Chapter 3 #3
His breath fans against my neck. “Yeah,” he mutters, and the only sound between us betrays how much I’ve been waiting for this. “That’s the truth you won’t say out loud. Your pussy doesn’t lie to me though.”
It doesn’t.
He drops to his knees, and his strong hands grip my thighs as he places them over his shoulders and shunts the fabric of my dress to my hips.
I melt into him, his mere touch turning me into jelly.
“Oh, I’ve missed you, old friend,” he says against my wet panties.
“Zach, you’ve got to stop talking to—”
It’s all I get out before his mouth is on me, and his tongue is pushing my G-string to the side.
I can hardly breathe as his fingers work into me and his tongue teases my clit.
It’s filthy. It’s obscene. It’s so Zach—and I've missed it more than I should.
So good. It feels so good.
He doesn’t tease me or build me up. He just...
Flick. Flick. Flick.
Then his tongue flattens, and my breathing hitches as the pleasure builds.
Flick. Flick. Flick.
He sucks my clit into his mouth before sucking hard enough to make my knees buckle. For the first time since we walked in here, I take my hands off the vanity so I can grab fistfuls of his hair just to stay upright.
When he moans into me, the vibration shoots straight up my spine.
“Zach—” It’s half a plea, half a warning.
The blunt edge of his finger’s thrusts into me so quickly, I can't talk. I can barely breathe because I feel so full. So. Damn. Full. Of him.
He curls them just as he starts to thrust, making the muscles in my stomach pull tight. My head hits the mirror, and I’ve lost all sense now.
“Zach—fuck—”
He groans, the sound rolling through me. He drags his tongue up, slowly at first, tasting everything. Then he seals his mouth over my clit.
I’m nearly there, which is embarrassingly quick, but Zach’s always known how to push my buttons.
My thighs shake; I can barely breathe.
“Come on my tongue,” he growls, the words muffled against my pussy. “Want to taste how much you still need me.”
It hits. Hard. A full-body snap that rips through me like my nerves are sparking under my skin. I gasp, my chest heaving, my vision blurring. My knees buckle, but he holds me up with his grip on my thighs, keeping his mouth exactly where he wants it, licking every aftershock right out of me.
After the comedown, he rises slowly, his eyes locked on mine, his lips swollen and glistening with me.
He doesn’t wipe his mouth.
Instead, he drags his tongue across his bottom lip, savoring me. A low, satisfied sound rumbles in his chest when he tastes me again, and without warning, he crashes his mouth against mine so I can taste myself on him.
“That’s you,” he murmurs against my lips. “All over me. Exactly where you belong.”
His hand is on my jaw, guiding my mouth back to his. I melt into the touch even though I shouldn't.
Old habits die hard.
Disappointment replaces the previous high. Disappointment in myself.
How could I have been so stupid to think that this was a good idea?
“We aren't together anymore.” It comes out snapped because I'm frustrated with myself.
“Say it again, Honeycomb,” he growls as he spins me around so I'm facing the mirror. I brace my hands against the cold marble. My legs feel weak, but he's right behind me, holding me against him.
“Lie to yourself and tell me you don’t think about me every time you let someone else touch you.”
“I don't think about you.” It's not a lie. I don't. The fact that I haven't let any other man touch me is beside the point.
Our eyes connect in the mirror, and I fully expect to see annoyance. I don't. He’s smirking, and then he lets out a low laugh, shaking his head as though I’ve just proved his point for him.
“Cute,” he murmurs, bunching my dress around my hips so he can get a better grip on me. “You can keep lying to me if it helps, but your body has always been terrible at keeping your secrets.”
I twist my head, trying to glare, but the words die the second he lines himself up and sinks into me with one slow, claiming thrust.
“Zach—”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he says, his mouth brushing my ear. “Remember this, Honeycomb? How good we fit.”
He cups my jaw, turning my face so he can kiss me while he fucks me. It's deep, messy, and he swallows every broken sound I make. His other hand slips between my legs, his thumb circling my clit until I’m clenching around him, helpless.
My second orgasm hits like a freight train, ripping a cry from my throat that he muffles with his palm. He follows right after, burying himself to the root and coming with a guttural groan, pulsing hot and deep, claiming every inch he can reach.
When it’s over, he doesn’t pull out. Just stays pressed inside me, his arms banded around my waist, his lips against my damp temple.
“Still think we’re done? That I only wanted you because we fake dated in high school?” he murmurs, his voice softer now.
Then he eases back, and out of me as his hands skim down my thighs.
“Zach—” My voice is hoarse.
“Shh,” he murmurs again, almost gently, before hooking his fingers into the panties he never took off me, and in one smooth motion, he slides them down my legs. When they reach my ankles, he lifts each leg to free the fabric.
“Hey—” I start, but he’s already stuffing the lace into his suit pocket, his mouth curving in an infuriating, cocky smirk.
“Souvenir,” he says. “Something to keep me company until you decide to stop being stubborn and come home.”
I’m still trying to catch my breath when he leans in, kisses me deep and slow, and leaves me standing there against the bathroom vanity—panting, flustered, and with no underwear and my dress still rucked up around my hips.
When the latch clicks shut behind him, I press my fingers to my lips, cursing under my breath.
Damn him.