Before he could argue, she hopped onto his desk, swinging her legs slightly as she crooked a finger at him.
“And I can imagine it,” she murmured, tugging him in by the front of his shirt until their faces were close enough for breath to mingle. “You in here, pacing…thinking…overthinking…”
“Zara—”
She cut him off with a kiss, soft at first, then teasing, egging him on with each brush of her lips.
He answered her without hesitation, one hand cupping her jaw, the other settling at her waist. Zara deepened the kiss, fingers slipping beneath his shirt, pushing it up. He didn’t evenremember moving, but he was suddenly between her knees, shirt discarded somewhere behind them.
She slid her hands down his chest as he kissed along her throat, her breath catching, her body arching into him. His control unraveled in slow, spiraling pieces, the sounds coming from her pulling him closer, coaxing him past thought and reason.
They were so perfectly in sync—her warmth, his touch, her laugh against his mouth—that he completely forgot whatever responsible thing he’d told himself he needed to do first.
And for once, he did not mind it. He had spent so long holding back, telling himself to be careful, to keep distance, to stay disciplined. Now the discipline loosened its grip, and what remained was simple want. The need to see her, to touch her, to stop pretending this pull wasn’t real.
He did not have to wait long.
She took off her sweater, casual and unguarded, and instinct took over. His attention narrowed to her alone. His mouth traced warmth and laughter from her collarbone, his hands learning the shape of her as if memory were being written into his palms. And the soft sounds she made drew him in.
When his hands reached her hips, she lifted for him without a word, trusting, inviting. He followed the motion, pulling off her leggings and panties, unhurried now, taking his time as if savoring was the point.
He took in the woman before him slowly, the way he always did when he wanted to remember something. She wasn’t thin in the sharp, fragile way some were. She was soft where it mattered with curves that fit naturally into his hands. When he held her, there was something real there, something solid and alive, not something that felt like it might slip through his fingers.
He liked that about her more than he would ever say out loud. Liked the way her body yielded just enough when hepulled her close, the way his hands could rest at her hips or her waist and feel at home. There was comfort in it, in the quiet certainty that she was exactly as she wanted to be. And when he squeezed her gently, it wasn’t hunger driving him so much as appreciation, a wordless gratitude that she fit him, that she felt good and right in his arms.
“I like how I can hold you,” he murmured, his voice low, almost reverent. “Just…like this.”
She smiled, breathless, “Good, because I have no plans of changing.”
His mouth curved against her skin. “You better not,” he said, and the promise in his tone was unmistakable as he drew her back for a kiss and let the rest of the world fall away.
He skimmed his hand down her body until he felt her wet pussy, drawn to the way she reacted to his touch, the quiet gasp that told him she felt everything he did. He retracted his claws and slowly slipped his fingers in, twisting his hand and watching her reactions, loving the way she bent toward him, breath quickening. Intent on making her feel seen and cherished rather than rushed, he pressed his lips on her breast and took his time, sucking the hard peak. When her breathing finally gave her away, a quiet, needy sound he felt more than heard, satisfaction warmed his chest.
She tugged him back up, hands curling around his cheeks, and kissed him like it grounded her. “I need you,” she whispered, and undid his pants. She dipped her hands into it to dig her nails into his ass. He thrust against her and again, each one pushing his pants down until she shoved them off the rest of the way. And then his cock came out and was right at her pussy. It was so wet and welcoming that his head slid right into it. She grasped his ass harder, pushing him in deeper.
Naturally, she was never just receiving, always giving back just as much, meeting him breath for breath, until there was no clear line between what he felt and what she did.
“Hektor,” she moaned, raising her hips to take him in even more.
The rush of sensation and emotion completely filled his senses. The soft rhythm of her breathing, the little sounds she made, echoed inside him and tightened something deep in his chest. He kissed along her neck as if he were trying to memorize the feel of her there—the warmth of her skin, the way she tilted instinctively toward him. His hands roamed with equal parts hunger and care, everywhere at once, unable to settle because touching her felt like both desire and devotion tangled together.
She met him with the same intensity, giving as much as she took, pulling him deeper into the moment until there was nothing else. When her pussy started to flutter and her breath finally broke, raw and unguarded, it hit him harder than anything physical ever could. He gathered her against him at once, holding her through her climax, his heart pounding as if it might burst.
Her breath was still uneven, chest rising and falling as she clung to him, but he couldn’t wait, not when the need between them was still humming, bright and insistent. He quickly shifted them, guiding her to her knees on the desk. She was already spreading her legs and arching her back, and he was inside her again.Khrona, her pussy was still spasming, and he grabbed her hips, groaning because of how good her tight sheath felt. She sighed and started circling against his hips, and he paused, mesmerized by the sight. But then she moved up and down his length, her pert little ass bouncing, and his breath stuttered. “Drekhar, you’re good at this,” he growled.
He started thrusting, his hips meeting her ass, the sound of skin slapping filled the air. And she followed without hesitation,meeting him with the same fierce, unfiltered passion that stole the air from his lungs. Even the slightest touch felt amplified, each breath between them charged with emotion as much as heat. He bent over her and pressed his lips to her shoulder, hardly able to believe how perfectly they fit together, not just in body, but in want, in trust, in the way she gave herself to him without holding back.
It overwhelmed him, how good she felt, how completely she met him every time. Holding her there, caught between urgency and awe, he knew this was more than a moment. It was her. And that realization hit him harder than anything else ever had.
She looked back at him over her shoulder. “I’m gonna come again,” she said between panting breaths.
He definitely wanted that, so he placed his fingers on her clit and she immediately started grinding on them, chasing her pleasure. He could feel his balls tightening and his orgasm threatening, but he wanted to feel that sweet orgasm of hers again. As soon as her pussy started to flutter, he moved faster. “Yes, like that. Harder,” she moaned, leaning her head back against him. Of course, he gave her what she wanted.
Zara cried out as she orgasmed, her pussy clamping around him and her body shaking beneath him. He didn’t even try to hold back, thrusting deep as he could, and her pussy milked him until his come filled her up, his moan echoing in the room.
He stayed there with her, forehead pressed to her back, breathing her in. And as he held her, feeling her slowly settle against him, he knew this was what he’d been craving all along: not just the intensity, but the connection that lingered long after it faded.
A quiet groan of satisfaction slipped through him as he rolled off her, and he pushed a few papers off the desk in his path without caring. She settled against him, her warmth pressing into his side, smiling like she’d just stolen the sun.
