A tremor ripples through me, making me shake. “Yes.” Because I am. There’s no way I’m not. I want him so badly, and he knows it. In the past, this might have been where Zeth would have tied my wrists to the bed, or told me I couldn’t move, but now he says nothing. I don’t doubt the next time we’re together, his black bag will be back in full effect, but I need this right now. And so does he. He travels lower, dipping his head in between my legs, and I suck in a sharp gasp at the pressure of his tongue on my clit.
With hot, wet, deliciously slow, sweeping strokes, he works his tongue over me, sucking on my clit and licking at my pussy. I don’t fight myself, or him. I bury my fingers into his hair, grabbing two decent handfuls and pulling tightly. Zeth hisses, pausing a moment to look up at me. Our eyes lock down the length of my body and I can feel the tension and heat pouring off him. There’s a warning half hidden in his eyes, but it’s an amused one. I pull a little harder, and he smiles, mouth open, eyelids heavy.
“You pushing my buttons, angry girl?”
“Uhuh.” I feel winded by the way he’s looking at me—I feel the color rising in my cheeks from the blatant need I see on his face. He doesn’t dip back down right away; he stares at me, eyes fixed on my face, and he slowly slides his fingers inside me. Not one, but two at once. He scissors them open, and the tense, pulling sensation deep inside me lights me up.
“Fuck, Zeth. Oh my god.”
“You want me to keep going?” I nod, not trusting myself to speak. Zeth pushes his tongue between the slick folds of my pussy, taking his time as I shiver and buck beneath him. He’s relentless with his fingers, sliding them in and out of me with torturously slow movements that have me on the verge of tears. I lose control at some point, unashamed of the choked, needy sounds that come out of my mouth.
I begin to think Zeth is intent on making me suffer, that he will drag out my pleasure forever until I can’t take it anymore, but just as I’m about to start begging he stops what he’s doing. He moves up my body with a predatory, dark look on his face, eyes searching me all over, hungry and desperate. Is he going to fuck me now? I think he will, but then he climbs off me and lies down on the bed beside me.
“Sloane…I’m yours,” he whispers. I feel like I’m choking on my own tongue. I can’t have heard him right, surely? Zeth Mayfair doesn’t submit to anybody. But the truth of his words are right there in his eyes, all over his face, written in the lines of his powerful, possessive body. He is mine. He is giving himself to me. And I know he’s not just talking about this very moment, the shared secrets of our bodies moving together in the half light as Seattle slowly comes to life. He’s talking about all of him. He’s talking about always. He is mine, and I am his, and suddenly it feels like everything is snapping into place.
I climb on top of him, positioning myself over his straining cock, and I sink myself down onto him. I need to feel him inside me more than anything else I’ve ever needed. It seems like the final part of a silent promise we’re making to each other, and to join our bodies together is the most sacred part of that promise. Zeth’s hands find my hips. He takes hold of me, and doesn’t let me go. With eyes locked, we move against each other in powerful, potent strokes, the two of us no longer separate, but more.
“Fuck, Sloane. Hold on.” Zeth sits up, and then his arms are around me, holding me so tight I think I’m going to pass out. I shift so I can wrap my legs around him, and then he’s kissing me, stealing my breath from me. His hands take ahold of my hair now; he pulls my head back to gain access to my neck, his teeth biting into my skin.
“Ahhh! Oh, shit, Zeth, I’m gonna—” I don’t need to finish that sentence. Zeth lifts me straight up, spins me over, still inside me, and throws me back down on the bed, landing heavily on top of me. He’s shaking, his whole body vibrating—he’s about to come, too.
The fire of the moment burned my hangover away long ago, though my head is still swimming and dizzy. Dizzy from him. From lack of oxygen, and from the intensity of the want stabbing through my body every time Zeth pulls out of me. The loss of him feels too great to bear. He drives himself back into me each time, as though he feels that loss too, and is dead set on remedying it.
“Come for me, Sloane,” he growls. “Come hard for me. Scream for me.”
I do. I scream so loud I’m pretty sure the people five floors down hear, and I don’t care. In the perfect moment where I come, Zeth comes too, roaring with me, clinging onto me like he’s afraid I might drift away. Trapped under his shaking, sweat-covered body, there’s no chance of that, though. I am exactly where I am supposed to be, and so is he.
Zeth lifts himself onto his elbows, but he doesn’t pull out of me. He rests his forehead against mine and stares at me, breathing heavily, fighting to regain himself. We don’t say anything. We don’t need to. I tell him everything he needs to know with my eyes, and he does the same. And then we fall asleep.
I wake up, and I don’t try to kill my girlfriend. As beginnings to a day might go, this is an epically fucking brilliant one. I get out of bed and head to the kitchen to find Pippa Newan doubled over the kitchen sink, throwing her guts up.