“Zack?”
He flips around, his jaw popping as he takes me in. His hands clench. “I didn’t know you were in here.”
“I know.” I take a step toward him, stopping a few feet away.
Neither of us speak, that thread of tension between us building as we stare at each other. I want those powerful, muscled arms around me. I want his emotional eyes gazing into mine when—
“I should go,” he says, moving to open the door, and I put my hand on his arm.
“Wait.” I don’t know what I’m doing, but this moment, this guy—it feels right. “Don’t.” I take another step and eliminate the distance between us. With a hand that trembles, I lock the door, tilt my head back, and take him in. His hair is slightly damp from the water and I reach up and run my hands through it. It feels as good as it looks, soft and silky. I tug on the ends. “Stay.”
His lips part, a long breathy sound coming out. “Are you sure?”
Curling my fingers around his neck, I stand on my tiptoes and press my mouth against his. “Yes.”
His response is instant, an accelerant to a flame, his lips taking control, his tongue an invader as we go nuclear in a millisecond.
His hands cup my face as his mouth ravages mine. He sucks my tongue until I groan, my breaths labored and loud in the small room. He kisses down my neck, retracing his path from before, his lips hot against my collarbone, the back of my ear.
Cool air hits my skin as he eases up my sweatshirt. I help him pull it up and over my head, exposing my black lace demi bra. He throws my shirt on a shelf and stares at me with an almost hesitant look, as if I might change my mind. I won’t, my eyes tell him.
I’m a tall girl and my breasts fit my frame. They’re usually the first thing a guy notices, and I watch as his eyes lower. His gaze lingers on my full C-cups, and a long exhalation leaves his chest. My body tingles in response, my nipples tightening at his slow perusal. I bask in the way he stares and then moves up to lock eyes with me.
“Beautiful.” His fingers push the lace down until the bra is under me, lifting my breasts up. My breath freezes when he latches on to one of my nipples with his mouth. I groan, splayed out against the wall while he caresses me, tugging down on my nipples, sharp sensations reverberating through my body. My hips writhe against his.
He sucks each breast, going back and forth, the scruff of his jaw bound to make my skin red, but I don’t care. I grapple with his leather jacket. He leans back for half a second to toss it off, and I’ve never been happier to see a good piece of clothing gone. Grasping the fabric of his T-shirt, I shove it up until I see his chest, my mouth watering at the smooth expanse of muscled, sculpted skin. He has part of a dragon tattoo on his left shoulder that I imagine curls around to his back. Part of me wants to trace all of it with my fingers, but I’m in a hurry exploring his chest, tasting the muscles there, my tongue sucking on his collarbone the way he did mine earlier. My fingers dig into his waist, pulling him closer. I lick his nipple and eventually he pulls my mouth back to his—it’s so divine—and we kiss, our mouths open, licking and sucking, until I can’t think.
Until I can’t be held responsible for what I do.
“Sugar.”
He says my name like it’s a prayer as his hand slips under the waistband of my leggings and plays with the lace of my black panties. He touches my mound on top of my underwear, his fingers dancing over my clit.
“Yes,” I say, and he closes his lids and bites his lip, giving me one, lone finger inside my panties. My back arches involuntarily toward him, aching for more.
His mouth plays with my nipple while he strokes inside me, and sounds build up in my throat, raw and primal. I don’t know who I am right now, but I know I’m wired to him, devouring every hitch in his breath, every movement of his fingers.
“Please,” I beg, and he grunts, knowing what I want.
He gives me two fingers, delving inside my wetness then gliding back out. Over and over, he repeats the torture, and my legs open as far as I can get them in my leggings. “Fuck.” He exhales against my neck. “You’re wet.” He teases his thumb over my clit and I gasp.
My hands are at his jeans, unzipping them and shoving them down just past his hips. He’s commando and his cock is beautiful, long and thick. My heart pounds as I stroke his shaft, rolling the wetness from the top to the bottom. His skin slides over his length like iron as I caress him, brushing my fingers over his tip. Groaning, he kisses me harder, his teeth nipping at my lips, tugging until it hurts and then he kisses me softly, begging.
“I want inside you,” he says, and my entire body clenches.
I. Just. Want. Him.
More, more, more.
I call out his name and clutch his nape when his thumb is back on my nub, playing me, and a swirling sensation builds at the base of my spine, enveloping me in pleasure, rising higher. “You’re almost there.” He stares down at me and those grey eyes are beautiful and dark and full of need that—
I explode, my body pulsating as I come on his fingers. I tighten around him, my legs trembling. I can’t breathe. I can’t think.
With hands that shake, he digs around in his back pocket until a condom appears. Ripping it open, he slides it down. I’m toeing my boots off and shoving down my leggings and underwear. He’s watching me, his hand palming his cock. With a growl, he picks me up, cupping my ass in his hands. He’s rough, his fingers digging into my skin, a man who knows what he wants, and I moan in anticipation. This is the fastest, craziest sex I’ve ever had, but I know what to do. My legs wrap around him and hang on tight. He presses me against the wall and lines himself up. He tugs at my hair, looking into my eyes, and he pushes inside my wet body full throttle, my walls clinging to him. It’s a tight fit and we both gasp, our chests heaving in the silence as the fullness of him settles in. My back presses into the wall, feeling the pressure of a framed picture that’s hanging there, and I ignore it because shit, nothing matters but this.
“So goddamn good,” he says in a gravelly voice when he slides out and then right back in again as if he can’t resist giving me every inch.
“Yes,” I gasp, and I don’t even know this wild creature I’ve become. I don’t know anything but this feeling, this sensation, this man.
The sounds of our sex and our breathing are loud, and I don’t care. I kiss him hard, grinding my lips against his, and he kisses me back, like he needs me to breathe, like he might die without the taste of my lips. He puts his fingers on my clit and rotates, taking me with long strokes, as if he knows my body so damn well, and I tighten around him and fall over the edge into shards of lightning and stardust. I groan, my body stiffening and reeling as I arch forward, the orgasm lingering as he pumps into me, swiveling his hips like a man who’s fucked against a wall a million times. He presses my hands above my head and owns me with his dick, sliding in and out. He gives me everything and it isn’t pretty or sweet, but it’s perfect. He shouts and goes over the edge, pumping and twitching inside me.
Seconds pass and only the sound of our deep breaths breaks the silence. My legs unravel themselves from his waist and settle on the floor. He leans down to gaze at me, his hands on the wall on either side of my face. “Fuck. That was…” He stops and swallows.