14 Zara #2
His thumb keeps up its slow, steady rhythm while his fingers continue their unhurried strokes, hitting that perfect spot again and again until my whole body tightens. The tension coils tighter inside me, thighs shaking as warmth spreads through every limb.
When I fall apart, it’s like someone plugged me into a different universe.
I cling to him, fingers digging into his shoulders, a choked sound escaping that I’d be embarrassed about if he didn’t react like it’s the best thing he’s ever heard.
He kisses my forehead, my lips, my cheeks, riding me through it until the tremors ebb and I’m left floating.
He slows, then stills, withdrawing his hand carefully like I’m made of glass.
“You okay?” he whispers.
“Uh-huh.” I blink up at him, dazed. “Better than okay. I’ve just temporarily forgotten how to exist.”
He smiles, relief threading through the heat in his eyes. “Good.”
I catch my breath, then tug at the hem of his shirt. “Your turn. Take this off. Equal opportunity nudity.”
He laughs, the sound low and warm, and peels his shirt off. I bite my lip as I take him in—broad shoulders, old faint scars, tattoos, and the trail of hair disappearing under his waistband.
“Stop looking at me like that,” he mutters, a little pink at the tips of his ears.
“Like what?” I ask innocently.
“Like you just found your favorite snack,” he says.
“Well,” I say, dragging my gaze slowly down his torso on purpose. “You’re not wrong.”
His hand comes up to cover his face for a second as he groans. “You’re going to kill me.”
I reach for the button of his jeans. “I’m ready,” I announce, forcing my hands not to shake. “Release Loch. Let me see the mysterious monster.”
He freezes.
“Do not call it that right now.” He sounds horrified.
I grin at him, a little feral around the edges. “Too late. Loch time. Pants off.”
He mutters something that sounds suspiciously like a prayer for strength but lets me undo his jeans. My heart hammers harder with each inch of skin I reveal, until I’m easing them down and off, leaving him in just his boxers.
The outline is—yeah. Not subtle.
“Oh,” I say faintly. “Okay. That’s… a lot of Loch.”
“Zae,” he groans.
“What?” I ask, eyes glued to the bulge like I’m hypnotized. “I’m just saying. You didn’t warn me it was a full-grown cryptid.”
He scrubs a hand over his face, but he’s smiling a little. “You are not helping me stay calm.”
“Who said I want you calm?” I murmur, and before I can overthink it, I hook my fingers in the waistband of his boxers and tug.
He inhales sharply as I free him, and my brain just stops.
“Oh,” I repeat, this time with more reverence.
He’s… he’s big. Long, thick, and flushed with veins standing out faintly. My eyes go wide, heat crawling up my neck.
“I named it well,” I murmur before my filter kicks in.
“Do not call me an ‘it’ either,” he says weakly, but there’s a hint of pride in his embarrassment.
“Sorry,” I mutter with my eyes still absolutely not leaving the view. “You. Loch. Whatever. This is—wow.”
He huffs, cheeks dark. “Don’t act like it’s monstrous. It’s only eight and a half.”
I snap my gaze to his face. “Only?”
He winces. “That sounded worse out loud.”
“Yeah, no shit.” I half laugh, the other half is equal parts horrified and turned on. “You’re walking around with eight point five inches and just existing?”
“We are not having a ‘how do you live’ conversation right now.” He sounds pained as he speaks.
“Correct,” I agree. “We are having a ‘please be gentle so I don’t die’ conversation.”
His expression sobers immediately. He leans down, resting his forehead against mine again, dropping his voice.
“I’m going to go slow,” he promises, voice equal parts tender and serious. “You tell me if anything doesn’t feel good. I mean it, Zae. We stop the second you want to.”
The way he says it calms some of the nervous flutter in my chest.
“I trust you.” I whisper, cupping his face.
His eyes soften like I just physically handed him my heart. He reaches over to the drawer, grabs a condom, and tears it open with more care than I’ve ever seen anyone open anything in my life. I watch, unable to look away, some combination of nerves and awe making my skin buzz.
“Still okay?” he asks, hand settling on my hip.
“Yeah.” My voice shakes just a little. “Still okay.”
He lowers himself again, kissing me slowly as he nudges my knees apart, settling between my thighs. The sensation of him there, heavy and warm, sends another rush of heat through me.
“Deep breath,” he murmurs against my lips. “Stay with me.”
I do what he says.
He presses in, inch by inch, slow enough that I can feel every new stretch. It’s a lot—my body protests for a second before adjusting, burning a little around the edges. My fingers dig into his shoulders and I tense without meaning to.
He feels it immediately.
“Hey.” He kisses the corner of my mouth. “You okay? Too much?”
“I’m okay,” I breathe, trying to relax. “Just... my brain wasn’t lying about Loch.”
He lets out a broken laugh, shoulders shaking. “There you go again, bringing the nickname into this.”
“I cope with humor,” I say through a breathless little noise as he pauses, giving me a second to adjust. “Shut up and keep going.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he murmurs with a little smirk on his face that I won’t soon forget.
He kisses me again, deeper, and moves another inch, then another, giving me time after each little push. The stretch is intense, but slowly, slowly, my muscles start to give, accommodating him more easily. The burn melts into something else—something hot and full.
When he’s finally seated all the way inside, both of us go perfectly still. My breath leaves me in a quiet, shocked sound as my body clenches around him. He lets out this low, strangled groan against my throat.
“Fuck,” he whispers. “Zae…you feel—God.”
I want to make some snarky comment, but my brain has left the building. All I can do is breathe and feel.
God, do I feel.
He doesn’t move right away. He just stays there, buried deep, one hand laced with mine and pressed into the pillow, the other on my cheek.
“You good?” he asks quietly, searching my face.
I nod, the motion tiny. “Yeah,” I say. “Yeah… you can move.”
He exhales like he was on the verge of losing his sanity if he couldn’t thrust soon.
The first few jerks of his hips are slow, more like tests than anything, shallow enough that my body can adjust. The thick drag of him inside me sends sparks shooting up my spine, every slow slide pressing against sensitive places that make my toes curl.
I wrap my legs around his hips, pulling him closer, and the angle shifts, shooting a sharp bolt of pleasure that hits deep and I gasp.
His eyes flutter shut, a quiet curse slipping out.
“Like that?” he asks, voice wrecked.
“Yeah,” I manage. “Definitely like that.”
He finds a rhythm that’s steady and careful, each thrust sinking a little deeper, a little more sure as he learns exactly what makes my breath hitch.
Our bodies start moving together, my hips lifting to meet his, and the room fills with soft, intimate sounds—our uneven breathing, low murmurs, the wet slide of skin on skin, and the quiet creak of the bed.
I cling to him, arms looped around his neck, my nails pressing into his shoulders every time he rolls his hips. His mouth finds mine again, slow and deep, then drifts to my jaw and the sensitive spot just beneath my ear that makes me shiver and tighten around him.
“You’re doing so good, Sunshine,” he murmurs, the nickname hitting my chest in a way it never has before. “You feel so fucking good.”
“You’re—” I cut myself off with a broken little sound when he hits that same spot again, the pleasure blooming hot and bright deep inside me. “Cass.”
“That’s it,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to my neck, his breath shaky against my skin. “Let me hear you.”
Every thrust builds the feeling higher, winding me tighter and tighter until I’m right there on the edge.
I can’t even feel embarrassed about how much noise I’m making, because he reacts to every sound like it’s his oxygen—his rhythm faltering for a second with a soft groan against my throat as he holds me closer.