Chapter 14
ZORA
The wedding was beautiful. Kazimir's uncle and aunt seemed so happy when they danced at the reception, which is still going on, but Kaz hasn't been able to keep his hands off my ass all night.
He stands beside me in the elevator with his hand in the small of my back while I chew the inside of my cheek to hide the smirk on my face.
The tent in his pants is so obvious, but with all that dirty dancing, it's no wonder.
The whole night has been magical, though one thing is sure—I am starting to realize how deep I've gotten into this.
Watching another couple be married usually has one of two effects on people.
It either makes them want to get married, or it reminds them how in love they are with their spouse.
It did both to me, and God, do I feel guilty now.
"You okay?" he asks, rubbing my spine with his thumb as the elevator slows to a halt on the fifth floor and chimes.
"I'm so good," I tell him, lying through my teeth. I'm so not good. I am a bundle of nerves because I realize I'm falling for this man so hard and I still have a job to do. Kazimir doesn't deserve this. But what do I tell my brothers?
"You're about to be so much better," he says with a wink, and it makes me shudder.
Kazimir leads me off the elevator and down the hall, opening the door for us, which he locks behind himself.
When he turns to me, any pretense of masking his lust for me is gone.
He's an animal, stalking me across the hotel room until I'm smirking, biting my lip, and nearly tripping over the runner carpet in front of the television.
"You've been driving me insane all night," he says as he reaches for the strap on my left shoulder and slides it down my arm with his fingertips.
The silk whispers against my skin as it falls.
Then he does the same on the right side and the dress loosens across my chest and holds for a second at the curve of my breasts before he hooks his fingers into the neckline and pulls it down.
The fabric pools at my waist and the chilly air makes my nipples tighten.
"Are you mad, then?" I ask him playfully, looking up through my lashes at him as his hands go to my hips and push the dress the rest of the way down. It slides over my thighs and past my knees and lands on the carpet around my heels.
"There is a pleasure," he says, "in being mad, which none but madmen know." Then his finger hooks into the waistband of my panties and pulls gently, forcing me closer to him.
"John Dryden…" I muse with a smile. I had no idea he liked poetry. It does things to my body that are ungodly to know this man isn't just sweet and kind—he's smart too.
"The Spanish Friar," he says, walking me backward until my shoulders hit the wall. "Now stop talking and let me have you. I've been waiting for this for hours."
I smirk as he snatches my hands and pins my wrists above my head with one hand.
His free hand drags across my nipple and I arch into him, a sound escaping my throat that I couldn't hold back if I wanted to.
When he leans down and takes the other nipple into his mouth, my knees buckle.
The only thing keeping me upright is his grip on my wrists and the wall behind me.
"Kaz," I hiss, but he does what he wants.
"You keep these hands right here. Do you understand?" His hand squeezes around my wrists and I whimper.
"Come on. That's torture—"
"Ah…" Both of his eyebrows rise. "Be a good girl and let me have my fun, and I promise you, you won't regret it."
I roll my eyes but I smile in acknowledgement and obediently keep my arms pressed to the wall over my head as his mouth moves down my stomach, kissing along my ribs.
His hands slide down my body and push past the waistband of my underwear without pulling them off.
I'm soaking wet and when he makes contact with my clit my hips jerk forward into his palm.
"God, you're wet," he says against my stomach.
"That's not my fault," I mumble, already finding it hard to keep my hands above my head.
He laughs against my skin. The vibration travels through me and his fingers hook into the waistband of my underwear and drag them down my thighs.
I shift my hips to help and they fall to my ankles where I step out of them.
His hand comes back up the inside of my leg, fingertips dragging along the skin of my inner thigh, taking his time getting where I need him to be.
"Kaz, please."
"Please what?" His mouth is on my ribs, his breath hot against my skin. His fingers stop at the crease of my thigh and hold there.
"Touch me."
"I am touching you."
"You know what I mean."
His fingers slide lower and brush against me and my hips roll forward on instinct. He doesn't give me more than that, just one light pass, barely any pressure, and then his hand pulls back to my thigh. I groan and lower my hands to my hair where I grab fistfuls to avoid touching him.
"You're doing this on purpose," I say. "It's torture."
"Absolutely." He brushes against me again, and my whole body twitches. "I've been watching you in that dress for five hours. I'm not rushing this."
He keeps it up until my thighs are trembling and my hips are chasing his hand every time he pulls away.
When he finally presses two fingers against my clit with real pressure I nearly come off the wall.
He starts rubbing me in small circles, reading every sound I make.
Then he adjusts the angle when my breathing hitches, pressing harder when my hips grind forward into his palm.
"Right there," I groan. "Oh, God."
He slides a finger inside me without breaking the rhythm on my clit, curling it forward against my front wall. The pressure doubles, my back arching off the wall, and a moan comes out of me that doesn't sound like me. I'm gonna bust open so fast; he has no idea.
"Kaz," I whine, knowing how close I am. I want to grab his hair, and when his lips and stubble graze my thigh I start shaking.
"That's it," he says against my breast. "Stay right there."
He adds a second finger and picks up the pace.
I'm grinding against his hand now, rolling my hips against him.
I can't stop chasing the peak that's building at the base of my spine and spreading down my legs.
His thumb presses harder. His fingers curl deeper.
My mouth falls open and the orgasm breaks through me in a rush, walls clenching around his fingers, back bowing off the wall.
"Holy shit," I whimper and my legs give out.
Kazimir presses his arm across my hips, holding me upright while the convulsions pulse through my whole body.
I can't take it anymore. I let my hands fall to his shoulders and grab fistfuls of his suit jacket and shirt, riding out the waves of pleasure while moaning and making ungodly sounds.
When the pleasure slows, I let go of him and he stands, licking his fingers. "Now," he says, smirking, "you were a bad girl. You put your hands down."
I'm too delirious to respond, so I let him turn me until my tits press against the wall. My arms shoot out, palms splaying against the wall, and then he nips my shoulder.
"I want you from behind," he says, breathing hot against my ear. "Tell me if you want me to stop."
"Yeah, okay," I whisper, not sure what he means. But when he spreads my thighs and I feel his fingers prodding at my back entrance, it makes me flush instantly.
Kazimir spits on his fingers and then I feel him touching my tight ring of muscles, rubbing, easing me open.
One finger pushes inside and my breath catches.
I press my forehead against the wall and focus on the pressure, the stretch, the way it sits right on the edge between too much and not enough.
"Okay?" he asks, thrusting shallow pumps with his finger as I adjust to him being there. It makes me rub my own clit as I feel the burn of him stretching me.
"More," I tell him.
He adds a second finger, working them in and out, letting my body adjust before he goes deeper. After a few seconds he spits on his fingers again for more lubrication. The fullness is foreign but the pleasure builds. My hips push back into his hand and his breathing grows raspy and heavy.
"Shit," I hiss, arching back, pushing my hips into his hand.
He pulls his fingers out and steps back while I relax for a moment. Then I hear the rustle of fabric as his shirt comes off and lands on the floor. Then his bare chest presses against my back and his heat has me arching into him as he shoves his boxers and pants down then kicks them aside.
When he presses against me again there's nothing between us but a thin sheen of sweat on my body. "You ready?" he asks.
"Fuck yes," I tell him, fingers already moving on my own clit again.
Kazimir lines up and pushes forward and the first inch of his dick pushing into me steals the air from my lungs.
I groan and grit my teeth, trying hard not to be too tense.
He holds there, trembling, giving me time to adjust. I can feel the effort it takes him to stay still, and his breathing comes in heavy rasps.
He wants this, and holy fuck, do I want it too.
"Keep going," I say through gritted teeth.
He sinks deeper. Inch by inch, the stretch burns and opens into a pressure that fills me in a way nothing else ever has.
When he bottoms out, we both go still. I'm panting and whimpering, wishing he would start moving already.
It's so intense I don't know if I should moan or cry, but I want to know what it feels like when he fucks me.
"You feel unreal," he growls before he bites down on my shoulder.
"Move, Kaz," I whimper. "Please fuck me."
He pulls back and pushes in again. I moan and my hands slide down the wall as he builds a fast rhythm. The sensation is overwhelming—tight, full, electric heat radiating from my center into my thighs and through my stomach.
"Talk to me," he says behind me. "Tell me how it feels."