Chapter Eighteen
Skylar
It’s been a week.
Seven endless days since we were on that roof. Since his mouth ruined me, and I came undone under the stars while he worshipped me.
He hasn’t touched me since.
Not once.
I sit on the bed, cross-legged, pretending to study. The page in front of me is nothing but blurred ink, numbers turning to nonsense as my pen taps against the edge of the notebook.
I keep telling myself to focus. To care about algebra.
But he’s here.
Across the room.
Shirtless.
Gloriously fucking distracting.
The weights clink softly as he lifts, muscles coiling and flexing with every rep. His chest glistens under the light, skin flushed from the effort, veins standing out across his forearms. That jaw is locked tight, his expression unreadable, all focus and control.
He’s too much… too close. Too goddamn beautiful.
I tell myself not to look, but my eyes betray me. They trail over the slope of his abs, the sheen of sweat slipping across his stomach, the dark waistband of his sweatpants that hang low enough to make my breath hitch.
My gaze moves past the tight line of muscles to where they disappear beneath the waistband of his sweats.
The soft fabric clings in all the right places, and I swear he’s doing it on purpose.
Every time he exhales, the muscles along his stomach tighten, and my pulse goes with it.
I try to avert my eyes. Try to act normal.
It doesn’t work.
He hasn’t said a single word about that night. Not one mention of how he had me shaking, begging, soaked in the sound of his voice while he devoured me under the stars.
But he still makes me grilled cheese melts. Always two pieces cut diagonally, the way I didn’t know I liked until he started doing it. He still brings me takeout.
It’s become routine now, the way we move through this space.
Somewhere in the blur of days and cheap instant coffee, this place stopped feeling temporary.
It feels settled.
He still sleeps on the couch.
Every night, without fail, he tosses a pillow down, drags a blanket over himself, and stretches out as if it’s nothing. He never asks for the bed or tries to crawl in beside me, even though I want him to.
But he looks.
When he thinks I’m not paying attention, I catch him watching me. Eyes dark. His expression unreadable, but his body is tense as if he’s fighting something hard.
Maybe he’s just wired that way.
Zane isn’t sweet.
He’s all bite and swagger. Smokes too much. Talks too little. Walks around like the world owes him a fight.
But then he tosses my favorite chocolate bar on the bed without saying a word, and it fucks with me.
Because I don’t know what that means.
Perhaps it is nothing.
Maybe I want it to mean something.
But it’s hard to tell with him.
Some nights he’s quiet, stretched out on the couch in just his sweats, arm over his face, jaw slack with exhaustion.
Other nights he’s wired, pacing the floor or working the weights hard, sweat dripping down his back, shoulders tense as if he’s trying to outrun something in his head.
But no matter what version of him I get, there’s always something there between us.
When he walks into the room, his eyes flick to me for half a second, long enough to make sure I’m still here.
The way he keeps making sure I have what I need without ever asking what that is.
The way he doesn’t talk about anything real, doesn’t offer explanations or promises, but still leaves the heater on when it gets cold.
Still makes enough food for two and makes space for me without ever saying the words.
And that’s what fucks me up the most.
The way this place feels more like home than anywhere I’ve ever been.
Even when he’s being an emotionally unavailable asshole.
I want him.
All of him this time.
But I have no idea if he wants me back. And I sure as shit aren’t going to be the one to say it.
I glance up again and catch the flex of his biceps as he curls the weight, the way his mouth drops open slightly as he exhales.
My thighs press together. I turn back to my homework, trying to blink it away.
“You keep staring like that,” he says suddenly, voice rough, breathless from the set, “and I’ll start thinking you want something.”
I snap my head up.
He’s watching me now, weight hanging loose in one hand, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. That cocky, dangerous, stupidly hot smirk that drives me insane.
“You wish,” I fire back, though my voice sounds thinner than I want it to.
He drops the weight with a dull thud, his eyes never leaving mine.
“Yeah. I fucking do.”
The words hang in the air.
Thicker than the silence that follows.
I don’t know what to say. My cheeks flush, burning hot, and I glance down at my notebook, suddenly aware that my hands are shaking. I grip the pen tighter, but it doesn’t help.
I hear him move—slow footsteps across the room.
I don’t look up.
Not until his hands grip the edge of the mattress.
My gaze lifts, and he’s standing right in front of me. His expression isn’t playful now. It’s serious. Hungry. His eyes are darker than I’ve ever seen them.
“I haven’t touched you,” he says, voice low, “because I didn’t know if I could fucking stop.”
My mouth goes dry.
His hand lifts, knuckles grazing my cheek.
“I’ve been trying to be good, Sky. Trying to give you space. But fuck… since I tasted you on the roof that night it’s been fucking with my head. Every time I close my eyes, I see you. Spread out for me. Moaning my name. Fucking shaking on my mouth.”
I can’t breathe.
I can’t move.
“I fucking want you,” he says, fingers dragging down my jaw, thumb brushing the corner of my lips. “I want to fuck you slow. Deep. Until you’re begging me not to stop. I want to feel your pussy wrapped around my cock while you lose your mind under me.”
Zane’s filthy mouth does something to me. Every word drips heat, dragging across my skin like a physical touch.
I can’t hide it.
My body betrays me before my head can catch up. It hits my chest, coils in my stomach, burns in the slick ache between my legs.
I want him.
God, I fucking want him.
My lips part, but my voice is gone. So I nod.
His eyes lock on mine, searching my face—the muscles in his jaw flex.
“You sure?” he asks, voice rough as gravel, the words curling through me, dragging every ounce of sanity I’ve got left to the edge.
“Yes,” I whisper.
And then he’s on me.
His mouth crashes into mine, all tongue and heat, no hesitation.
It’s not sweet. It’s filthy. Desperate. Full of fuck-you heat that’s been building for weeks. His hands grip my waist hard, dragging me closer as if he needs me under him.
I claw at his shoulders, fingers digging into hot skin, trying to get closer.
He growls into my mouth, that deep, feral sound that makes my cunt throb.
My notebook and homework scatter to the floor with a sweep of his arm. Papers flutter, but he doesn’t care. He lays me flat on the mattress and follows me down, his weight pressing into me, his sweat-slick chest against mine.
I wrap my legs around his waist, hips grinding up against his hard cock, greedy and aching. My pulse is a roar. Every breath feels stolen.
“Fuck,” he mutters against my throat, kissing down to the hollow, biting just enough to make me gasp. “You drive me insane, you know that? Sitting there with that mouth and those fucking eyes. Pretending you’re not soaking through your panties every time I walk in the room.”
My shirt’s shoved up, his hands rough as they push under it, thumbs brushing the underside of my tits, palms greedy and hot as he pulls it over my head.
He groans when he sees me.
“Fucking hell, Sky.”
His mouth is on me again, licking a path over the swell of my breast before sucking hard around my nipple.
I arch up, gasping his name, fingers tangling in his hair, dragging him closer.
He pulls back just enough to speak, his voice thick with need. “I’m gonna ruin you. Gonna fuck you so good you won’t remember your own fucking name.”
Then he’s back on me, mouth everywhere, hands everywhere, tearing me open with touch alone. I’ve never wanted anything so fucking bad.
“Tell me if you want to stop,” he murmurs, his lips dragging fire across my skin.
I don’t. Not now. Never.
His mouth keeps moving.
Wet kisses. Open-mouthed. Slow.
His tongue flicks over my nipple, sucking it between his lips until I arch into him.
I moan his name, and something in him snaps.
He freezes, and groans deep, the sound punched from his chest.
“Fuck, baby. You moan my name like that, and it does something to me.”
His hands trail lower, moving over my ribs, tracing the curve of my waist. His breath catches. He’s trembling; it’s in the tight pull of his jaw, in the way his fingers pause on the waistband of my shorts as if he’s giving me one last chance to stop him.
I don’t.
He drags my shorts down, and my panties go with them. His eyes don’t leave my skin as more of me is revealed.
Hunger darkens his gaze, the muscles in his throat working as he swallows hard. He’s still got that cocky, confident smirk. That rough, fucked-up swagger. But underneath it all, there’s a softness that kills me. Destroys me.
When I’m bare, he tosses the shorts aside and grips my thighs, spreading them open until my pussy is completely exposed.
“Fuck,” he mutters, his tongue coming out to wet his bottom lip. “You’re fucking perfect.” His voice is hoarse, wrecked, eyes locked between my legs. “So beautiful.”
I freeze.
No one’s ever said that to me before.
I’ve always been a burden… the broken one. The girl you walk around to avoid. But Zane… he doesn’t see any of that when he looks at me. He sees all the shit I carry around and still calls me beautiful.
He drops to his knees, grabbing my thighs again, this time firmer, dragging me closer to him. His fingers press into my flesh, and he leans in, breathing hot against my pussy. Every nerve lights up, every thought wiped clean. I sense him watching me, wanting me, holding back by a thread.
“Let me make it feel good, Sky,” he says. “I’ll take my time. Bring you to the edge. Get that sweet pussy ready for my cock.”
“You sound really experienced in this whole virgin thing,” I say.
He snorts, grinning as his hands push my legs further apart.
“No, sweetheart. You’re my first.”
A shiver tears through me at hearing that he’s never done this before with a virgin. There’s something filthy and raw about that…how much he clearly wants me, how hard he’s working to rein it in.
Heat throbs low in my belly, pulsing through me. My heart’s pounding, and I can’t breathe right, not with the way his gaze drops from my face to my pussy. There’s a hunger in his eyes that makes me feel bare in a whole new way.
He blows gently across my cunt.
The warm rush of air hits my clit, and my whole body jolts, a gasp ripping out of me. I feel exposed, raw, so fucking ready I could cry. He’s not even touching me with his mouth yet, and I’m already losing it.
Then finally… finally, his fingers move, just a light graze skimming over my pussy in the lightest fucking touch I’ve ever known. It’s maddening. My hips twitch, chasing it, wanting more, needing more. I squeeze my eyes shut, drowning in the sensation.
“Open your eyes,” he says, voice low. “I want you to watch me taste your pussy. I want you to see what you fucking do to me.”
When I open my eyes, his tongue dips down, and the moment he licks me, it’s game over. My back arches, fingers gripping the sheets, his name a desperate moan on my lips.
And all I can think, through the haze of pleasure crashing down around me, is that no one’s ever made me feel this wanted.
No one’s ever looked at me and seen anything but the mess I am.
But Zane… he looks at me and sees something else entirely.
He’s the only person who has taken the time to truly see me.