"Zach..." I gasp, nearly sobbing the sound as heat coils inside me, tight and merciless.
I clap a hand over my mouth to muffle the moan, but he only smiles against my skin, intent on dragging every sound out of me.
"You sound so fucking hot when you moan for me," he growls, moving from one breast to the other, lavishing attention on both until my legs can barely hold me up.
He trails wet, hungry kisses up to my throat, then my jaw, then claims my lips again, all while his hand slides lower—skimming over my stomach, down to the waistband of my jeans.
I shudder as his fingers dip inside, knuckles grazing my skin, and then he's cupping me, palm pressing firmly against my heat. He groans, the sound vibrating against my mouth, and I realize just how muchheneeds this too.
"Zach..." I breathe, hips canting forward as he begins slow, torturous circles over my clit, teasing me through the thin fabric of my panties.
"Yeah, baby? You like my fingers on your greedy little clit?" he taunts, voice dripping sin, and I whimper, helpless under the weight of his words.
Oh God. That filthy mouth. It's a problem. I'm a problem.
Someone seriously needs to put a warning label on him—Caution: may cause spontaneous dehydration and questionable life choices.
Did I mention I love it? I did, right?
But, just in case the universe missed it—I am absolutely, hopelessly obsessed with Zach Westbrook's dirty, beautiful, chaos-inducing mouth.
My brain's gone, my morals are gone, and I'm about three seconds from completely falling apart.
"You love how I make you feel, don't you? How I own you right here?"
All I can do is nod, eyes fluttering closed as he slips his hand beneath the lace, skin to slick, burning skin. He teases at first, dipping just the tip of one finger inside before pulling out and circling my clit again, making me writhe against him.
"Fuck... Zach... stop torturing me..." I beg, my voice high and breathless.
He nips my earlobe, whispering, "But I love torturing you with pleasure. I want you to come for me, Caroline. Right here. I want you to soak my fucking fingers."
I gasp, his filthy words turning my brain to static, and when he slides a finger inside me—slow, knowing exactly how to angle it—I nearly come right then.
He pumps in and out, never losing rhythm on my clit, and when I'm trembling and desperate, he adds a second finger, stretching me, curling themjust right.
"Oh God... oh fuck... I'm gonna—" I bite down on my hand to stifle the scream, my body tensing as the orgasm crashes through me, hot and violent and all-consuming.
He works me through it, steady and relentless, until I'm a boneless, shaking mess against the wall. Only then does he finally pull his hand free, glistening with the unmistakable proof of what he's done to me.
I slump back, the world tilting and blurring like I've stepped off a spinning ride. My skin feels too alive, every nerve buzzing, my pulse still sprinting.
I press a trembling hand to my mouth, trying to catch my breath, and a shaky laugh slips out—half dazed, half delirious.
God, I can still feel him everywhere.
My whole body hums, soft and heavy and sated. My legs feel like Jell-O, and for a second, I'm sure I'll just slide down the wall.
"God, that was good..." I whisper, grinning into my hand, drunk on the afterglow.
Zach's grin turns downright sinful. "I know."
The confidence in his voice hits low in my stomach—he sounds like a man who knowsexactlywhat he just did to me, and he's damn proud of it.
Then, slowly, he lifts his hand—the same one that just ruined me—and holds it up between us. His fingers glisten in the dim light, slick with my desire, and my face floods with heat.
Without breaking eye contact, Zach brings his hand to his mouth, and one by one, he sucksmytaste from his fingers, his tongue flicking out to lap up every drop.
"Mm," he hums, closing his eyes for a brief, obscene second. "It's really... good." He draws out the syllables, savoring me like I'm his favorite sin.
