Chapter 8 #7
When I finally take him into my mouth, his sharp intake of breath is the most satisfying sound I’ve ever heard. I set a rhythm that has him cursing under his breath, his thighs tensing beneath my palms as he fights to remain still, to let me set the pace.
“Look at me,” he commands softly, voice strained with the effort of control. When I raise my eyes to meet his, the raw emotion I see there steals my breath, desire, yes, but something deeper, more profound. Something that makes this more than just physical release.
I lose myself in pleasing him, taking him deeper, using every trick I know to drive him closer to the edge.
His breathing grows ragged, the hand in my hair tightening as his control frays at the edges.
The taste of him, the weight of him on my tongue, the small sounds of pleasure he can’t quite contain, it all combines to push me dangerously close to my own edge, even untouched.
“Enough,” he finally gasps, tugging gently but firmly on my hair, pulling me up to stand. “Or this ends too soon.”
He kisses me hard, spinning us around until my legs hit the bed.
We fall together onto the mattress, a tangle of limbs and desperate touches as we rid each other of the rest of our clothes.
His body covers mine, skin to skin, the weight of him both grounding and thrilling.
The heat of him seeps into me, chasing away the chill of the air-conditioned room.
“You’re mine,” he whispers against my throat, teeth grazing the sensitive skin there in a way that makes me arch beneath him. “Say it.”
The possessiveness in his voice should probably bother the doctor in me, the independent professional who’s spent years building a life on my own terms. But it doesn’t. Instead, it sends another wave of heat through me, a certainty that feels bone-deep and right.
“I’m yours,” I agree without hesitation, gasping as his hand wraps around me, stroking with maddening slowness. I reach for him, needing to touch, to claim in return. “And you’re mine.”
His movements falter for just a second, eyes meeting mine with surprise and something deeper: vulnerability, wonder, as if the thought of belonging to someone is both terrifying and exhilarating. “Yes,” he admits, the single syllable carrying the weight of his promise. “Yours.”
His mouth finds mine again, the kiss softer now, almost reverent. Then he’s moving down my body, lips and tongue and teeth marking a path across my chest, my ribs, my hip bones. Each touch leaves fire in its wake, each mark a promise that tomorrow I’ll have physical reminders of who I belong to.
When he reaches for the lube in the nightstand, I’m trembling with need, beyond words, capable only of broken pleas and the desperate arch of my body seeking more contact. He returns to me, kneeling between my legs, his expression intense as he slicks his fingers.
The first press inside is careful, almost too gentle. I push against his hand, silently demanding more, and he obliges, adding a second finger alongside the first. The stretch burns slightly before giving way to pleasure that has me clutching at the sheets, head thrown back against the pillow.
“So beautiful,” he murmurs, voice thick with emotion as he watches me respond to his touch. “So perfect for me.”
His fingers curl, finding that spot inside me that makes stars burst behind my eyelids.
I cry out, unable to contain the sound as pleasure crashes through me in waves.
He does it again, deliberate now, watching my face with heated focus as he adds a third finger, stretching me with patient care despite the obvious strain of his own need.
“Please,” I finally gasp, reaching for him, needing more than just his fingers. “Zach, please.”
He understands, withdrawing his hand and reaching for a condom.
I watch through half-lidded eyes as he rolls it on with steady hands that belie the tension evident in every line of his body.
Then he’s positioning himself between my legs, one hand braced beside my head and the other guiding himself to my entrance.
Our eyes lock as he pushes forward, the initial pressure giving way to a stretch that makes me gasp. He stills immediately, concern flickering across his features.
“Okay?” he asks, voice tight with the effort of restraint.
“Yes,” I assure him, lifting my hips to take him deeper. “Don’t stop.”
He continues with maddening slowness, giving me time to adjust to the intrusion, watching my face for any sign of discomfort. When he’s fully seated, he pauses, both of us breathing hard at the overwhelming sensation of being so completely joined.
“Move,” I urge, wrapping my legs around his waist to pull him impossibly closer. “Please, Zach.”
He does, setting a rhythm that starts slow and deliberate before building to something more urgent, more primal. I match him thrust for thrust, lost in the pleasure of being claimed so completely, of giving myself over to this man who has somehow become essential to me in just a matter of days.
“Mine,” he growls against my ear, the word punctuated by a particularly deep thrust that has me seeing stars. “Tell me again.”
“Yours,” I gasp, clutching at his shoulders, feeling the powerful muscles work beneath my fingers as he drives into me. “Always yours.”
His hand slides between our bodies, wrapping around me with perfect pressure, stroking in tandem to his thrusts. The dual sensation is overwhelming, too much and not enough all at once. I feel myself teetering on the edge, every nerve ending alight with pleasure so intense it borders on pain.
“Come for me,” he demands, his voice rough with exertion and emotion. “Want to feel you.”
His words push me over the edge, release crashing through me in waves that leave me trembling beneath him, my body clenching around him as I cry out his name.
He follows moments later, his rhythm faltering, his body tensing above mine as he finds his own release with a groan that sounds like surrender.
We lie tangled together afterward, his weight a comforting pressure that I’m reluctant to lose.
Our breathing gradually slows, heartbeats synchronizing in the quiet aftermath.
He shifts eventually, just enough to look down at me, brushing sweat-dampened hair from my forehead with unexpected tenderness.
“You okay?” he asks, searching my face in a way that makes my chest tight.
I smile, feeling boneless and sated in a way I’ve never experienced before. “More than okay.”
Something vulnerable flashes in his eyes, uncertainty, perhaps, or a fear I can’t quite identify. “What I said downstairs about you being mine, my partner, I meant it. All of it.”
The confession, offered in this quiet, private moment, carries more weight than his public declaration. This isn’t for show, not for the benefit of the club or to stake a claim against others. This is just for us.
“I know,” I tell him, tracing the line of his jaw with my fingertips, feeling the slight stubble against my skin. “I meant what I said too. About being yours.”
He captures my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm that’s somehow more intimate than what we just shared. His lips linger there, warm against my skin, his eyes never leaving mine. “This isn’t just about sex for me, X. Never has been.”
The simple honesty in his voice, the raw vulnerability in his expression, makes something shift inside me, a final piece clicking into place that I hadn’t realized was missing.
“I know that too,” I assure him, understanding the unspoken question beneath his words. “This is real for me, Zach. You’re real.”
The tension leaves his body at my words, relief evident in the way his shoulders relax, in the soft exhale against my palm. A smile spreads across his face, not the dangerous half smirk I’ve grown accustomed to, but something genuine and unguarded that transforms him completely.
He kisses me again, soft and lingering, before settling beside me, pulling me against his chest with an arm draped possessively across my waist. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my ear is soothing, grounding me in this moment of perfect connection.
“Grey’s called a lockdown for tonight,” he says against my hair, his breath warm against my scalp. “Everyone stays put until we have a better handle on the Reapers’ movements.”
I nod against his chest, understanding the implications without needing them spelled out. “You’ll need to be out there, won’t you? With the others.”
His arm tightens around me, as if the mere mention of separation is physically painful. “Later,” he agrees, his voice dropping to that low rumble that vibrates through his chest and into mine. “But not yet. Right now, I’m exactly where I need to be.”
The simple statement warms me from the inside out, a spreading glow that has nothing to do with physical pleasure and everything to do with the certainty I hear in his voice.
Despite the danger lurking beyond these walls, despite the uncertainty of what tomorrow might bring, I feel safe here in Zach’s arms. Protected. Claimed.
His fingers trace idle patterns on my back, the touch soothing rather than arousing now. I feel myself beginning to drift, the events of the day catching up with me.