To feel him let loose. To wreck me and tear me apart like the wild man I know lives inside him.
Pleasure spills through my core at the thought of feeling him fully inside me. Lifting my hips into him, we find a rhythm as he runs his flesh over me.
“Zach,” I moan. “I do want this. I want to feel you inside me . . . soon. But I’m not ready yet.”
His gaze falls back to me as I brace myself for his response.
“I know, Harm,” he says.
“You do?”
He nods. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t make you sing like this.”
He moves down to drag his tongue across the delicate flesh of my thigh. As he backs up and stands in the water, which is thigh high for him, I lift my hips to his lips.
Wrapping my hands around my head for a makeshift pillow, I push my pelvis into him as he licks my opening.
“Zach,” I moan, and he pauses.
“That’s it, Harm. Practice your singing voice for me,” he says, his tone playful.
Another wave of pleasure rips through me as he presses his fingers inside me, and I can’t help but let out a loud yelp.
Curling his fingers up into a spot that drives me crazy, he lifts his mouth off me again.
“No one can hear you scream out here, you know,” he utters.
My breath becomes shallower, and I can barely manage a coherent response. “So does that mean you really are a serial killer, like you said?”
Furrowing his brow, he laughs.
“No. But I think I might become your personal serial pussy eater if you always taste this good.”
“Dear God,” I mutter, breathless. The echoes of my moans are lost to the birds and the running water of the creek.
My senses blur into one another and I lose control, rocking into Zach as I ride him to another orgasm.
Threading my hand through his hair, I lower my hips as he brings his mouth away from my center.
We stay like that for a minute or more, Zach standing in the water, towering over me as I lie on the black rock.
The last glints of purple-red sunlight filter through the trees.
Zach clears his throat. “We’d better get going. It’s late.”
I glance between his legs, my eyes widening. “You sure?” I ask.
“It’s gonna be dark soon. Come on.”
He helps me up and we walk over to our clothes.
I watch, a little astonished, as he pulls his jeans and boxers on over a massive erection, but I don’t say anything.
I open my mouth to try to articulate what I’m thinking, but nothing comes out. Maybe I’m still lightheaded, the blood drained from my brain and flooding other parts of me.
We get on the bike and ride off. I feel a tightness in my stomach as I wrap my arms around Zach’s abdomen, the heat of the night and my desire for him shaking me to my very foundation.
Chapter 16
Zach
The fresh night air whips by us, and I feel an eerie calm come over me as Harmony digs her fingers into my waist.
Her head presses against my back, and she doesn’t ask me where we’re heading.
She knows me—the full story now. And she still trusts me.
I can feel her heart pounding against my back. Slowing at a stop sign, I check both ways before I pass the intersection.
As I pull through, the realization hits me that I’ve not been a stop-sign stopper in the past.
But I have precious cargo now.
I clear my throat and turn my face back toward her. “You hungry?” I ask.
“Starving,” she answers.
“Well, how about a little home cooking?”
She squints, and then her eyes go wide. “Do you mean your place?”
“Yes, I do. Chef Zach at your service.”
“What’s on the menu tonight?”
“Chef’s special,” I joke.
A few minutes later, I turn off the usual route and head to the town center.
I turn down Foster Street, and my mouth runs dry as we pull up in front of the place. I gauge Harmony’s reaction. “This is it,” I say, following her eyes as they land on the twenty-four-foot mobile home. “This is where I grew up,” I say steadily.
I stiffen as I follow her line of sight. Clenching and unclenching my fists, a wave of regret crashes through me. I shouldn’t be showing her this. I should have lied. Taken her back to the bar. Or back to her house.
But the smallest of voices whispers back to me that I’ve committed to tell her the truth about myself, and that’s what I’m going to do.
No matter how much my cheeks burn. No matter the shame in my stomach. No matter my inability to meet Harmony’s eyes.
She turns to me, bright-eyed. “So where’s the grill? Or are we cooking inside?”
Harmony’s cheery smile melts my thoughts to mush. Her moans replay in my mind. On that black rock—the hottest moment of my life. She even sings melodies when she’s coming. Melodies of pleasure.
I smirk at my own personal joke.
Harmony tilts her head. “Zach. You okay? I’m dying of hunger. I haven’t eaten since breakfast and . . . well, you really worked up my appetite.”
I shake away the demons. “Right this way to my humble abode,” I say, opening the door. She heads in first. Peeking inside, I see that no one is home.
“Grandparents are out tonight. Saturday is their date night.”
She squints. “Date night? How old are they?”
“In their sixties.”
“My parents don’t even go on date nights,” she says.
I shrug as I open the refrigerator and pull out a portion of fresh salmon.
She looks around the inside of the mobile home.
“It’s small, but comfortable,” I say. “We’ve got a lounge area, the small kitchenette and dining spot, my grandparents’ room, and where I sleep.”
I tip my chin to the area above the driver’s swivel seat.
“This is . . . cozy,” she says as she sits.
“It is. My grandparents always wanted a mobile home when I was younger.” I laugh. “They’ve never used it to go anywhere yet, though.”
She giggles, but her eyes grow distant and she brings them up toward me.
“You’re a very interesting man, Zach. Once I think I have you figured out, I realize there’s another layer.”
“Let’s head outside,” I say, deflecting her observation. No need to get too deep into any more of my layers. “That’s where the grill is. And it’s cooler out there at night. Bring two wine glasses, will you?”
She nods and takes the glasses. I grab a cold bottle of sauvignon blanc, the salmon, and plates.
Out on the brick patio, Harmony opens the wine and I make a honey glaze for the fish. She grabs lettuce and tomatoes from our garden out back for the salad. I head inside to heat up some mashed potatoes that I made last night, and bring them out, along with some dressing for the salad.
Harmony chops the tomatoes and lettuce on the table while I flip the salmon, and we chat.
“When I was growing up, I didn’t have much,” I say. “As you can see. But we did eat well, and I’m thankful for that.”
Harmony takes a long sip of her wine. “God, that’s good. Good call on the Sauv Blanc.”