Chapter 23 #3
I turned her to face me, captured her mouth again while my hands made quick work of her jeans. She kicked them off, then reached for my belt, but I caught her wrists and pinned them gently behind her back with one hand.
"Slowly," I said. "We have all night, and I plan to take my time."
"Zane—"
"Shh." I walked her backward until her legs hit the bed, then guided her down onto it. She lay back, hair spread across the pillows like dark silk, chest rising and falling rapidly. The moonlight turned her skin luminous, carving shadows under her collarbones, in the dip of her waist.
I knelt between her legs, ran my hands up her thighs, felt her quiver under my touch.
I pressed my mouth to the inside of her knee and kissed my way up slowly. She gasped, fingers tangling in my hair.
"This is torture," she breathed.
"Good." I bit gently at her inner thigh and soothed it with my tongue. "You tortured me for three days. Turnabout's fair play."
"That wasn't—ah—" Her protest dissolved into a moan as I kissed higher, closer to where I could feel her heat, smell her arousal.
I hooked my fingers in her panties, dragged them down and off. She was bare before me, vulnerable and perfect, and the scent of her made my wolf surge forward, made my canines lengthen.
"Spread your legs," I said, voice barely human.
She obeyed, thighs falling open, and Christ—she was already wet, already ready for me. I groaned, pressed my face against her, tasted her with a long, slow lick that made her cry out.
"Oh God, Zane."
I held her hips down when she tried to buck up, used my tongue to explore every fold, every sensitive spot. She tasted like salt and need, and I couldn't get enough. I found her clit, circled it, then sucked gently, and her whole body went taut.
"Please," she gasped. "Please, I need—"
"What do you need?" I pulled back, looked up at her. Her face was flushed, eyes hazy with pleasure. "Tell me."
"You. Inside me. Now."
"Not yet." I slid one finger inside her and felt her clench around me. "You're not ready yet."
"I am, I'm—" She broke off with a whimper as I added a second finger, crooked them to stroke that spot inside her that made her see stars.
I worked her with my fingers while my mouth returned to her clit, and within minutes she was trembling, thighs shaking, fingers twisted so tight in my hair it almost hurt.
"Zane, I'm going to—oh God!"
"Come for me," I said against her. "Let me taste it."
She shattered, back arching off the bed, my name a broken cry on her lips. I worked her through it, gentled my touch as the aftershocks rolled through her, kissed her thigh while she came down.
When I finally pulled back, she was panting, looking at me with dazed eyes.
"That was—"
"Just the beginning," I said. I stood, finally shrugged out of my shirt, undid my belt and pants. She watched, propped up on her elbows, as I stripped. When I freed my cock—hard and aching—her eyes widened.
"Come here," she said, voice husky.
I climbed over her, settled between her thighs.
The head of my cock brushed against her, and we both groaned.
I wanted to bury myself in her, wanted to pound into her until neither of us could think, but I forced myself to go slow.
I pushed in an inch, felt her tightness grip me, watched her face as she adjusted to the stretch.
"More," she breathed. "All of it."
I sank deeper, slow and steady, until I was fully seated inside her. For a moment, we both just breathed, foreheads pressed together, overwhelmed by the feeling of being connected like this again.
"Move," she whispered. "Please move."
I pulled out almost all the way, then drove back in. She cried out, nails digging into my shoulders. I set a rhythm—deep, steady strokes that made her gasp with each thrust.
"Is this what you wanted?" I growled against her ear. "Is this what you needed?"
"Yes, God, yes, harder—"
I obliged, picked up the pace, and drove into her with enough force to make the bed frame creak. She wrapped her legs around my waist, met me thrust for thrust, and the sounds she made—breathless moans and whimpers and my name over and over—were better than any song.
I felt my control starting to fray, felt my orgasm building at the base of my spine, but I gritted my teeth and held back. Not yet. Not until she came again.
I shifted the angle slightly, made sure to hit that spot inside her with every stroke, and reached between us to circle her clit with my thumb.
"Oh, fuck, Zane—"
"That's it," I said. "Come on my cock. Let me feel you."
She came with a sharp cry, clenching around me so tight I saw stars. That was all it took. My own orgasm slammed into me, white-hot pleasure tearing through me as I buried myself deep and filled her.
We collapsed together, both trembling, both gasping for air. I rolled us onto our sides, still inside her, and pulled her close.
"That was—" She couldn't seem to finish the sentence.
"Yeah," I said, kissing her forehead. "It was."
We lay there for a few minutes, catching our breath, trading lazy kisses. Then I felt myself starting to harden again inside her. She felt it too and raised her eyebrows.
"Already?"
"Three days," I reminded her. "Three days of wanting you. Plus five years before that. I'm not done with you yet."
I pulled out, ignoring her noise of protest, and stood. "Come on."
"Where—"
"Shower." I scooped her up again. "I need to clean you up. And then I need to have you against the wall."
She laughed and wrapped her arms around my neck. "You're insatiable."
"Only for you."
I carried her into the bathroom, set her down just long enough to turn on the shower. Steam filled the space as hot water poured down. I pulled her under the spray with me, pressed her back against the tile wall, and kissed her while water cascaded over us.
"Again?" she said, but she was already wrapping her hand around my cock, stroking slowly.
"Again." I lifted her, positioned her, and thrust up into her in one smooth motion. She gasped, head falling back against the tile, and I took the opportunity to kiss down her throat.
This time was faster, rougher. I pounded into her while water streamed over us, her moans echoing off the bathroom walls. When she came this time, she bit down on my shoulder to muffle her scream, and I followed seconds later, grinding deep as I spilled inside her again.
We stayed like that for a long moment, both shaking, both overwhelmed. Then I carefully set her down and held her steady when her legs wobbled.
"You okay?" I asked.
"I'm—" She looked up at me, eyes soft. "I'm perfect."
I smiled, cupped her face in my hands, and kissed her gently. "Good. Because I meant what I said, I'm not done yet."
She laughed and swatted my chest. "You're going to kill me."
"What a way to go, though."
She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling, and when I pulled her close again, she came willingly, melted into me like she belonged there.
Because she did. She always had.
A month later, we held a wedding in that same garden.
Not the grand kind, with hundreds of nobles invited—but a small ceremony, attended only by our closest people.
The proper wedding I owed her.
Lily was the flower girl, wearing a white dress, a wreath matching Mia's on her head, scattering petals everywhere along the path. Edmund officiated, his voice catching several times while reading the vows, having to clear his throat to continue.
I stood under the flower arch, watching Mia walk toward me.
She wore a simple white wedding dress with no elaborate decorations, just a silver ribbon tied at her waist. Her hair was pinned up, a few loose strands by her ears, a white rose tucked behind one.
She looked so beautiful I forgot to breathe—not the carefully styled beauty, but a composed, certain beauty, like she'd finally returned to where she belonged.
She reached me, stopped, and looked at me.
"You going to cry again?" she whispered.
"No," I said, voice rough as sandpaper. "I just got something in my eye."
"There's no wind in the garden."
"Then you're too bright. Blinding me."
She smiled, that smile brilliant as a blooming flower in the sunlight.
Edmund cleared his throat and began reading the vows. But I barely heard any of it—all my attention was on her, on her curved lips, on her slightly trembling lashes, on the silver ring on her finger catching the light.
When it was my turn to say vows, I pulled out a piece of paper.
"I wrote this down," I said, unfolding the note. "Because I didn't want to screw it up."
She raised an eyebrow. "Go ahead."