Chapter 5
Ava
If eighteen-year-old Ava could see me now, she would scream. Even at my current age, I’m not far off from freaking out because Zaid Yousef, racing legend and my lingering teenage crush, is following me to my bedroom.
Well, not my bedroom exactly, but it’s the guest room Edith keeps for me in her Soho flat, a place currently littered with cardboard boxes and other hazards from moving.
I do my best to warn Zaid as we make our way down the dimly lit hall, but I’m the one who trips, catching my heel on a box labeled Junk? ??
His arm darts around my waist to keep me from tumbling to the floor, and I clutch at his shoulders for extra measure.
I hold tighter when he backs me against the wall, and I catch his smirk before he leans in, picking up where we left off at the pub.
We were forced to keep our distance for the short walk here, not wanting to get caught by curious eyes, but I’m done staying away.
It’s been years since the last time I kissed a man, even longer since I brought one home with me, so when Zaid stroked his thumb over my cheek and asked if he could kiss me, any thoughts that this might be a bad idea disappeared into thin air.
And when our lips met, I felt the heat of it all the way down in my bones.
It’s the same sensation now as he kisses me again, slow and sweet and utterly unhurried, like we have all the time in the world.
But that’s not our reality – this is a one-night-only production.
The fact that he couldn’t wait any longer tells me he wants to make the most of the opportunity we have together, and he’s not alone in that.
I twine my arms around his neck, delighting in the slide of his tongue against mine and the way he nips at my lips whenever we break to breathe.
I’d be a puddle on the carpet if he weren’t propping me up, and when he spreads my knees with his own, his thigh pressing against the aching parts of me, I know it’s past time we made it to the bedroom.
I push him back just enough so he can’t distract me with another kiss. ‘Second door on the right. Go.’
He grabs my hand and tugs me along. I press the door shut once we’re inside, locking it even though we’re the only ones here, but it’s better to be safe than have Edith or her husband accidentally walking in.
My pulse quickens as Zaid turns to me, his fingers squeezing mine as he closes the distance.
He keeps moving even when our bodies are flush, backing me against the chest of drawers next to the door, the top of it just tall enough for my hips to rest against. He holds off on kissing me again, taking time to stand in the moment and drink it in.
There’s a faint flush across his cheekbones as his heavy-lidded eyes roam over my face.
They’re a little dazed, like he can’t believe this is happening, but the glint in them tells me he’s pleased it all worked out this way.
I certainly didn’t expect to end up here with him tonight, let alone ever, but it feels . . . right. It’s a full-circle moment to finally make good on some of the rumors, a subtle fuck you to a world that thought they knew us but will never know of this.
‘You look amazing in this dress,’ Zaid says as his touch drifts to the zipper that spans the length of my spine. ‘But I’m desperate to see you out of it.’
I place my hands on his chest as his fingers snag the zipper, pulling it down so slowly that I squirm with impatience, like that will help him do it faster.
The motion has me grinding against him, his hardness pressing into my stomach through the fabric of his tuxedo pants and only making me more eager to be undressed.
Finally, he finishes unzipping and slips the off-the-shoulder straps down my arms with careful ease.
It takes a little persuasion to get the fitted bodice over my hips, leaving Zaid to dip low as he pulls it down my thighs.
He’s even kind enough to help me step out of it, my hands on his shoulders as I lift one heeled foot and then the other.
I expect him to rise again after he flicks the gown away, but he kneels instead, gazing up at me in a way that feels like worship.
I’ve never been so glad for matching lingerie and the sugaring appointment I nearly canceled earlier this week.
They allow me to stand confidently under his stare, even going so far as to press my shoulders back so he can have a better view.
I don’t think a man has ever taken me in this reverently, and I’m not about to squander a moment of it.
‘Can I touch you here?’ he murmurs, hands lightly caressing the backs of my calves.
‘Yeah,’ I exhale, but I really want to shout that he can touch me anywhere he likes, however he likes.
His fingers move up to my thighs, and I nod in encouragement when he cups my ass, dragging my hips away from the wood so his face is within inches of my lace panties.
‘What about here?’ His lips hover over the crease of my thigh, breath tickling my skin.
‘God, yes, please.’
He licks away a smile before pressing a kiss there, then to the other side, alternating back and forth, inching a little closer to my center each time.
When his lips graze the top edge of the lace, his eyes snap up to mine.
His pupils are so blown out that I can’t discern them from the brown of his irises in the low light.
‘And can I kiss you here?’
I suck in a shuddering breath. ‘I might scream if you don’t.’
‘I’d rather you scream when I do.’
I almost laugh, but it catches in my throat when he kisses me over the fabric, trailing down to the aching spot between my thighs.
And when he hooks a finger around the lace to pull my panties to the side, exposing me to him and the cool air of the bedroom, all I can do is gasp as the heat in my stomach ignites from embers to a bonfire.
It’s torturous how slowly he moves, pressing more featherlight kisses to my skin until I’m ready to stomp my foot and tell him to put his whole damn mouth on me.
The man must have the power of telepathy, though, because the second the thought crosses my mind, he glides his fingers down my slick seam and his tongue follows suit.
A nearly incoherent ‘Oh my god, holy shit’ tumbles from my lips as my hands slap down on the dresser, bracing myself against the onslaught of sensation.
I’m glad for the support when his free hand grips under my thigh, hiking it over his shoulder and fully opening me, and my mind goes blank when he swipes the flat of his tongue against my clit.
It takes everything in me not to dig my stiletto into his back when he does it again.
I’ll admit, I may have fantasized about this a few times over the years.
Maybe more than a few. Okay, maybe more like a lot.
But nothing could have prepared me for the reality of Zaid on his knees in front of me, tuxedo jacket unbuttoned and brushing against my bare legs as he eats like a man starved.
My inner thighs quickly turn to jelly, quivering and shaking as he slips a finger into me, adding just a hint of pressure that makes what he’s doing to my clit all the more intense.
The rough scratch of his stubble is sure to leave my skin red for days, but I’ll bear it with pride as a souvenir of this night.
I can’t take my eyes off him, wanting to commit every inch of him and this moment to memory, something to revisit fondly and often when the nights are dark and lonely.
He works me over with such ease, licking and biting and sucking in all the ways that threaten to have me coming in record time.
Watching him is like witnessing the painting of a masterpiece, the composition of a symphony, all done by a man who’s too beautiful for his own good.
I’m stretched taut under his touch, throwing my head back as I try to escape the overwhelming build, all of it happening too fast. But he doesn’t let me escape.
He pins my bucking hips against the drawers, the brass pulls indenting my skin.
And when he adds a second finger, it escalates the ache to nearly unbearable heights.
‘Zaid,’ I pant, and his low groan in response vibrates through my core.
My hands go from being splayed flat on top of the wood to digging scratches into the enamel with my nails. It’s probably an irreplaceable antique, but I can’t stop. I can’t stop the filthy moan that leaves me either when he crooks his fingers up into the perfect spot.
I squeeze my eyes shut as the orgasm rips through me, inner walls gripping and pulsing around his fingers as he continues to lap at me, dragging it out until I’m so sensitive that I have to put a hand to his forehead to push him back.
My panties slide back into place when he lets go, and I feel him chuckle against my thigh as he places kisses there instead, waiting for me to come back down to earth.
‘If I’d known flirting with you would lead to this,’ I say before gasping in a breath, ‘I would have done it sooner.’
‘You should have.’ Zaid kisses my inner thigh one more time before gently placing my foot back on the floor. ‘I’ve wondered what you tasted like for years.’
I barely have a moment to acknowledge his confession before he rises and clasps a hand around the back of my neck, dragging my mouth to his for a rough kiss. He lets me taste myself on his tongue, and then he’s pulling away, leaving me panting for more.
He grabs my hands and backs toward the armchair in the corner, sitting down hard and pulling me onto his lap, my knees on either side of his hips. His cock strains against the confines of his tuxedo pants and I impulsively rock into him, wanting to feel every inch.
‘You’re going to kill me,’ he groans into my neck as I grind down. ‘Gonna make me come in my trousers like a fucking teenager.’
‘So take them off,’ I say as I push his jacket from his shoulders. ‘Problem solved.’
‘You trying to get me naked, Ava?’
‘I’ve always been curious about what’s under your fireproofs.’