Something feral moves through his expression at that, something possessive and dark that makes my core clench with want. "Yeah? You want it rough?"
"Yes," I breathe, and I mean it with every fiber of my being. I don't want gentle tonight. Don't want careful or tender or any of the things that remind me I'm fragile, that I'm still broken from Xavier's rejection. I want to feel powerful and wanted and completely consumed by sensation until there's no room left for grief.
Zay understands. He always understands. His hand slides down my body to tear—actually tear—my underwear off in one smooth motion that should probably concern me but instead just makes me wetter.
"That was my last clean pair," I protest weakly, but I'm already spreading my legs for him, already lifting my hips in invitation.
"I'll buy you new ones," he says, and then his fingers are inside me, two of them, curling exactly right to hit that spot that makes stars explode behind my eyelids. "Fuck, you're so wet. So ready for me."
"Been ready since you walked in the door," I admit, rocking against his hand, chasing the pleasure building hot and tight in my core.
He adds a third finger and I cry out, the stretch bordering on too much but in the best possible way. His thumb finds my clit with unerring precision and I'm suddenly right there on the edge, my whole body tensing as orgasm builds like a wave about to crest.
"Not yet," Zay says, pulling his fingers out just as I'm about to come, making me whimper at the loss. "You don't get to come until I'm inside you."
"Zay—"
"That's the rule." He positions himself at my entrance, the broad head of his cock pressing against me in a way that makes my hips buck involuntarily. "You come on my cock or you don't come at all."
He pushes inside in one hard thrust that fills me completely, that stretches me in a way that's almost painful but so good I see stars. I wrap my legs around his waist, my ankles locking at the small of his back to pull him even deeper.
"Fuck," he groans, his forehead dropping to rest against mine as he gives me a second to adjust to the intrusion. "You feel so good. So perfect."
"Move," I demand, my nails digging into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks. "Zay, please, I need?—"
He moves.
Not gentle. Not careful. Hard and fast and rough exactly like I asked for, each thrust driving me up the carpet in a way that's probably giving me rug burn but I don't care. I don't care about anything except the way he fills me, the way his body moves against mine with perfect rhythm, the way pleasure is building so intense it's almost painful.
"That's it," he growls against my neck, his teeth finding my pulse point and biting down just hard enough to make me gasp. "Take it. Take all of me."
I am. God, I am. My whole world has narrowed to this—to the slide of his cock inside me, to the heat of his skin against mine, to the way he's making me feel completely claimed and utterlypowerless and so desperately wanted that tears are pricking at the corners of my eyes.
"Harder," I beg, because I need more, need him to fuck away the loneliness and the grief and the constant ache of missing someone who doesn't want me anymore.
Zay adjusts his angle, drives in deeper, and suddenly I'm flying apart. Orgasm crashes over me in waves so intense I forget how to breathe, my body clenching around him rhythmically as pleasure whites out every thought, every worry, every painful memory.
"Fuck, Val," Zay groans, his rhythm faltering as my orgasm triggers his. "I'm?—"
He comes inside me with a shout, his whole body going rigid as he spills himself deep, his cock pulsing with each wave. We stay locked together for a long moment, both of us breathing hard, both of us coming down from the high in the warm, sated aftermath.
Eventually Zay pulls out carefully and rolls us so I'm sprawled on top of him instead of being crushed into the questionable carpet. His arms come around me immediately, holding me close against his chest where I can hear his heartbeat still racing.
"You okay?" he murmurs into my hair, one hand stroking lazily up and down my spine.
"Yeah." I press a kiss to his chest, right over his heart. "More than okay."
We lie there in comfortable silence for a while, just breathing together, my fingers tracing idle patterns on his skin while his do the same on mine. This is my favorite part sometimes—not thesex, though the sex is incredible, but this. The after. The quiet intimacy of being held by someone who knows all my broken pieces and chooses to stay anyway.
Zay's phone rings, shattering the moment. He groans but reaches for his jeans to fish it out of the pocket, squinting at the screen. "It's Jackie."
"Answer it," I say, already rolling off him even though I'd rather stay right where I am forever.
He puts it on speaker. "Yeah?"
"Zay." Jackie's voice is tight with stress. "I need you back ASAP. The Vipers just sent a message. A very clear, very violent message. Three of our guys are in the hospital. George's bar is on fire. This is escalating fast."
My stomach drops. The war between the Raiders and the Vipers has been getting worse over the past four months—territory disputes turning into actual violence, protection rackets becoming battlegrounds, the kind of escalation that ends with bodies in alleys and funerals for people too young to die.
