“Yes,” he growls. “Now, get down here and—”
“Well, you’re mine.”
He stills.
“Mine,” I whisper, right up beside his ear. “Mine,” against his cheek. “Mine,” close to his lips, but not on them. Not on them. Mine, with a twist of my hips that sends his eyes rolling back in his head. Mine, mine, mine.
It’s a chant, a dance, a proclamation. A claiming. At least for me.
By the time the words fade into nonsensical sounds of lust and animal excitement, we’re back to being just bodies. It’s a shock to feel myself building again, reaching and reaching for the climax and then sliding right over it, keening as he pulls out to watch himself spill on my mound—using me, fetishizing me, which, god, is the horniest I’ve ever felt—before shoving that huge thing right back inside me, filling me, filling me up, giving me every little bit of himself. Every drop.
And then, then the man leaves my body, settles back on his knees, and pushes my legs apart. I look down to find him staring at my wide-open sex, intense and hungry and…proud, maybe?
“Fuck, baby, this is…” His gaze slides up to meet mine before going inexorably back to stare at where his come’s dripping out of me. “This is so fucking beautiful.” With a big finger, he nudges me. It takes me a second to realize he’s slicking his finger through his semen and then pressing it back inside me and then, because that’s not enough kink for one night, he bends low and licks it up.
“Zion, I don’t—”
“No, no, you’ve got to let me. Please. Fuck, it’s so good.”
I release a shaky breath and examine my own feelings. Do I like this?
His tongue runs up between my labia, glances my clit, which makes me jolt and, when that happens, he reaches up and digs his fingers into my hip, holding me in place. He’s ravenous, I can tell. The sounds, the way he’s eating at me, consuming me, like a starved man. Like a man who’s always wanted this and never had it.
The tiniest shred of doubt ekes its way through my brain right at this very moment. I know he desires me. It’s clear. The way I know he didn’t want to or he was afraid to or, maybe Max was right and he thought this wouldn’t be my thing. I know he wants. That’s not it.
So, what is it?Part of me worries at that little shard, while the rest of me moans through Zion’s wild ministrations. Why does this feel good and bad? Bad like it’ll end? Bad like I’m something he’ll want and cherish, but never love. Not to keep?
His tongue spears me and the questions fritter up and fly away, leaving my brain this empty shell of a thing that once worked, but is now capable of the barest bodily functions.
A low groan tears itself from my lungs when he grabs my thighs and pushes them up and open and licks my ass like a man who hasn’t been fucking for hours and hours.
And keeps on fucking me, using me, giving me every bit of himself until I fall asleep, still clasping his body in mine, which is what I want. It’s enough.
It will be. It has to be.
* * *
Zion
The floodgates have opened. I knew they would. I knew I’d be like this.
A beast. A brute. A brainless monster who wants one thing and one thing only—her. I feel dangerous, on edge. Exhausted, but unable to let go and sleep, because what if…
Fuck. I loosen my hold on her waist, though I can’t force myself to let go entirely, and breathe. The air smells like her, us, and I never want to leave.
What if this is it? What if one night’s all she’ll give me?
The thought makes me tighten my hold and pull her sleeping body in closer.
She hums and half-giggles, sounding cute and sweet and dead tired.
I need to control myself. I will. I just… I lean in and nuzzle her cheek, hover above her mouth…and pull back.
The fuck is wrong with you, boy?
My father’s words. Clear as a bell. Like yesterday.
The fuck is wrong? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
