Chapter 31 Hendrix
Chapter Thirty-One
HENDRIX
Given what I’ve learned about Zara’s mom and her strict upbringing, I am surprised to find out that we are allowed to share a room.
Surprised and a little terrified.
Especially when Zara comes out of the attached bathroom wearing nothing but a tiny tank top and a lacy pair of panties.
“Are you trying to kill me?” Or get me killed? Because her father may be the strong and silent type, but I doubt he’d be cool with me fucking his daughter in the room just down the hall from his.
She steps into the guest room, which she explained used to be her room until her parents converted it after she got married. The former teal walls are now a neutral tan, and the queen bed now features a fluffy white duvet instead of the flowery bedspread from her youth.
“Why would you say that?” she asks innocently, walking toward me with an extra sway to her hips. Yep, she is definitely trying to kill me.
“You wear more to bed when it’s just the two of us in a luxury suite,” I tell her. “With thick walls and neighbors who don’t give a fuck.” I lower my voice to a whisper and point to the wall. “These neighbors very much give a fuck, Zara.”
She snorts out a laugh, closing the distance between us.
I’m sitting on the edge of the bed in a pair of pajama pants.
I think this is the first time I’ve worn them on the tour.
I had to dig deep in my suitcase to find them, but I wasn’t about to walk around her house in a pair of boxer briefs, was I?
She must notice the change in attire because she smirks.
And then she drops to her knees in front of me.
Oh Jesus fuck.
“Zara,” I warn.
“Yes?” She answers sweetly as her fingers inch toward the waistband of my pants.
“What are you doing?” Just shut up and let the woman work.
“Thanking you.”
I close my hand over hers, steadying her hand. “Thanking me? For what?”
Her eyes meet mine, and I can see her playful expression slip just slightly. “At first, it was a thank you for setting up that phone call for my mom. It was such a sweet thing to do, and it means the world to me that she’s going to be there tomorrow—even if most of her focus will be on her crush.”
I laugh, running a hand through her damp hair. “Not all of us can be the Asher Knight.”
“That’s another thing,” she continues. “I was thinking about that conversation in the shower just now. How you told me to ask for anything—the way you worded it. It sounded very personal to you.”
“Well, your mom is special.”
“Yeah, but then there was Asher. He was a little dodgy too, using the word ‘we’ instead of ‘I.’” I freeze for a split second, but it’s enough for her to notice. “Asher isn’t the one paying for everything, is he? You just wanted me to assume he was.”
I really didn’t think she’d pick up on that, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. She is, after all, a stickler for details. “I figured you’d be more amenable to the idea if it were his money. He does have a lot of it.”
“And I’m sure he was more than willing to pay for it. So why didn’t he?”
My eyes lock with hers, and I let out a heavy sigh. “Because, whether or not you knew it came from me, I wanted to do something nice for your mom, and I couldn’t do that if—not really—if Asher was fitting the bill. It wouldn’t feel right.”
“Have I ever told you how wonderful you are?” She rises up on her knees to place a chaste kiss on the corner of my mouth. Then my chin. My neck.
“A few times,” I manage to say.
“Yeah? What about kind? Have I ever told you you’re kind?”
My brain is starting to glitch as her kisses go south. “Maybe?”
Her lips brush my abs, and her tongue swirls around my belly button. “And what if I said I was really, really grateful?”
I angle her head so that she’s looking at me. Frazzled brain or not, I have to say this. “I don’t want sex to ever be transactional between us, Zara. Despite what I may have said as a dumb college student, you do not need to reward me for giving you something.”
Her fingers brush the waistband of my pants. “I know.” She smiles. “And, believe me, there is nothing transactional about what I’m about to do to you, because I’m gonna to enjoy every single second.”
Fucking hell.
I help her ease my pajama pants down, freeing my erection. I’m so hard, I’m in actual pain. “Do you think you can be quiet?” she asks.
Yes. Her delicate fingers close around my shaft. No. I groan. Fuck, maybe.
She gives it several slow, teasing strokes.
“Not off to a great start.” She grins up at me.
“I know how to make one of us quiet.” I thrust into her hand.
“Is that what you want? To shut me up?” Fuck.
“Yes,” I say, even though we both know it won’t do any good. She’s a moaner even when she has her mouth stuffed full of my cock. Just thinking of it has me leaking into her hand.
Her tongue darts out, circling the tip and cleaning me off before tracing the sensitive underside. My head falls back as I stifle a groan.
“Eyes on me, Hen,” she instructs. I do as I’m told, meeting her gaze. She smiles. “That’s a good boy.”
Never thought I’d enjoy a praise kink, but here we are.
Her mouth lowers back on my cock, and it’s pure fucking heaven. I’ve had my fair share of blowjobs over the years, but nothing compares to this.
The way she looks at me.
The feeling of her hand stroking my inner thigh.
The knowledge that doing this turns her on too.
When my fingers weave through the silky strands of her hair, she whimpers, and her free hand slips between her thighs. I know the instant her fingers make contact with her clit because she lets out a throaty moan that vibrates around my cock.
I almost make a teasing remark about being quiet, but then her cheeks hollow and she sucks me deeper into her mouth.
“Fuck. Fuck,” I hiss, fisting the duvet with one hand and her hair with the other.
It’s taking every ounce of willpower I possess to keep that hand steady.
Not because she’s doing anything wrong. No.
She’s doing everything exactly right, and it’s so good that all I want to do is grab the back of her head and face fuck the hell out of her until my cum is dripping down the back of her throat.
Depraved? Yes. Especially in her parents’ house.
But I never said I was a saint.
If I ever needed a sign that this is the girl of my dreams, she reaches up and places her hand on top of mine, the one in her hair, and meets my gaze. She relaxes her throat and gives the faintest hint of a nod.
Permission.
I don’t belittle her decision by asking if she’s sure. The trust we’ve built between us is strong enough that I know when she asks for something, it’s because she truly wants it.
Not because she’s trying to please me.
I tighten my grip on her hair, and I thrust into her.
She moans. “Baby, you’ve got to be quiet,” I tell her as I pick up speed. It doesn’t help the noise issue.
But when I see that hand between her legs relentlessly rubbing her clit, I lose the ability to care. She’s so fucking turned on, she’s practically humping her hand. Her hips are spread wide, her pussy on full display as she grinds herself against her fingers.
If her dad does kill me, at least I’ll have this image to take to my grave.
Her movements start to get sloppy, and then, like a tidal wave cresting onto the shore, she comes.
Her body vibrates, and I feel her deep moan around my cock.
It’s so intense that seconds later, I feel my stomach clench.
My balls tighten, and then I’m spilling down her throat, murmuring her name as I watch in awe as she takes every single drop.