even to me.
“She can wait.”
“Aleksei—”
He kisses me before I can finish, cutting the protest off at the source. This kiss is different. Slower. Deeper. Possessive in a way that steals my balance all over again. I can taste myself on him, and the realization is so filthy and intimate it makes me moan into his mouth.
His hand moves from my thigh to my ass, gripping hard, hauling me closer until I can feel exactly how turned on he still is. I gasp, my hands flying to his shoulders, then higher into his hair.
“Oh,” I breathe.
He drags his mouth from mine and presses his forehead to mine for one brief second, both of us breathing hard.
“You should stop making that sound,” he says roughly.
I blink. “What sound?”
“The one that makes me want to lock this door.”
Heat floods my face and sinks lower just as fast. “That seems like a you problem.”
He gives a low laugh, incredulous and hungry all at once. “Trust me. It is.”
Then his mouth is on my throat, lips and teeth working over the sensitive skin below my jaw. I whimper as his hand slides under my dress again, finding me already wet, already open, and this time there’s no lace in his way.
His fingers stroke through me once, twice, and I tremble so hard I have to clutch his shoulders to stay upright.
“You’re still dripping for me,” he murmurs against my skin.
I don’t say anything to that, I can’t.
“That’s your fault.”
“It is.” He sounds far too pleased about that.
His fingers circle my clit, just enough to make my whole body jump. “Tell me to stop.”
I stare at him. “Why do you keep saying that if neither of us wants you to?”
His eyes meet mine, and for a second, everything stills. The room. The noise outside. My thoughts.
Then he says, very quietly, “Because if I don’t give you the choice, I won’t trust myself.”
That lands in the center of my chest with more force than it should.
I cup his face without thinking, thumb brushing the edge of his jaw. The tenderness of the gesture surprises both of us.
“I’m here,” I whisper.
His gaze drops to my mouth. “I know.”
Then he lifts me.
Not all the way, not this time. Just enough to sit me on the counter, spreading my thighs with his body as he steps between them. My dress rides up my hips, leaving me exposed to him in the brightest room imaginable, and the way he looks at me makes my pulse pound.
Like I’m gorgeous. Like I’m trouble. Like he could spend the whole night right here between my legs and still not be done.
He slides a hand under my thigh and urges me wider. “Look at you.”
I bite my lip.
“No,” he says. “Don’t hide from me now.”
His thumb pulls that lip free, and before I can answer he kisses me again, deep and hot and consuming. My hands go to his tie, loosening it further, dragging him closer as his fingers stroke into me once more.
I break the kiss with a gasp.
“Aleksei—”
He curls two fingers inside me, and my head tips back against the mirror.
“That’s it,” he says, voice rough with approval. “Say my name.”
I’m too gone to be embarrassed by how easily it comes. “Aleksei.”
He groans and thrusts his fingers deeper, his other hand closing over my knee to hold me open. “Again.”
I obey, because I can’t do anything else.