The thickly slurred command bursts a nervous giggle out of me.
I allow my skirt to drop and kick it out of the way, then step out of my sneakers. I raise my eyes in time to see him devour my hips and legs with his ravenous gaze. And I keep mine on his when I reach behind me to unhook my bra.
He staggers when I let it fall and my heavy breasts sway. “Jesus fucking Christ. You’re perfect.”
The apron is the only thing left, the thin fabric barely covering me, the ties digging into the small of my back.
I stand there, half-naked, completely exposed in every way that matters, but the way Zane looks at me—like he’s starving, like he’s been waiting for this for years—makes my knees weak.
“Turn for me, baby.”
I find the power to raise my eyebrow.
“Please,” he barks with a staccato half step forward that would be comical if not for the rabid look in his eyes.
I’m not sure why I even raise myself onto my toes like some wannabeprima ballerina. But I do and I feel the power in my calves, my hips, hell my very erect nipples as I slowly pirouette fully.
And I revel in the noises he makes when he sees my ass.
"Fuck," he growls, the sound raw, almost pained.
When I glance over my shoulder I see him manhandling the cock straining against his pants, the outline thick, impossible to ignore.
My mouth waters. I want to taste him.Needto.
He’s made me come so gloriously after all. And I’m a firm believer in balanced diets—protein, hydration, and one feral rockstar a day.
Also, he wrecked me spectacularly downstairs. So fine. Now it’s my turn to wreck him.
He’s still making unhinged noises when I face him again. When I place one foot in front of the other, sway my hips as I close the distance between us.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he rasps.
I smile, lean over to kiss his parted mouth, then when his hands twitch, knowing he’s about to take over, I sink to my knees in front of him, the plush carpet soft beneath me.
The position is submissive enough to satisfy him and I’m not at all surprised when he freezes again, but the power I feel in that moment is beyond intoxicating, his eyes on fire as he watches me.
My fingers pause on his zipper and I lean in, inhale him deeply as I groan. His scent wraps around me—cedar and something darker, muskier—and when I reach for him, myfingers brushing over the hard length of him through his pants, he lets out a sharp hiss.
"Ruby," he warns, but it isn’t astop. It’s a promise. A bark of gratitude even.
I raise my head, angle my chin knowing my tits are on full display, framing the act I’m about to perform. And from the way his dick jumps, he loves it.
Keeping my eyes on his, I free him.
Then stop to swallow.
Because the cock…no, the fucking anaconda I’ve just sprung free deserves a moment…hell,severalmoments of appreciation. He’s thick and heavy in my hand, beautifully veined and sculpted.
There’s no way in hell I can take even half of him but I can and do stroke him, moaning as the heat of him sears my palm, the velvet skin over steel making my breath stutter.
“Suck it, beautiful. Please. Fucking suck it,” he pleads, his voice almost inaudible.
I lean in, my lips parting, my tongue flicking over the swollen head. The taste of him, salt and man and something uniquely him, sends a delighted jolt straight to through me.
My pussy clenches hard on aching emptiness, throbbing urgently with a need to be filled…stuffed to glorious breaking point.
But this isn’t about me. Not yet anyway.
