I lean close to his ear. "Then show me. Show me exactly how much you want me."
His gaze shifts, hungry and predatory, like a wolf eyeing its prey.
He devours the sight of me, his arousal evident beneath me as I straddle him.
"Mm, someone's very eager tonight," he teases, voice husky with want.
"I'm done waiting, Zach... I... want you," I breathe between desperate kisses.
Zach's eyes darken, desire blazing like wildfire in their depths.
"God, you're trouble," he mutters.
His hands travel a scorching path from my flushed face, down the column of my neck, across my collarbone, until they reach the swell of my breast.
He pauses, looking up at me through thick lashes, a wicked glint in his eyes. I gasp when his fingers capture my sensitive peaks, rolling them between his fingertips.
"Zach!" I whimpers, lips parting, savoring the pleasure he's giving me.
"Do you like that, baby? When I do this?"
I nod. "Yes..."
I begin to grind against him, making Zach hiss as his fingers squeeze my breast more firmly. His hardness strains against his pants, desperate for release.
Our touches grow bolder, more urgent. Each caress of his fingers feels like lightning striking in my skin, electrifying every nerve ending in its path.
Zach's hands tremble as he gathers the hem of my sweatshirt in his fists. He lifts it slowly, like he's unwrapping something fragile, and his breath catches audibly when the sweatshirt finally clears my chest.
For a long, suspended moment, he freezes, simply staring as my breasts come into view—my skin flushed with anticipation,nipples peaked from the cool air or, more likely, the heat of his attention.
He looks both reverent and stunned, his gaze sweeping over every curve and shadow as if he's memorizing my anatomy for the rest of his life.
He swallows, Adam's apple bobbing once, and when he speaks, his voice is unsteady, almost shy.
"God, you're beautiful," he whispers, not quite daring to touch.
His hands hover just above my ribcage, warm and open, before he finally traces them along my sides, thumbs brushing the lower curve of each breast.
Before I can even think, his palm finds the small of my back, and he eases me down onto the mattress, following me until I'm lying flat beneath him.
I can feel the pounding of my own heart in my ears, the room narrowing to the space between our bodies, every inch of me tingling under his gaze.
With a shaky inhale, Zach dips his head, dark hair spilling forward.
His lips part, his tongue darts out to wet them, but he doesn't move closer until our eyes meet. He waits, searching my face for a sign—hesitation, fear, or, God help him, anything that means"stop."
He finds only fire and longing; my pupils are blown wide, mouth parted, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. I reach out, threading my fingers through the silk of his hair, and pull him gently toward me.
"I want to taste you," he says, voice raw and uneven, scraping across vocal cords that only moments before had been calm and measured.
I barely manage a nod, too full of want to trust my voice.
"Say it, baby." Zach's words are a trembling demand. "I need to hear you say it."
"Yes," I breathe. My hips roll forward, a plea written across my whole body. "Kiss them, bite them, suck them... do whatever you want, Zach. Please."
His restraint snaps, but the violence in it is all hunger and none of fear. He cups my breast—tentative at first, as if he might shatter me—but I arch into his palm, and his grip tightens, thumb circling the tip until I shiver.
