I try to pull my feet out of his lap, but he grabs me by the ankles.
“Non,” I lie.
“It sounds like you’re trying really hard not to laugh.”
I pout. “Maybe I’m trying really hard not to cry because you’re being so mean about my toes.”
“Hmmm.” Zach shakes his head. “No, I think you’re ticklish.”
He starts tickling me for real now, all along the bottom of my feet and up my ankles to my shins.
“Z-Zach! Non! Ҫa suffit!”
I try to squirm away, but he pins my legs down with one of his forearms and keeps tickling me until I lose my breath, wriggling around and begging him to let me go before I start laughing all over again. I manage to flip onto my stomach and try to bring my knees up so I can crawl away, but he’s still got my legs.
I’m only wearing little booty shorts and a hoodie since we aren’t leaving the house tonight. Zach shifts around so he’s straddling the backs of my thighs and starts tickling under the edge of the hoodie.
“What about here? Are you ticklish here?”
“N-n-not so much.”
I squeal when he hits just the right spot above my hips and flop around like a fish, but my waist isn’t quite as bad as my feet. After a few more seconds of tickling, I get myself under control and lie there like a zombie while Zach tries to find another spot that will make me laugh.
“Back of the neck?”
His fingers brush my hair away, but instead of shrieking when he starts pitter-pattering them on my skin, I sigh.
“That one feels kind of nice.”
“Huh.” He starts kneading the muscles there like he’s giving me a massage. “Does this one feel nice?”
His other hand trails along the back of one of my thighs. I twitch at first—I am ticklish there—but then his fingers reach the edge of my tight, tiny shorts and I forget all about laughing. When he dips them lower, closer to the centre of me, I gasp and feel myself clench like his fingers are already inside me.
If I have learned anything these past few weeks, it’s that Zachary Hastings is very good with his fingers.
He keeps rubbing gentle circles into my neck with his thumb as he starts to trace the seam of my shorts. It only takes a few strokes before I’m moaning and pushing back onto his hand, needing him to go harder, needing the pressure, but the faster I grind on his fingers, the lighter his touch becomes.
“You’re so mean,” I grumble.
I’m only pretending to be pissed off; I get soaked in seconds when he teases me like this, makes me work and beg for it. There’s something about seeing that other side of him, the one that likes to be in control and decide when I can have my pleasure, that makes my whole body so tense I could scream. No one has ever taken their time with me like this, made me crave every touch and lick and stroke so bad I’m scared I’m going to break before I get it.
He always knows just when to give it, though—just enough at just the right time to have me desperate for the next hit. He works me so well I couldn’t fight back if I tried.
“Zach...”
I have my cheek resting on a couch cushion, and my hair has slipped into my eyes. He brushes it away and leans down to kiss my neck, keeping up the slow rhythm of his feather-light strokes between my legs.
“What do you want?” he whispers against my skin.
“T-take them off. I want you to touch me. I want you inside me.”
He hisses into my neck, the hot air of his breath making me shiver.
“Say please.”
He’s asked me that before—ordered it before. The first time he said it, I think my eyes almost popped out of my head. Hearing Zach take control like that was shocking, but only for a second. I was twitching for him before I’d even gotten over the surprise.
“Please.” I don’t bother kidding around and being a brat. He knows how much I want him. “Please.”
He presses his lips to my neck again, just below my ear. “Please what?”
“Please put your fingers in my pussy.”
“Fuck.”
He straightens up onto his knees and yanks my shorts and thong down so fast it feels like the wind gets knocked out of me. I can’t breathe. The cool air of the room on my bare skin makes goose bumps rise along the backs of my thighs. My shorts are still tangled around my knees, but I know what Zach can see where he’s kneeling behind me: my ass raised just high enough that he can tell I’m dripping down my legs for him.
I can hear both of us breathing in the silent apartment, and I realize he must have turned the TV off at some point. One of his hands reaches out to cup the curve of my ass.
“Merde,” I swear. “Zach, please.”
He spreads me open with both hands and curses, breathing hard for another few seconds before he finally, finally strokes a finger along the length of me, dipping just the tip of it inside.
“Please,” I beg.
“You’re so wet.” His voice is shaky.
He slides his finger in up to the knuckle so slow I’m whining for more, but once he’s inside me, it’s like something snaps and he can’t hold back. He pulls out and fills me with three fingers at once, and then he’s fucking me with all the force I was begging for.
“Please! Your cock. Please, I want it, Zach.”
He slows to a stop.
“P-please,” I stutter as I keep thrusting back onto him.
I don’t how he does this to me. I get so fucking desperate.
He pulls his fingers out and places his hands on my hips. “Are you okay?”
My head is spinning so much, dizzy with how much I need him. “Huh?”
He lets out a breathy laugh. “I asked if you’re okay. I know that got kind of...intense, and I—”
“Zach.” I make a growly sound. “I am not going to be okay if you don’t get your cock out right now.”
“Understood.” He gives my hips a squeeze. “Be right back.”
I hear him digging around in my room for a condom as I pull my shorts and thong all the way off. I toss my hoodie to the floor before getting back into position. I’m lying on my stomach, knees spread wide and ass lifted in a ‘come fuck me now’ pose when I hear him walk back in the room. He stops a few feet away from the couch, and I look back over my shoulder.
“What is it?”
His face has gone slack, and he’s staring at my ass with half-closed eyes.
“It’s official,” he says in a hoarse voice. “I’m the luckiest damn man in the world.”
“Not yet,” I joke, getting a little cocky as I watch him watch me, “but you will be once you’ve got your dick inside me.”
He groans and starts pulling his clothes off. I watch the muscles of his chest stretch and flex as he tugs his shirt over his head. He’s just the right amount of built—not ripped like guys in movies or gym selfies on Instagram. I know that’s some people’s type, and they’re welcome to have it, but I love looking at Zach and being turned on by how real he is. He has freckles on his back, a birthmark on his leg, and a small patch of chest hair I think he’s secretly very proud of growing. He has so many details I want to know and memorize. He’s a picture I want to take with me everywhere I go.