Chapter 7 #2
Zach stills immediately, his hand frozen where it grips me. Concern flickers across his features, brow furrowing as he searches my face. “Too much?”
“Not enough,” I correct, pulling him down for a desperate kiss. His lips are soft yet demanding against mine, the taste of him making me dizzy with want. I break away just enough to whisper against his mouth, “I want you inside me.”
The words hang between us, honest and raw. His pupils dilate until his eyes are almost black, a low groan rumbling from deep in his chest. The sound vibrates through me where our bodies press together, sending another wave of heat coursing through my veins.
“You sure?” he asks, voice rough with restraint. His thumb traces my cheekbone with such tenderness it makes my chest ache.
I meet his gaze steadily, wanting him to see the certainty there. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
Something shifts in his expression. A surrender, a decision made.
He kisses me again, deeper this time, tongue sliding against mine in a way that makes me arch beneath him.
Then he’s reaching toward the nightstand, the drawer sliding open with a soft scrape that seems unnaturally loud in the quiet room.
He retrieves condoms and lube. A flicker of something, not quite jealousy, passes through me at the thought of others who might have been in this bed, but I push it aside. The past doesn’t matter. Not now. Not when Zach is looking at me like I’m everything he’s ever wanted.
His fingers hook into the waistband of my boxers, tugging gently. “Lift up for me.”
I raise my hips, letting him slide the fabric down my legs. The cool air against newly exposed skin makes me shiver, or maybe it’s the heat in Zach’s gaze as he takes in the sight of me, completely bare before him.
“Christ,” he breathes, running his palms up my thighs with reverent slowness. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?”
Heat rises to my face at the raw admiration in his voice.
Before I can respond, he’s standing, thumbs hooked in his own underwear.
They slide down, revealing him fully for the first time to my gaze.
My mouth goes dry at the sight, all lean muscle and tattooed skin, his arousal evident and intimidating.
“See something you like, Doc?” he asks, a hint of that familiar smirk playing at his lips.
“Everything,” I admit, not bothering to hide my appreciation. “I like everything I see.”
His expression softens at my honesty. He returns to the bed, settling between my legs, the first press of skin against skin drawing matching gasps from both of us. The weight of him is grounding, perfect in a way I hadn’t known to expect.
“Tell me if anything hurts,” he says, reaching for the lube. The snap of the cap opening sends another tremor of anticipation through me. “We go at your pace. No rushing.”
I nod, unable to form words as I watch him coat his fingers generously. The care he takes, the deliberate patience despite the obvious strain of his own need, makes something warm bloom in my chest alongside the heat of desire.
His eyes never leave mine as his hand moves between us. The first touch is cool and slightly startling, gentle circles that gradually increase in pressure. I force myself to relax, focusing on Zach’s face, the way his breath catches when I respond to his touch.
“That’s it,” he encourages softly as the first finger presses inside. There’s pressure, a slight burn that quickly gives way to something else as he moves with maddening patience. “You’re doing so well.”
His free hand strokes my thigh, soothing and arousing in equal measure.
I concentrate on my breathing, on the growing pleasure as my body adjusts to the intrusion.
When he adds a second finger, the stretch is more pronounced, but his movements are so careful, so attuned to my every reaction that discomfort quickly melts into pleasure.
“Still good?” he asks, voice strained with the effort of restraint.
“Yes,” I manage, the word ending on a gasp as his fingers curl, finding a spot inside me that sends sparks shooting up my spine. “God, yes.”
A small, satisfied smile plays at his lips as he repeats the motion, watching my reaction. “Right there, huh?”
I can only nod, words beyond me as he continues the careful stretch and slide of his fingers.
When he adds a third, I feel impossibly full, hovering on the edge between pleasure and pain until he leans down to kiss me, his other hand wrapping around my length to stroke in counterpoint to the movement of his fingers.
The dual sensation is overwhelming, too much and not enough all at once.
I’m aware of the sounds escaping me, desperate little moans I should probably be embarrassed about, but I’m beyond caring.
All that matters is Zach’s touch, the building pressure inside me, and the way he watches my every reaction like he’s memorizing them.
“Zach, please,” I finally manage, voice breaking on his name. My hands clutch at his shoulders, needing an anchor in the storm of sensation. “I’m ready. I need you.”
He withdraws his fingers slowly, leaving me feeling empty and aching for him.
I watch through half-lidded eyes as he tears open a condom packet with his teeth, the small, practical action somehow unbearably erotic.
His hands tremble slightly as he rolls it on, a tiny tell that his control isn’t as perfect as it appears.
The knowledge that he’s affected as deeply as I am sends another wave of heat through me. I reach for him, needing to touch, to feel. He positions himself between my legs, one hand guiding himself to my entrance while the other braces beside my head.
“Look at me,” he says, waiting until my eyes meet his. The vulnerability in his gaze surprises me that this isn’t just sex for him. This is something more. “Stay with me.”
I nod, hands gripping his biceps as he begins to push forward with exquisite slowness.
The pressure is intense, more than his fingers prepared me for.
I force myself to breathe through it, focusing on Zach’s face, the concentration in his furrowed brow, the way he bites his lower lip, the raw need in his eyes.
He pauses when fully seated, giving me time to adjust. His arms tremble on either side of my head with the effort of holding back. A drop of sweat traces a path down his temple, and I reach up to brush it away, the simple gesture feeling strangely intimate.
“You okay?” he asks, voice tight with restraint.
The initial discomfort is already fading, replaced by a sense of fullness, of a connection that goes beyond physical. I lift my hips experimentally, drawing a strangled sound from deep in his chest.
“More than okay,” I assure him, wrapping my legs around his waist to pull him impossibly deeper. “Please, Zach. Move.”
He begins to thrust, each movement slow and deliberate at first, watching my face intently for any sign of pain.
But there is none, only the mounting pleasure that builds with every careful stroke.
He shifts slightly, changing the angle, and suddenly he’s hitting that spot inside me with each thrust, making stars burst behind my eyelids.
“God, Xavier,” he breathes, pace increasing as he reads my body’s responses. “You feel so good. So perfect.”
His words, the reverence in his voice, push me higher.
I arch beneath him, meeting each thrust, hands roaming his back, his shoulders, needing to touch every part of him I can reach.
The room fills with the sounds of our breathing, occasional gasps and moans, the rhythmic creak of the bed beneath us.
Zach dips his head to kiss along my neck, finding a sensitive spot that makes me shudder. “I’ve dreamed about this,” he confesses against my skin, words punctuated by increasingly urgent thrusts. “About you. Like this. Under me. Coming apart for me.”
His hand slides between us, wrapping around me with perfect pressure. The dual sensation, his hand stroking in rhythm with his thrusts, is overwhelming. I’m close, so close, pressure building at the base of my spine, every muscle tensing.
“Let go,” he urges, his own control visibly slipping as his movements become less measured, more desperate. “I want to see you. Want to feel you come around me.”
His words push me over the edge. Release crashes through me in waves, my body clenching around him as pleasure whites out everything else. I’m dimly aware of calling his name, of my fingers digging into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks.
Zach’s rhythm falters, his thrusts becoming erratic as he watches me come undone beneath him. “Fuck, Xavier,” he groans, and then he’s following me over the edge, his body tensing above mine, inside mine, his face transformed by pleasure in a way that makes my heart stutter.
For several heartbeats, we remain frozen like this, both trembling with aftershocks. Then Zach lowers his forehead to rest against mine, our breathing gradually slowing in tandem.
“That was…” he begins, then shakes his head slightly, apparently at a loss for words.
I understand completely. What just happened between us transcended physical pleasure. It felt like recognition, like coming home to a place I didn’t know I was missing.
“Yeah,” I agree softly, reaching up to brush his hair back from his face. “It was.”
He kisses me, gently now, almost reverent, before carefully withdrawing. The loss of connection makes me wince slightly, but he soothes it with tender touches and soft words of praise that make me flush with pleasure of a different sort.
He disposes of the condom and returns with a warm washcloth, cleaning me with the same care he’s shown all night. The simple act of aftercare touches something deep inside me that this dangerous man, capable of such violence, is treating me with such tenderness.