Chapter 23
Chapter
Twenty-Three
JENNY
T he silence in the car is suffocating, save for the low hum of the engine and the faint, distant thrum of my heartbeat in my ears. My body is buzzing…not just from the alcohol but from everything. The chaos of the club, the way he’d stepped in, the raw fury in his eyes as his fist connected with that man’s jaw…it’s all swirling in my head, too vivid, too intense. I press my fingers against my thighs, trying to steady myself, but it’s useless. I feel like I’m trembling from the inside out.
In the dim, shifting lights that spill in through the car windows, Zack looks... otherworldly. His hair, tousled and wild from the commotion, falls across his forehead in dark waves. The sharp line of his jaw is taut, his lips pressed together in a grim line as he stares out of the window, his expression unreadable. The veins in his neck are still faintly visible, his hands resting on his knees clenched just enough to make the tendons stand out.
I can’t stop sneaking glances at him, my gaze drawn to the strength in his posture, the way he holds himself like nothing could ever shake him. And yet, he’s silent. The distance between us feels like a chasm, and I’m not sure if it’s because he’s furious or because I’ve done something wrong. I shift uncomfortably in my seat, the lingering heat from the alcohol pooling low in my stomach, making everything feel heavier, sharper.
My skin feels too tight, my thoughts spiraling. God, why does he have to look like that? In the club, under the flashing lights, he hadn’t seemed real…more like some untouchable hero out of a movie. The fury in his face, the way his hair had fallen into his eyes, the veins in his hands and neck…he’d been a force of nature, terrifying and breathtaking all at once. The memory sends a shiver down my spine, and I have to clench my hands together to keep from doing something stupid. Like touching him.
But I can’t stop thinking about the way his body had moved, the sharp precision of his punch, the sheer power in it. It had been savage, raw, and impossibly arousing. I shift again, trying to ignore the ache building inside me, the heat that refuses to dissipate no matter how hard I try to focus on anything else.
“Are you hurt?” I blurt out suddenly, my voice breaking through the oppressive quiet.
He doesn’t turn to look at me. “No,” he says shortly, his tone clipped.
That’s it. Just one word. No glance, no reassurance. I bite my lip, frustration curling in my chest. He’s mad. He has to be. Why else wouldn’t he look at me? The thought makes my throat tighten. I didn’t ask him to do that, to step in like that…but he had, and the fact that he’d done it so fiercely, so completely, makes my heart twist in ways I can’t quite understand.
The car keeps moving, the city lights blurring outside the window, and I can’t stand the silence any longer. I inch my hand closer to him, my fingers trembling slightly as they hover near his. It’s reckless, stupid, but I can’t help myself. I need some kind of connection, some reassurance that he isn’t mad at me, although I’m not so sure why I care now when I never have before.
Finally, my hand brushes his, just the lightest touch, but it feels like a spark igniting in my skin. He doesn’t move, doesn’t acknowledge it, and for a moment, I think he hasn’t noticed. But I can feel the tension in the air shift slightly, the weight of his presence tilting toward me in some inexplicable way.
The car slows as we pull up to the hotel, and my stomach twists with something I can’t name. Relief, maybe, or disappointment. He opens the door and steps out without a word, waiting for me to follow. I feel a pang of sadness as I slide out of the car. He’s still not talking to me. The tension between us is unbearable, and I hate it.
“Say something,” I whisper, my voice barely audible as we step into the elevator.
He glances at me, his expression still unreadable. “About what?”
“Anything,” I say, my voice breaking slightly. “I’m sorry.”
His brow furrows. “What are you apologizing for?”
“If you’re not mad,” I say softly, my chest tightening, “then why won’t you look at me?”
He pauses, his gaze finally shifting to meet mine. His gray eyes are stormy, unreadable, and my breath catches in my throat. “Jenny,” he says, his voice low, almost a warning. “You’re drunk.”
The words should sting, should snap me back to reality, but instead, they make me smile faintly. He’s looking at me now, really looking at me, and in the soft light of the elevator, he’s even more breathtaking than I remembered. “Maybe,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “But you still haven’t said anything.”
He exhales sharply, his jaw tightening as if he’s fighting some internal battle. And then, before I can think, before I can second-guess myself, I lean closer. My heart pounds in my chest, my lips parting as I tilt my head up to him. The air between us is charged, electric, and for a moment, I think he’s going to pull away.
But he doesn’t.
The air between us thickens, heavy with a tension that feels almost tangible. My heart pounds in my chest, each beat louder than the quiet hum of the elevator. He looks at me, his gray eyes intense, searching, as though trying to solve a puzzle he doesn’t entirely understand.
Slowly, almost hesitantly, his hand lifts, and before I can fully process what’s happening, his fingers brush against my temple. His touch is warm, feather-light, as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. The gesture is intimate, tender in a way that makes my breath hitch.
“What are you doing?” I whisper, my voice barely audible, the words trembling as they leave my lips.
“What are you doing?” he throws the question back at me.
Neither of us answer, but there’s no need for words in this moment. They feel like an interruption…an annoyance.
Instead, his hand moves, grazing the curve of my jaw before sliding to the side of my neck. His palm rests there, his fingers brushing against the sensitive skin just below my ear. The warmth of his touch sends a shiver through me, and I can’t help but tilt my head slightly, leaning into him as if pulled by some invisible force.
The elevator stops, the faint ding signaling our floor, but neither of us moves. His thumb strokes the edge of my jaw, his gaze never leaving mine. I feel like I’m standing on the edge of something vast and unknown, and all I can think about is him…the way his hand feels against my skin, the way his eyes hold me captive.
My thighs clench together instinctively, heat pooling low in my belly. My clit throbs with a need so intense it’s almost painful, and the ache makes it impossible to focus on anything but the man in front of me. I swallow hard, my breathing shallow, as the moment stretches between us.
His head tilts down, and I feel his breath warm against my lips. Every nerve in my body feels like it’s on fire, every ounce of my focus narrowed to the way he’s looking at me…like I’m the only thing in the world that matters.
And then, his lips brush mine. It’s so light, so fleeting, that I almost wonder if I imagined it. But he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he moves closer, his lips returning to mine with more intent. The kiss is deep and slow, unraveling me with every soft, deliberate movement. His hand slides to the curve of my waist, pulling me closer, and I melt into him, my body pressing against his as if we were made to fit together.
The world falls away, and all I can feel is him…the warmth of his lips, the faint hint of whiskey on his breath, the way his chest rises and falls against mine. His other hand moves to the small of my back, steadying me as I lean into him, my fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt.
Every thought, every worry, every doubt fades into nothingness. All that exists is this moment, this kiss, and the way he makes me feel like I’m burning alive in the most exquisite way possible.
Zack’s hands tighten on my waist, pulling me closer until every inch of me is pressed against the hard line of his body. His kiss deepens, consuming, demanding, as if he’s trying to draw out every hidden part of me I didn’t even know existed. My fingers twist in his hair, the soft strands between my hands anchoring me as my knees threaten to give way.
He pulls back suddenly, his breath hot and ragged against my cheek. “Jenny,” he murmurs, his voice thick with tension. “We should stop.”
I look up at him, my chest heaving, my hazel eyes meeting his stormy gray ones. His face is shadowed with conflict, but his grip on me doesn’t loosen. “I don’t want to stop,” I whisper, the words tumbling out before I can think them through. “I can’t.”
“You’re drunk,” he says, but his voice lacks conviction, and the way his gaze drops to my lips betrays him. His control is cracking, the sharp lines of his jaw tightening as if he’s holding himself back by sheer will.
“I’m not,” I insist, though the wine has left me buzzing, my inhibitions stripped raw. “Not enough to not know what I’m doing. Please, Zack.”
This is a lie, and the chill that grips my heart at the words makes me know that I am lying to myself. I do not know what I’m feeling, or maybe I know, and it is terrifying, but in this moment, I am completely out of my control because I need to feel, to a greater extent, all of this fire that his mere presence burns me with. Maybe before the end, before we go too far, I will find the courage to stop for the sake of my future with Brett, but this moment is definitely not the moment.
His hand moves to my face, his thumb brushing over my cheek as if he’s trying to read me, to find the answer he’s searching for. “This is a bad idea,” he mutters, almost to himself.
“Maybe,” I breathe, my hands trailing down to his chest, the solid warmth of him beneath my fingers sending a shiver through me. “But… just a little more?”
The elevator dings again, the sharp sound cutting through the thick air between us. Before I can process it, the doors slide open, and two women step in, their laughter dying abruptly when they see us tangled together. Their wide-eyed expressions make my cheeks burn, and I pull back from Zack, my breathing ragged as I try to regain some semblance of composure.
He exhales sharply, his jaw clenching as he steps aside to give the women room. They glance at each other, awkward and clearly trying not to stare, as the doors slide shut again. The elevator descends, the silence thick with unspoken tension. My heart pounds in my chest, and I feel Zack’s gaze on me, heavy and unrelenting.
When the elevator stops at their floor, the women hurriedly step out, throwing quick, embarrassed glances over their shoulders. As the doors close behind them, I realize we’ve gone down again, nowhere near our destination.
Zack mutters a curse under his breath, pressing the button for our floor with a sharp jab of his finger. The movement is taut, controlled, but the moment the elevator begins to rise, all control snaps.
He’s on me again, his hands finding my waist and grabbing my ass, pulling me flush against him. His lips find mine with a ferocity that makes my head spin, the kiss fierce and unrelenting. My fingers tangle in his hair, holding him to me as if letting go would mean drowning in everything I’m feeling.
The elevator dings once more, the sound barely registering as the doors slide open to our floor. Zack pulls back, his breathing heavy, his hands lingering at my waist as he stares at me with an intensity that leaves me trembling. Without a word, he takes my hand, his grip firm but reassuring, and leads me out.
My legs feel unsteady, my body trembling with adrenaline and something far more dangerous. But his hand is steady, grounding me as we make our way back to the hotel suite. I cling to him, the reality of what’s about to happen humming beneath my skin, making every step feel charged.
When we reach the suite, Zack doesn’t hesitate. He opens the door to his room and guides me inside, the soft click of the door behind us shutting out the rest of the world.
I reach for him, chest heaving and unable to keep my hands to myself.
My hands are shaking as I undo his buttons one after the other, and then midway through he runs out of patience. He takes the rest of it off himself, and in no time the fabric is flying across the room. The sight of him…broad shoulders, toned chest, the raw power of his physique…makes my breath hitch. He groans softly as I trail my hands over his skin, the muscles beneath flexing at my touch.
His hands slide up my thighs, warm and deliberate, taking my dress with them until the silky fabric bunches around my hips. I shiver at the sensation, his palms gliding over my bare skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake. My breath hitches as I feel the weight of the moment pressing down on me, the tension between us coiling tighter with every second.
Zack pulls back just enough to yank the dress over my head, his movements swift and sure. The cool air brushes against my skin, and I’m left standing in just my bra and panties. My arms instinctively twitch as if to cover myself, but I resist, the thrill of his gaze anchoring me in place.
No man has ever seen me like this before…completely exposed, vulnerable. My heart races as I wonder what he sees, whether he likes it. My bra, delicate and lacy in a soft blush pink, feels suddenly too small, barely able to contain the fullness of my breasts. They’re larger than most, overwhelming on my small frame, and for a fleeting moment, insecurity creeps in. I’ve always felt disproportionate, too much in all the wrong places, and the weight of his silence only amplifies my doubts.
His eyes darken as they rake over me, lingering on every curve, every inch of bare skin. His gaze pauses at my breasts, his lips parting slightly as if he’s momentarily lost himself. The intensity in his expression steals my breath, and my body responds without thought…my back arching slightly, my chest rising as if silently offering myself to him.
“Fuck,” he murmurs, the word rough and guttural, sending a shiver down my spine. His hand reaches out, cupping one breast, his thumb brushing over the lace that barely conceals my hardened nipple. The friction makes me gasp, my head tipping back as the heat pools low in my belly.
I’m trembling, overwhelmed by the sheer weight of his attention. My panties…thankfully a matching blush pink…feel soaked against my skin. They cling to me, the evidence of my arousal undeniable, and I’m both mortified and exhilarated. I only wore these because of the shoot earlier today and knew that at some point or the other I would be in my underwear. I couldn’t have imagined this was where the day would bring me to.
Otherwise, I would’ve been in something far less alluring…boxers, maybe, or the plain cotton granny panties I usually wear. The thought makes my cheeks flush even deeper, a tangle of embarrassment and gratitude swirling within me.
Zack’s fingers trail down my sides, his touch reverent yet possessive, as if he’s memorizing every curve, every freckle, every inch of me. His other hand slips behind me, deftly unhooking my bra. The straps slide down my shoulders, and the garment falls away, leaving me completely bare from the waist up.
I glance up at him, my hazel eyes wide and searching, the anticipation and tension thrumming through me like a live wire. His gaze devours me, his eyes locked on my breasts, full and heavy with each shaky breath I take. My nipples tighten under his scrutiny, the cool air heightening my sensitivity, and I can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking.
“You’re perfect,” he says, his voice low and rough, laced with awe. The words hit me like a bolt of lightning, scattering my insecurities and leaving only the raw heat of his approval. His hands slide up, cupping both breasts as his thumbs brush over my nipples, sending jolts of pleasure straight to my core.
I bite my lip to keep from crying out, but a soft whimper escapes anyway, my head falling back as his touch ignites something primal in me. My body leans into his hands of its own accord, desperate for more, the ache between my legs growing unbearable.
I can feel the wetness pooling against my panties, and I know he must see it, the way they cling to me, the darkened fabric betraying just how much I want this. He groans softly, his hands sliding lower, skimming over the curve of my waist and hips before settling on the hem of my panties.
He hooks his hands into the waistband, and he pulls them down slowly, his eyes locked onto mine. The fabric slides over my thighs, then my calves, and finally pools at my feet. I shiver as the cool air brushes against my bare skin, every nerve alight with a mix of anticipation and embarrassment.
When his gaze drops to my exposed sex, my breath catches. I feel completely bare under his eyes, vulnerable in a way that makes my heart pound erratically. No one has ever seen me like this, and the intensity of his stare leaves me trembling. His tongue flicks over his bottom lip, and the raw hunger in his expression sends a jolt straight through me.
“You’re soaked,” he murmurs, his voice thick and low, more of a growl than a statement. He reaches out, and the moment his fingers slide against my folds, I gasp, my body jolting at the sensation.
“Zack,” I whisper, the sound more a plea than a word.
“You’re so fucking wet, Jenny,” he mutters, his fingers trailing through the slickness, teasing me, testing me. “It’s all for me, isn’t it?” His eyes flick up to meet mine, and the intensity in his gaze is enough to steal the air from my lungs.
I can only nod, my hands clutching the edge of the bed for support as his fingers begin to explore me in earnest. His thumb brushes over my clit, slow and deliberate, and my hips buck involuntarily at the surge of pleasure that shoots through me.
“You’re so sensitive,” he says, his tone laced with something between awe and possession. “You’re perfect.”
My thighs tremble as he continues, his touch relentless yet achingly precise. My breath comes in short, ragged gasps, and when his finger slips inside me, I freeze. The stretch is new, unfamiliar, and it stings just enough to make my body tense.
Zack notices immediately, his free hand stroking my thigh in a soothing motion. “Relax,” he says, his voice softer now, reassuring. “I’ll take care of you.”
I exhale shakily, forcing myself to release the tension in my body. The sting fades as he begins to move, his finger sliding in and out with measured, deliberate strokes. The discomfort melts away, replaced by a pleasure so sharp it’s almost overwhelming.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, his gaze never leaving mine. “You’re doing so good.”
When he adds a second finger, I gasp, my hips arching into his touch as the stretch intensifies. The sensation is dizzying, every nerve in my body focused on the way he moves, how he fills me, how he makes me feel like I’m unraveling and coming alive all at once.
He curls his fingers inside me, brushing against a spot that makes me cry out, my hands grabbing into him as a wave of pleasure crashes through me. My thighs tremble uncontrollably, and I feel myself spiraling, unable to keep up with the sensations building inside me.
“Zack, I—” The words die on my lips as his thumb circles my clit again, the combined sensations pushing me closer and closer to the edge.
“That’s it,” he says, his voice rough, almost unrecognizable. “Let go for me, Jenny.”
And I do. The tension snaps, and I shatter around him, my body convulsing as the orgasm rips through me. It’s blinding, all-consuming, leaving me trembling and gasping for air. He doesn’t stop, his fingers slowing but never leaving me, drawing out every last wave until I collapse onto him spent and trembling.
He pulls his hand away, and I watch through half-lidded eyes as he brings his fingers to his mouth. He licks them clean, his gaze locked on mine the entire time. “You taste incredible,” he says, his voice low and almost reverent.
My chest heaves, my mind struggling to process the words, the sensations, the intensity of it all. Before I can respond, my legs give out, and I collapse fully onto the bed, my body still trembling from the aftermath.
Zack doesn’t give me time to recover. He moves over me with a predatory grace, his hands spreading my thighs as he lowers himself between them. The heat of his breath against my slick, sensitive sex sends a shiver through me, and before I can catch my breath, his tongue strokes over me, firm and deliberate.
The sensation is electric, sharper than anything I’ve ever felt. My hands fly to his head, my fingers tangling in his hair as he devours me, his mouth and tongue relentless. Each stroke, each flick sends another jolt through me, the pleasure building faster than I can process.
“Zack!” I cry out, my back arching off the bed as his tongue circles my clit, the pressure perfect, deliberate, maddening. My thighs tremble around him, and my body feels like it’s on fire, every nerve alight with a pleasure so intense it borders on pain.
He growls against me, the vibration sending shockwaves through my body. His hands grip my thighs, holding me in place as he buries his face deeper, his tongue working me with a precision that leaves me gasping and shaking.
I lose track of everything…time, space, even my own name…as the sensations spiral out of control. The orgasm hits me like a tidal wave, and I scream, my body convulsing as the pleasure overwhelms me. My vision blurs, my mind blanking out as the waves crash over me, leaving me trembling and utterly spent.
When I finally come back to myself, Zack is hovering over me, his lips glistening, his eyes dark with satisfaction. “You’re mine,” he says, his voice rough and unyielding. “Every inch of you, Jenny. Mine.”