Chapter 6 This Is Just The Beginning
THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING
RUBY
Standing in the middle of Zane Draven’s master suite in his sprawling Hollywood mansion, his broad shoulders blocking the doorway of the bedroom he just rushed us into, his eyes burning into me like he’s memorizing every curve, every breath, I realize just how deep I’m in.
I’m still dizzy from being carted over his shoulder again. I’m getting that this is his favourite thing to do.
But I not so far gone I miss the way his feverish eyes dance over my barista uniform, the black apron tied snug around my waist.
And God, being in his presence seems to heighten my every sense because when I suck in a breath, I smell the coffee and vanilla clinging to my skin. And the other thing I smell? My cum…which is drip drip dripping down my thighs because I lost my underwear somewhere in his living room.
It’s probably been eaten by his piano.
The thought drives heat into my cheeks.
“What is going through that clever little mind, baby girl?” he drawls as he finally abandons the doorway, kicks the door shut in that sexy way men do with their heel. And he prowls toward me, all loose-limbed and tattooed and fuck, he’s sexy.
So sexy I would weep if I was the type.
The air between us grows thicker, more electric with every step he closes in, like the moment before a storm breaks.
I feel the weight of his stare tracing the hem of my skirt again, the way my fingers fidget with the edge of the high California king behind me.
Surprisingly, he stops a few steps away, then he speaks. "Strip."
One word.
One fucking word, and my entire body lights up like Times Square on Christmas Day. My breath hitches, my thighs pressing together instinctively.
His voice is low, rough, the kind of command that doesn’t just ask but demands.
Still, I tilt my chin, because instinct tells me I need to challenge him often or risk being swept away by his innate dominance. “Say please.”
A hard little smirk quirks his lips. “Please get naked for me, sexy lady. But pretty please leave the apron on."
It’s not an…unusual request.
Guys have the stupidest kinks that often seem to come out of left field.
My ex, whose name eludes me right now, had a penchant for having me suck on his left pinkie just before he blew his load.
But this one…it’s making me hot.
I swallow hard, my fingers trembling as I reach for the first button of my shirt. The fabric is starchy and the itch of it seems to intensify with every breath I take, as if it’s eager to get off my body as much as I want it off.
My pulse hammers in my throat, my skin already too hot, too sensitive.
The shirt slides off my shoulders, I toss it away, baring my lace bra, the cool air of the room brushing over my exposed skin.
Zane’s pupils dilate again, and if I was meeting him for the first time right now, I’d swear he was on something.
But no, he’s high...on me.
The thought sends a pulse of power beating through my blood. And watching his jaw tightening as he watches me, his hands flexing at his sides like he’s fighting the urge to touch me is a powerful drug in itself.
I unzip my skirt slowly, exaggerating the thrust of my chest.
His eyes land on my tits, his tongue almost lolling out as he pants.
I hook my thumbs into the waistband and wriggle out of my skirt, gliding it over my ample hips, then pause when I reach my thighs, that old nemesis of self-esteem rearing its stupid head.
I’m thick around the thighs and ass region and in a city where thin culture is deified, my ego can only achieve half-mast status when flying my thick flag.
“Goddess, pretty please hurry the fuck up before I come down my fucking leg?”
The thickly slurred command bursts a nervous giggle out of me.
I allow my skirt to drop and kick it out of the way, then step out of my sneakers. I raise my eyes in time to see him devour my hips and legs with his ravenous gaze. And I keep mine on his when I reach behind me to unhook my bra.
He staggers when I let it fall and my heavy breasts sway. “Jesus fucking Christ. You’re perfect.”
The apron is the only thing left, the thin fabric barely covering me, the ties digging into the small of my back.
I stand there, half-naked, completely exposed in every way that matters, but the way Zane looks at me—like he’s starving, like he’s been waiting for this for years—makes my knees weak.
“Turn for me, baby.”
I find the power to raise my eyebrow.
“Please,” he barks with a staccato half step forward that would be comical if not for the rabid look in his eyes.
I’m not sure why I even raise myself onto my toes like some wannabe prima ballerina. But I do and I feel the power in my calves, my hips, hell my very erect nipples as I slowly pirouette fully.
And I revel in the noises he makes when he sees my ass.
"Fuck," he growls, the sound raw, almost pained.
When I glance over my shoulder I see him manhandling the cock straining against his pants, the outline thick, impossible to ignore.
My mouth waters. I want to taste him. Need to.
He’s made me come so gloriously after all. And I’m a firm believer in balanced diets—protein, hydration, and one feral rockstar a day.
Also, he wrecked me spectacularly downstairs. So fine. Now it’s my turn to wreck him.
He’s still making unhinged noises when I face him again. When I place one foot in front of the other, sway my hips as I close the distance between us.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he rasps.
I smile, lean over to kiss his parted mouth, then when his hands twitch, knowing he’s about to take over, I sink to my knees in front of him, the plush carpet soft beneath me.
The position is submissive enough to satisfy him and I’m not at all surprised when he freezes again, but the power I feel in that moment is beyond intoxicating, his eyes on fire as he watches me.
My fingers pause on his zipper and I lean in, inhale him deeply as I groan. His scent wraps around me—cedar and something darker, muskier—and when I reach for him, my fingers brushing over the hard length of him through his pants, he lets out a sharp hiss.
"Ruby," he warns, but it isn’t a stop. It’s a promise. A bark of gratitude even.
I raise my head, angle my chin knowing my tits are on full display, framing the act I’m about to perform. And from the way his dick jumps, he loves it.
Keeping my eyes on his, I free him.
Then stop to swallow.
Because the cock…no, the fucking anaconda I’ve just sprung free deserves a moment…hell, several moments of appreciation. He’s thick and heavy in my hand, beautifully veined and sculpted.
There’s no way in hell I can take even half of him but I can and do stroke him, moaning as the heat of him sears my palm, the velvet skin over steel making my breath stutter.
“Suck it, beautiful. Please. Fucking suck it,” he pleads, his voice almost inaudible.
I lean in, my lips parting, my tongue flicking over the swollen head. The taste of him, salt and man and something uniquely him, sends a delighted jolt straight to through me.
My pussy clenches hard on aching emptiness, throbbing urgently with a need to be filled…stuffed to glorious breaking point.
But this isn’t about me. Not yet anyway.
I open wide and take Zane into my mouth, my lips stretching around his girth as my tongue swirls over the underside.
His twitching hands finally tangle in my hair and a second later, his fingers tighten to guide me deeper.
Cheeks hollowed, I take him deep at the first try, as far as I can, letting my tongue and my throat flutter around the tip. A guttural groan tears from his chest, his hips jerking forward, pushing himself further into my mouth.
“Oh fuck, yes. Just like that, you gorgeous beauty,” he rasps, his voice rough with need.
I close my hand around his remaining girth and moan around him as I begin to pump. Pump. Pump.
“Sweet fucking hell, you do that so well. Another inch, baby. Take another inch. Just a little more, you can do— Ah, fuck, yes!” He shouts as the vibration makes his cock twitch.
My free hand grips the base harder, stroking what I can’t fit, my nails scraping lightly over his skin. He’s so big, so much, and the way he fills my mouth, the way he controls my movements with just the pressure of his hands?
It makes me wetter, makes my clit throb with every breath I take through my nose.
I’m moaning and writhing my hips, eager to fuck but eager to give him pleasure. My eyes water as I smash my face harder on his dick, moan in delight when I feel a spurt of pre-cum coat the back of my throat.
"Enough," he grunts suddenly, pulling me off him with a wet pop.
His cock glistens with my saliva, the tip flushed dark with arousal. And before I can even catch my breath, his hands are under my arms, hauling me to my feet. Then I’m airborne, my back hitting the bed with a soft bounce.
The cool sheets against my bare skin sends shivers through me, tightening my nipples to harder points.
Zane looms over me, chest heaving, eyes black with desire.
I realize the custom-made bed is elevated just right for cock to pussy positioning. And when he steps between my parted thighs, my heart pounds, my body arching toward him instinctively, even as my mind spins with the sheer intensity of him.
"I’ve wanted this every second of every hour since I saw you,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble as he drags his black jeans down his lean hips and levers his hard, mouthwatering body over mine, caging me beneath him.
His fingers trace the edge of the apron, the only thing still covering me, before he raises the fabric baring my soaked pussy to his zealous gaze.
“And look at you, wearing this prissy little apron while you’re so fucking wet for me.” He toys with the frilled edge of the fabric as his gaze devours my spread cunt. “Are you ready to serve the prettiest pussy in the world to me, baby?”
My thighs seem to spread wider of their own accord, restless hunger prowling through me. “Take it. Please take it, don’t make me wait.”
His smirk is lined with very arrogant approval.