His whole body jolts. His eyes snap open. “Jesus,” he breathes, voice wrecked instantly.
I smile wickedly up at him. That’s what I wanted.
He grips the back of the sofa with one hand and my hair with the other, not hard enough to control, just enough to feel me there. I keep going, slow at first, then deeper when I hear the way his breathing changes.
He looks absolutely destroyed in under ten seconds.
I’m not above enjoying that. It’s been too long.
Too long since I felt like this, wanted like this, reckless enough to act on it before overthinking could get involved. I suck harder, take him deeper, and he lets out a low sound that goes straight through me.
“Zatanna…”
I glance up through my lashes. That was a mistake.
Because the look on his face nearly sends me over the edge all by itself. Half awake, fully hard, already losing control.
His grip in my hair tightens just a little. Then, right when I feel the telltale tension in his body, right when I know he’s close, his cock throbbing and growing hotter by the second, he curses and pulls me up.
I make an annoyed sound.
He catches my mouth in a kiss before I can complain.
I can taste him on my tongue and apparently so can he, because the kiss gets filthy immediately.
When he finally pulls back, he presses his forehead to mine and asks, voice rough, “Are you sure?”
I stare at him. Then laugh once, breathless. “It’s been six months.”
His eyes darken.
I brush my mouth against his and whisper, “Too long.”
That does it.
He kisses me again, harder now, one hand sliding up my back, the other hauling me fully onto his lap. I’m in one of his shirts, of course. Nothing under it. At some point this became our version of domesticity.
His hand slips between my thighs and he groans into my mouth the second he feels how wet I already am.
“God.”
“Yes,” I murmur, kissing his jaw. “Exactly.”
He laughs once against my skin, low and ruined, and then his hand is pushing the shirt up, his mouth finding my breast, his fingers stroking through me with the exact kind of pressure that makes my whole body tense.
I gasp and grind down onto his hand.
“That’s my girl,” he murmurs.
I should probably object to how much I love when he says that. I do not.
He gets my shirt over my head and throws it somewhere behind us, then sits back just enough to look at me.
His gaze goes over my body slowly.
I missed that look. I missed him.
He slides two fingers into me and I bite down on a cry against his shoulder. He kisses my throat while he works me open, steady and sure, and I can feel how badly he wants to go faster. How hard it is for him not to.
