I can’t breathe. My lungs expand and contract, but something is wrong, something is horribly wrong. I can’t get enough air.
I try again, panting and gasping and wheezing—
Zev mutters a string of low curses behind me.
A soft rustling, and then his arm slings over my waist, tugging me flush against his chest.
My eyes fly open.
I’m in the tent. Withhim. Not in the closet. Notthatnight.
“Wh—what are you doing?” I rasp.
“Distracting you.” His voice is hard, but his hand is gentle as it skims over my belly. “Lift your head.”
I obey, and he nestles his other arm beneath me, my temple resting on his bicep. His firm chest presses against my back, his breath hot on my neck.
I should push him away. I should hate him. But the warmth of his body and the desperate need to feel safe consumes me. It obliterates any thought of protest.
Thunder booms again, and I jolt. Zev tightens his grip, pulling me back harder against him. His hand splays over my abdomen, his body taut with tension. Ragged exhales flutter the loose strands of my hair.
Lightning flashes, bright and angry.
Another humiliating, panicked yelp wrenches from my lips.
My eyes burn with tears.
Slowly, his hand begins to move. His fingers are hesitant as they inch higher, skating over my ribs, pausing just before the curve of my breasts.
“Tell me to stop.” His voice is rough, like he’s swallowed sand.
The storm melts away, and my focus sharpens on him.
Only him.
I remain completely still, afraid that if I move, if I speak, if Ibreathe, he’ll stop touching me. His long, graceful fingers edge higher, and then he’s cupping me in his large hand.
“Tell meto stop, Mayah,” he repeats desperately, even as his hand squeezes gently.
I can’t remember the last time he said my name.
My low, needy moan hums through the air. I arch back harder against him. His hand climbs higher, leaving a searing trail along the column of my throat. He traces my parted lips with the tip of his index finger, and it’s all I can do to stay still in his arms.
Desire coils low in my belly, tight and hungry, and I needmore.
But I’m afraid to push him, to break this fragile moment.
Zev is tense behind me, each breath a soft pant. His hand skates back down over my chest, my abdomen, dipping just beneath the waistband of my leggings.
“Mayah.” His voice is gravel, and I want to roll in it, inhim, until every rough, jagged edge scrapes my skin raw. “Mayah, tell me tostop.” His hands shake, like he’s battling something inside himself.
A keening whine escapes my parted lips, and I grind my ass against him. His hand delves beneath the waistband, and then he’s between my thighs. We both groan at the same time as his fingers swipe through slick wetness.
I can’t breathe.
He works his skillful fingers, quickly bringing me to the edge. His breath is hot against my ear, his body a wall of muscle at my back.
“Zev,” I whimper, biting my lip. I’m close, I’m so close, but I can’t fall over that edge.
