Kaia
I wake alone in Zain’s bed with a pleasant ache between my thighs and the immediate memory of exactly how it got there.
For several seconds, I stay beneath the sheets and stare at the ceiling before a smile slowly spreads across my face.
This feels dangerous.
Not the soreness. That is manageable. The dangerous part is the warm, ridiculous happiness spreading through me because last night happened, and this morning I am still here.
I find one of Zain’s shirts and pull it over my head. My underwear is on the floor near the bed.
I look at it, then leave it there.
That is not seduction. It is efficiency.
Mostly.
The smell of coffee leads me into the kitchen.
Zain stands at the counter in gray shorts and nothing else, his back to me as he reaches for a mug. Morning light catches the scars across one shoulder, and the memory of kissing them softens something inside me.
Then he turns.
His eyes find mine and travel down my body. The shirt reaches mid-thigh.
Nothing beneath it, but he does not know that.
His gaze returns to my face.
“Morning.”
His voice is rough enough to make my pulse jump.
“Morning.”
He picks up my mug and holds it out.
I cross the room to take it. “You made my coffee.”
“You need it.”
“I am starting to think that is your answer to everything.”
“It usually works.”
I take a sip.
Cream and sugar, exactly right again.
My heart does something foolish, so I concentrate on the coffee instead.
Zain watches me over the rim of his mug, his coffee as brutally black as always.
“How do you feel?”
“There it is.”
“What?”
“The medical interrogation.”
“Were you sore when you woke up?”
I nearly choke.
He waits.
I lower the mug slowly. “A little.”
His jaw tightens.
“Do not.”
“Do not what?”
“Start blaming yourself.”
“I hurt you.”
“You did not hurt me.” I set the mug down. “There is a difference between pain and being a little sore after having sex for the first time.”
His expression remains unconvinced. The quiet seriousness of it warms me more than it should.
Then his eyes drop again.
To the hem of his shirt.
A slow awareness moves through me.
He knows. Or at least suspects.
I set my mug beside his and move closer until only the edge of the counter separates us.
His stare sharpens.
I should stop.
Instead, I trail one finger over the bare skin just above the waistband of his shorts and lower my voice.
“Something wrong, Chief?”
His whole body stills.
There it is.
I smile.
Bad decision.
Zain catches my waist and lifts me onto the counter before I can decide how much further to push him.
A startled laugh escapes me.
He steps between my knees.
“Still amused?”
“Very.”
His hands slide over my thighs.
My laughter disappears.
The hem of the shirt rises beneath his fingers, exposing more skin with every inch.
His gaze drops.
Then his expression changes.
“Fuck.”
I bite my lip.
“You knew.”
“I suspected.”
“And now?”
“Now I know for sure.”
He pushes my knees wider and settles one hand high on my thigh.
My breath catches.
His eyes lift to mine.
“Tell me what you want.”
My pulse accelerates.
“You.”
“Be specific.”
Of course.
I swallow.
“I want you to touch me.”
“Where?”
I stare at him.
His expression does not change.
Heat floods my face.
“Between my legs.”
His eyes darken.
“Good.”
His fingers slide beneath the shirt.
The first touch makes me gasp.
I am already wet, and the rough sound that leaves him sends another rush of heat through me.
“Kaia.”
“Your fault.”
His thumb circles my clit.
My hips jerk toward his hand.
He does it again, slower this time.
I grip the edge of the counter.
“Zain.”
“Too much?”
“No.”
“Not enough?”
I glare at him.
His mouth almost curves.
“Not nearly enough.”
He increases the pressure.
Pleasure spreads quickly, sharpened by the soreness underneath it. I am aware of everything at once: the cold counter beneath my thighs, the warm kitchen, his shirt gathered around my hips, and Zain standing between my open legs as if the sight of me there is testing the limits of his control.
His finger slides lower, and I tense before I can hide it.
He stills immediately.
“Kaia.”
I catch his wrist before he can pull away.
“Do not decide for me.”
His eyes meet mine.
“Then tell me.”
“I want you to keep going.”
He studies me for a second, then leans in and kisses me.
The kiss is deep and gentle, his thumb still moving over my clit while his other hand slips beneath the shirt and closes around my breast.
I moan into his mouth.
Everything builds faster than I expect.
He knows exactly how to touch me now, which seems deeply unfair after one night.
I break the kiss.
“Zain.”
“I know.”
His mouth moves to my neck.
“I’m close.”
“Good.”
I almost laugh, but then his fingers change pressure and every thought disappears.
My hands lock around his shoulders.
“There.”
He keeps the rhythm exactly the same.
My body tightens.
“Zain.”
“Let go.”
I do.
The orgasm hits hard enough to make my eyes close, pleasure rolling through me while he keeps touching me through every tremor.
When I finally open my eyes, he is watching me.
Calm, except for the erection pressing against his shorts.
My gaze drops.
“No.”
I blink. “No?”
“Not again yet.”
“That seems very unfair.”
His mouth curves.
Actually curves.
I narrow my eyes. “You are enjoying this.”
“A little.”
I slide off the counter before he can stop me.
His hands catch my waist automatically.
“I am not made of glass.”
“I know.”
“You took care of me.”
“I wanted to.”
“So do I.”
His expression changes.
“You do not owe me anything.”
“I know.”
I put one hand on his chest and let it travel slowly down his stomach.
“I still want to.”
His hand closes around my wrist.
“Be sure.”
“I am.”
He releases me.
That freedom settles something in my chest.
I push his shorts down.
His cock springs free, hard and thick, and apparently I stare too long because one eyebrow lifts.
“It’s…” I swallow. “Big and gorgeous.”
Zain stares at me.
Then his jaw tightens.
“You cannot say things like that while looking at my cock.”
I blink. “Why?”
“Because I am trying very hard not to lose control.”
Heat floods me.
“Good to know.”
I lower myself to my knees.
Every trace of amusement disappears from his face.
My nerves arrive all at once.
I wrap my fingers around him and feel the sharp breath he takes.
That helps.
I stroke once.
Then again.
“Tell me if I do something wrong.”
His hand settles against the side of my face.
“Sweetheart.”
“That is not an answer.”
“You cannot do this wrong.”
“I am fairly sure that is statistically impossible.”
A rough laugh leaves him.
I lean forward before I lose my courage and take the head into my mouth.
Zain goes still.
His hand slides into my hair, holding without pushing.
I move slowly, learning him by reaction: the way his breath changes when I take more of him, the way his fingers tighten when I use my tongue, the low sound in his chest when I stroke what I cannot fit into my mouth.
I like that sound.
A lot.
I look up.
His eyes are already on me.
The heat in them makes my stomach clench.
I pull back just enough to breathe.
“Tell me what you want, Chief.”
His gaze turns dark.
“Kaia.”
I smile.
Then take him into my mouth again.
His hand tightens in my hair.
“Careful.”
The warning sends a thrill through me.
I keep going, slower now, watching his control fray in small ways: a rougher breath, a slight movement of his hips, my name dragged from somewhere deep in his chest.
I want more.
I take him deeper.
“Fuck, Kaia.”
There.
That is what I wanted.
A moment later, his hands close around my shoulders.
He pulls me to my feet.
“Zain.”
Then his mouth is on mine, hard and hungry. He kisses me as if tasting himself there does not bother him in the slightest.
By the time he pulls back, I am breathless.
“You were close.”
“Yes.”
“Then why did you stop me?”
His forehead rests against mine.
“Because I wanted your mouth.”
My knees nearly fail.
“That is very effective.”
His mouth curves.
Then he lifts me back onto the counter.
The coffee has gone cold.
The toast is probably ruined.
I do not care.
I wrap my legs around his waist and look up at him.
“Breakfast is going badly.”
His hands settle on my thighs.
“You started it.”
I smile.
“Did I?”
His eyes darken again.
Then one hand slips between us, and his fingers drag slowly through me.
I gasp.
“You’re still wet.”
“That is also your fault.”
“Good.”
His hand closes around my hip.
I feel the blunt heat of him between my legs, and my breath catches.
This time, there is no fear.
Only want.
I reach down and guide him closer.
Zain’s eyes lock on mine.
“Kaia.”
“What?”
“You keep doing things like that and then looking surprised when I lose control.”
I tighten my legs around him.
“Maybe I like it.”
Something in his expression breaks.
He pushes into me.
The first stretch makes me suck in a breath. He slows immediately, giving my body time to adjust without pulling away.
I grip his shoulders.
“Okay?”
“Yes.”
He studies me for one more second.
I pull him closer.
“More.”
That is all it takes.
His next thrust goes deeper, and a moan slips from me before I can stop it.
Zain catches the sound with his mouth.
One hand grips my hip while the other slides beneath his shirt and closes around my breast. The counter is cold beneath me, his body hot between my thighs, and each thrust grows stronger as the last traces of tenderness give way to something sharper.
I cling to him.
“Zain.”
His mouth moves to my neck.
“Say it.”
I know exactly what he means. Heat races through me.
“Chief.”
He drives into me harder.
My head falls back.
“Oh God.”
His grip on my hip tightens.
“You like that?”
“Yes.”
“Use more words.”
I laugh breathlessly.
“You are impossible.”
He thrusts deeper.
My laugh turns into a moan.
“Try again.”
I drag my nails over his shoulders.
“I like it, Chief. Give me more of it.”
The last of his restraint gives way.
He kisses me hard and moves faster, one hand anchoring my hip while I hold on to him and meet every thrust.
Pleasure builds again with frightening speed.
“Zain.”
“I know.”
His hand slips between us.
The first touch to my clit makes me jerk.
“Close?”
“Yes.”
He keeps moving, hard and deep, while his fingers work exactly where I need them.
I bury my face against his neck.
“Don’t stop.”
“I won’t.”
The orgasm takes me suddenly.
My body tightens around him, and Zain swears against my mouth as his rhythm breaks.
A few hard thrusts later, he goes rigid.
For several seconds, neither of us moves.
Then I remember I am sitting naked from the waist down on his kitchen counter.
I start laughing.
Zain lifts his head.
“What?”
“Breakfast.”
He looks toward the stove.
Then back at me.
“The toast is ruined.”
“I noticed.”
His hands remain on my hips.
I smile.
“Worth it?”
His gaze drops to my mouth.
“The toast was never competition.”
I laugh again and pull him closer.
Breakfast can wait.