Chapter 10 #4
I know he feels it. My body tells him before I can—my thighs tense, my breath breaks, and my fingers grip his hair hard enough that he groans.
“Zane,” I gasp. “I’m going to come.”
He doesn’t slow. His mouth seals over my clit, sucking with just enough pressure to make my vision scatter. His fingers pump into me, curling in the perfect rhythm.
I come with his mouth on me.
My whole body locks and then it shatters.
Pleasure tears through me in bright, brutal pulses, ripping a cry from my throat as my hips buck into his mouth.
My fingers clench in his hair so hard I know it would hurt.
My thighs shake around his head. My pussy pulses around his fingers while he keeps licking, sucking, and dragging it out until the orgasm becomes too much and still not enough.
“Zane,” I sob, broken and breathless.
He slows, then eases me down with the gentle presses of his mouth, little kisses against the most sensitive parts of me until I am shaking so hard I can barely breathe.
When he finally lifts his head, his mouth is wet with me. His eyes are wild. His expression is proud as fuck.
He’s so fucking beautiful it hurts.
He crawls up my body, slow enough for me to feel every inch of him. His mouth finds mine and I taste myself on him. The kiss is filthy and deep, his tongue sliding against mine. I moan into it, even though I should hate how much I like it.
He pulls back and looks at my face, his eyes moving slowly over every part of it, and then they stop. Right there, above my brow.
The scar.
He lifts his hand. His fingers brush over the scar, so gently it barely registers as touch. I close my eyes and just feel him and the unbearable tenderness of being seen in the places you have learnt to hide.
He leans forward, pressing his lips to it.
That’s what breaks me.
His mouth on that ugly mark above my brow, because he has never once looked at that scar and seen anything wrong. He looks at it and sees me. He always has.
My throat tightens around something I cannot name. “Please fuck me, Zane.”
“Say that again,” he says, his voice rough.
I lift my chin, even though my body still trembles from his mouth. “You heard me.”
He pulls back.
I push myself up on my elbows as he climbs off the bed and stands beside it.
I watch his fingers work the button loose on his jeans, then the zipper. His eyes stay on mine as he shoves the denim down his hips.
He is beautiful. Not pretty. Not polished. Nothing soft and easy. But beautiful in the way a storm is beautiful. Dangerous. Built from force. Marked by every place life tried to break him and failed to finish the job.
His jeans hit the floor. His cock is hard, thick, jutting out from his body with a kind of brutal honesty that makes my mouth go dry. He wraps one hand around himself, eyes still locked on me as he gives himself a stroke.
His mouth tilts. “You’re staring, Sky?”
I drag my gaze back to his face.
“What? Are you standing there waiting for applause?”
The smirk turns lethal. “Depends. Are you offering it?”
He steps closer, one knee pressing into the mattress.
I hold his gaze even as my pulse goes wild.
Zane’s eyes flash as he leans over me, one hand braced beside my hip, his cock hot and hard against my inner thigh.
I reach for him. My hand closes around his neck, and I pull him down, kissing him hard enough to steal whatever smug thing he is about to say. He groans into my mouth as his body settles over me, skin against skin, heat against heat, the hard weight of him pressing me into the mattress.
I spread my thighs for him.
Then he pushes into me. Inch by fucking inch, he gives me time to feel every bit of him, his jaw tight and his eyes closed.
“Fuck,” he says, a rough sound spilling from his mouth.
He fills me completely and then stays there, buried to the hilt. He opens his eyes and meets my gaze, and for one long, suspended second neither of us breathes.
Then he moves.
His hips roll slow and deep, one hand gripping my thigh, pulling it higher, changing the angle until I gasp and my nails find his arms. He watches my face the whole time, watching every reaction, every shift in my expression, cataloging what makes me arch and what makes me grab him harder, what makes my mouth fall open and no sound come out. He has always paid attention to that.
His thumb finds my clit again, and the dual sensation makes me cry out so loudly that I would be embarrassed if I were capable of embarrassment.
“That’s it,” he breathes. “Fuck, Sky, you have no fucking idea how….”
He doesn’t finish that sentence.
Instead, he builds the rhythm, each thrust deeper than the last, his cock hitting somewhere that makes my vision blur, my thighs shake, and my entire body tighten around him in ways I can’t control and stop trying to.
His hand grips my hip hard enough to leave a mark and I want that.
I want the evidence of this. I want to carrying him into tomorrow when I’m still mad at him.
I bite down on my lip to stop myself from moaning.
As he takes a deep breath, his nostrils flare. There is undeniable intensity in his eyes, as though I am the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.