That makes me giggle—small and breathless—because it's insane how similar we are. I've been missing him, too. Every text, every look across the cafeteria, never enough.
"God," I whisper against his lips, smiling. "We're ridiculous."
He grins, his forehead resting against mine. "Yeah," he murmurs, brushing his thumb along my jaw before kissing me again, slower, tender this time. "Ridiculous about each other."
His fingers tighten at my waist, possessive, dragging me flush against him until there's not a breath left between us.
I can feel the hard lines of his body, the warmth, the ache, the pure, magnetic pull that makes my knees go weak.
"Zach..." I make a soft, hungry noise into his mouth, and he rewards me with a rough, masculine groan that rumbles in his chest.
His hands tighten, fingers digging into the fabric of my blouse, the pressure at my waist making me feel claimed, anchored—even as the rest of me melts into need.
"God, I can't get enough of you, baby..." he rasps, punctuating the words with hungry kisses along my jaw, down to the pulse in my neck.
He grinds his hips forward, and I feel every contour and ridge of him pressing closer through our layers of clothes. He's solid and unyielding, intent on driving me insane.
I gasp again, this time out of pure want, biting my lower lip. The friction, the delicious heat gathering between my thighs, is almost too much—almost—but I don't want it to stop.
But I know that I have to.
"Zach... we need to... stop," I manage to say, my voice thready and unconvincing, even to me.
"Why?" he murmurs, expertly slotting his thigh between mine.
When he thrusts forward, it presses up against my center—exactly where I need him most.
Fuck.
"Why would you want to stop when I know you're so fucking wet for me?"
Since when did Zach's mouth get this dirty? Not that I'm complaining—pretty sure it's my new favorite thing about him.
He licks a path up my neck, then sucks hard at the spot below my jaw, marking me just like he had last night. I'd counted five hickeys this morning—each one a secret, possessive bruise I hadn't tried too hard to hide.
I smile, despite myself, loving the way he claims me.
He nips the same spot, then soothes it with his tongue before pulling back just enough to meet my eyes. His gaze is molten, pupils blown wide, and I tremble under the weight of it.
He doesn't waste time—both hands move to my front, gliding up the line of my ribs to cup my breasts over my thin blouse. His thumbs find my nipples, already hard and aching, and he pinches them through the fabric, sending a bolt of pleasure straight to my core.
"Oh, fuck..." I hiss, arching against his hands.
"You like that, don't you, baby?" he mutters, eyes flicking between my face and the way my body bows into his touch. There's something almost reverent in the way he touches me, like every sound I make is a prize to be earned.
"I do," I manage, though my voice comes out wrecked.
I try to think—God, I really do—but my brain's just gone.
"But... Sam... could come back any minute... we—" The excuse sounds hollow, especially once he starts grinding his thigh inslow, deliberate circles, setting up a rhythm that makes my toes curl.
He flashes a wicked grin. "Then I guess I have to make you come before she does."
He's already unbuttoning my blouse, fingers deft and impatient.
When he peels it open, he murmurs a low, appreciative curse at the sight of my black lace bra.
It lasts only seconds—he unclasps it one-handed, lets it fall from my shoulders, and wastes no time lowering his mouth to my breasts. He circles my nipple with his tongue, then sucks it between his lips, sharp and greedy, like he's been starving for me all day.
