I kiss down her jaw, her neck, finding that spot just below her ear that makes her knees weak. She's making these small sounds, breathy and desperate, that go straight to my cock.
"Tell me what you need," I murmur against her throat.
"You. Just you."
I pull back enough to strip both hoodies over her head, leaving her in just a thin tank top and jeans. Her pupils are blown wide, lips swollen from kissing, hair a mess. She's never looked more beautiful or more broken.
"You're sure?" I ask, even though I'm already hard, already wanting her so badly it hurts.
"Yes," she insists, reaching for my belt. "Please. I need?—"
I catch her hands, still them. "I need you to be here. With me. Not wherever you've been all week."
"I am here," she protests.
"No, you're not." I bring her hands to my chest, hold them there over my heartbeat. "But I need you to try. Can you try for me?"
She stares at me for a long moment, something like pain flickering across her face. Then she nods. "I'll try."
It's not everything I want, but it's something. It's enough for now.
I kiss her again, slower this time, and she melts into it. My hands map her body—waist, hips, thighs—learning her shape through denim and cotton. She's trembling under my touch, but it's different now. Less panic, more anticipation.
I hook my fingers in her waistband, raise an eyebrow in question. She nods, and I work the button free, slide the zipper down. She kicks off her shoes as I peel the jeans down her legs, taking her underwear with them.
"Fuck," I breathe, taking in the sight of her. "You're so beautiful."
She reaches for me, but I catch her hands again, press them back against the counter. "Let me," I murmur. "Let me take care of you."
I drop to my knees on the kitchen floor and she makes a strangled sound. "Zay, you don't have to?—"
"I want to," I interrupt, looking up at her. "I want to taste you. Make you feel good. Unless you don't want that?"
"I—" She swallows hard. "I want that."
"Then hold on."
I hook one of her legs over my shoulder, opening her up. She's already wet, already ready, and the sight makes my cock throb. I lean in, drag my tongue through her folds, and she cries out, hand flying to my hair.
"Shh," I murmur against her. "Xavier's sleeping."
"I don't—oh God—" Her words dissolve into a moan as I find her clit, circle it with my tongue.
I work her slowly, thoroughly, paying attention to what makes her gasp, what makes her hips buck. Her fingers tighten in my hair, pulling just this side of painful. Her thighs are trembling, trying to close around my head.
"So good," I tell her between strokes. "You taste so fucking good, baby."
She's close—I can feel it in the way her muscles tense, the way her breathing goes ragged. I slide two fingers inside her, curl them just right, and suck her clit.
She comes with a muffled cry, hand pressed over her mouth to stay quiet. I work her through it, gentle now, until she's pushing at my shoulder with her free hand.
"Too much," she gasps.
I press one last kiss to her inner thigh, then stand. She's flushed, panting, gorgeous. I pull her into a kiss and she can taste herself on my tongue.
"That was—" She stops, swallows. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet," I murmur, already working my belt free. "We're not done."
