He steps into the light and pulls my body to his, and I know the skies are clear tonight, but I still hear the thunder. I still see the lightning when I close my eyes.
The storm can bring it on.
Fourteen
DeeDee
NIGHTCAP: an alcoholic drink consumed before bedtime
“Zach, stop looking at Cyndi Lauper and take my shirt off!”
I grab Zach’s face and twist it away from where he’s staring at the wall beside my bed—the bed that I’m lying on with my legs wrapped around his waist while his hips grind against mine.
“I was just intrigued by the fact that basically all your stuff is still in boxes, and yet you’ve taken the time to hang a giant framed poster of Cyndi Lauper on your wall.”
“Be intrigued later!” I fume. I buck my hips up to press myself against him, more than a little satisfied with the way his jaw drops open and his eyes roll back. I don’t think either of us is thinking about posters or eighties pop stars anymore.
I can feel how hard he is, and it’s driving me crazy. The weight of him, the heat, the sounds he makes when I touch him: it’s better than anything I could have imagined. It’s Zach, here, now, with me. As turned on and desperate as I am, this already feels like way more than just sex. All of my senses are on high alert, like my body knows how important this moment is and won’t let me forget it.
“Fuck, you feel good.” Zach breathes the words against my lips.
I let out a frustrated moan and yank his head down to kiss me. I’ve learned that Zach Hastings using curse words in bed might just make me lose my mind and never find it again. I think he may have realized it too; I could swear he’s started doing it on purpose.
My hands claw at his shirt, my heels digging into his back to pull him closer. Soon we’re totally lost to each other, just tongues and teeth and hot, heavy breath. Kissing him is intoxicating. There’s no other word for it. He takes me over like the sweetest poison until I’m nothing but his. There’s nothing else when his mouth is on mine, every sweep of his tongue or nip of his teeth making me feel weaker and stronger all at once.
He shifts his weight to hit me at just the right spot, and I almost scream against his lips.
I need him.
Now.
I need the whole maudit world to fall away. I need him so close there’s no room to be scared anymore.
“Zach.” I pull back enough to say his name, my eyes still closed and my face scrunched up like this is a dream I’m trying to hold onto. “Please.”
I find the edge of his undershirt with my fingers—his flannel came off somewhere between the front door and my bedroom—and he sits up long enough to pull it all the way off before lowering himself back on top of me.
His bare back feels so good under my hands that I shudder. I bury my face in his neck and trail kisses along his throat, darting my tongue out to taste the salt of his skin. He’s warm and safe, and he’s not going anywhere. I feel like I’m wrapping myself around my own personal sun as I hook my legs around his waist. I need the heat. I need it so bad I’m shaking for it.
You need too much.
The words ring out in my head, all the voices that have said them to me echoing like a choir.
No. No no no.
This is not the time to be stupid and freak out. This is different. This is good. This is Zach.
“DeeDee?” He speaks into my hair as I go still underneath him. “You okay?”
“Uh, yeah.” I swallow the panic down. I take a deep breath of his scent. Then I slide my hands to his butt and smack it. “Just waiting for you to take this all off, baby!”
He snorts. “And you say I’m the dork.”
I give him another smack. “You are.”
Even in the midst of losing our minds over each other’s bodies, we still keep slipping into all our jokes and weirdness. Even as we let ourselves become something new and deep and powerful, we’re still just Zach and DeeDee. We’re still us.
We’re okay.
He starts to rock against me again, and I let out a moan as I slip back into the moment.
“I can’t get enough of you,” I rasp. I wiggle down on the mattress so I can trail my lips across his chest, and at the first swirl of my tongue, his head falls back and he groans.
“You’re gonna kill me,” he pants.
“Tant pis. Not a bad way to go.”
I press on his shoulders, and he takes the hint to flop onto his back. I follow right after him, making my way down his stomach as I keep kissing and licking him. When I reach the waistband of his jeans and sweep my tongue along the skin just above it, he sits straight up on the bed like he’s been shocked. One of his hands braces on the wall behind him while the other buries itself in my hair and pulls—hard.
My thighs clench, and I swear I see sparks fly as a need hotter and darker than anything I’ve felt for him before shoots through me.
“Shit, sorry.” He lets go as suddenly as he grabbed me. “I just...Fuck, that felt so good.”
I look up at him, my eyes just hazy slits. His are glittering with the same wild need running through me.
“Don’t be sorry,” I murmur, lifting one of corner of my mouth into a smirk. “I like it a little rough.”
Then I push myself up so I’m kneeling in front of him and pull my shirt over my head.
“Oh...god.”
I watch him stare at my black bra. His jaw goes slack and his chest heaves. It’s not even a fancy bra, but I feel like I’m wearing the sexiest underwear in the world with him drinking the sight of me in. He looks like he’s a computer that’s too busy buffering to handle any new information. He stares and stares and stares for so long that I start to chuckle, a little worried that my boobs may have broken him.
“Zach?” He doesn’t do anything except blink when I say his name. “You’re supposed to do things to them.”
“Things?” he repeats, still not taking his eyes off my chest.
“Yeah. Sexy things.”
“Right. Sexy things.”
He shakes his head and launches back into action. Reaching for my waist, he pulls me forward until he’s straddling me. His face is level with my chest now, and I start panting just as hard as him when I feel the warmth of his breath on my skin. I want his mouth there. I want his tongue and his teeth.
He slides one hand into my hair again, tugging enough that I arch my back and bare my throat to him with a sigh. He licks his way down my neck before sweeping his tongue just over the edge of my bra cups, like he’s delivering payback for what I did with his jeans.
When he pulls my hair a little harder, I can’t hold back a violent stream of French curses.
“Encore, encore, encore,” I start to chant.
Again, again.
I need it again. I need it over and over and over again.
He repeats the process: kissing his way even slower down my neck before running his tongue over my breasts. When he adds a few nips of his teeth, I hiss and buck against him. My nails dig into his sides so hard they’re in danger of leaving marks.
He fumbles with the clasp of my bra, and I fling it across the room when he’s done. He lets out his own collection of curses when I’m finally bared to him. The cool air of the room makes me shiver. My nipples are already hard, every part of me aching for him. He stares at me for a long moment, so long that I gasp with shock when he drops his head and starts running his mouth over every inch of skin he can reach. He kisses and licks and sucks on my breasts, moving in a frenzy like he’s on a countdown and has to make the absolute most of every second. I shudder every time I feel the graze of his teeth, and it doesn’t take him long to figure out how much I like that.