I nod. “Yeah, but we didn’t meet her, or even know about her, until she showed up … with Reck … on the Outcast’s doorstep. Six or seven years later?”
“And you never knew about Bellamy.”
“Let’s not fucking talk about Bellamy while you have your warm pussy plastered to me.”
She chuckles quietly. “Noted.”
I grin back at her, fucking relaxed and … actually happy in a way I’m not certain I’ve ever been before. Not even during those summers with Zaya. When we were always aware we had to leave each other —
“So, I was fifteen, you were seventeen … did I press my warm pussy against you while you were forcing me to learn algebra?”
I laugh involuntarily. “Fuck no. I gave up teaching you anything to do with numbers or science after you almost broke my nose throwing a tantrum —”
“Never happened!” Zaya cries, playfully pounding her fists against my abs.
And before I register my own movements, I’m dragging her mouth to mine and kissing her fiercely, holding her way too tight. I loosen my grip on her. “I’m sorry —”
Zaya grabs my head, refusing to break the kiss. “I want to be under you,” she gasps. “I want you in me, again and again.”
I move without thought, as if not totally in control — and speaking honestly, I know my control is fucking shredded — as I roll Zaya under me. She wiggles down the bed, getting her hand on my epically fucking hard cock and almost managing to notch it at her entrance before I hold myself still over her, off her, instead of plunging exactly where I want to go. Again and again. As requested.
She strokes me, her hold firm, and twisting almost harshly over the head of my cock as if she already knows I like just a little pain with my pleasure. It keeps me anchored, focused.
Speaking honestly again, it keeps me hard enough to fuck whoever I’m trying to fuck who isn’t her.
“Zaya …” I snarl.
“You promised me the tip during your interrogation.”
I groan, completely giving in even as I carefully hold myself off her. “This isn’t an interrogation …”
Zaya bends her knees, planting her feet on the bed, and tilting her pelvis up at the perfect fucking angle. “Tell me the story.”
“We’re working out of order now …” I say, trying to get some of the playfulness back that Zaya wants, maybe even needs. We were never really playful together … because I was obsessed with watching her, anticipating anything she might need, and she … she …
I tease the head of my rigid cock into her. Just the tip dipping into her warmth.
She hums, pleased. But she doesn’t try to push me further or faster.
“We normally met at the house, but I was a little late that … day …” I dip into her warmth again, then again, just giving her the tip, as requested. But right before I dip again, I rub my now well lubricated head over her clit.
“And …?” she asks, a little breathless.
“There are a lot of nerves, you know, just within the first couple of inches of the vaginal —”
“Rath!”
I laugh, but I’m seriously not certain how long I can play like this. I slip just a little farther into her, coating the first couple of inches of my cock in her heat. “You don’t like it, Tempest?”
She reaches up and drags my mouth down to hers, kissing me. Then she slides her hands over my shoulders and across my chest. My breath hitches as she runs her thumbs over my nipples, drawing her attention back to them. Gaze riveted to mine, she brushes them deliberately again. Then again.
My hips buck, giving her more than just the tip before I get myself under control.
“Where was I, then? If not in the house?”
I blink, then remember what the fuck we’re talking about while I try to not just fuck her into the bed. I’m not certain the bed could take what I want to do to Zaya, actually.
“You were peeking through the windows at the front of the beach house.”
