“Oh my God,” I whisper. I don’t think anybody’s ever touched me like this. Certainly not out in a forest. I think I might die if he stops.
“You’re taking my fingers so well.” He kisses my neck again, his teeth scraping my skin.
His fingers move lazily, his thumb circling me at the same speed. The sensation is too much.
And then I feel it. Violent in its intensity, an orgasm that explodes from my belly to my toes, making me shake, making me gasp, making me scream out his name.
I convulse around him, my muscles so weak my body nearly collapses, and he has to catch me in his arms as I come, his mouth finally seeking mine.
His lips are soft, almost reverent as they brush against mine. He holds me tight, his hand caressing my skin, his mouth swallowing my sighs as I go limp against his body.
At first, he kisses me with aching restraint, like he’s afraid to ruin something fragile. Then it deepens, slow and searching, his hand sliding up to cradle the back of my neck. My fingers clutch at his shirt, desperate to keep him close. I can feel his heartbeat against my chest, fast and uneven.
When he finally breaks the kiss, he stays close, his forehead pressed to mine. His thumb brushes a strand of hairfrom my cheek, lingering for a heartbeat too long. His breathing is rough, but his voice is softer than I’ve ever heard it. “You shouldn’t make me feel like this,” he murmurs, almost to himself.
And I think, neither should you. But I never want it to stop.
He stays there for a moment, still holding me, as if he’s fighting with something inside himself. The air between us hums with everything unspoken. Then his hand slides from my cheek to my lips.
“You’re so fucking beautiful when you come,” he whispers.
And for a second, as he starts to kiss me again, it feels like this is real. That he means it.
That I’m not the only one who’s been caught.
eighteen
ZACH
I try to catch my breath as she stares up at me, her eyes wide, her skin flushed. Her expression is so full of, I don’t know, admiration, I guess. Which is weird, because she’s the one who should be proud.
She did it. She came here, she ran, she took what she wanted.
And I’m the lucky bastard who got to see her fall apart with pleasure. To feel her come on his fingers.
To taste her sweet lips as she presses her body against me, like she’s still hungry.
I run my hands down her sides, wondering if she has the strength to walk back to her car or if I should carry her, but instead of being done, she looks me dead in the eye and then…
She drops to her knees.
I blink, because her hands are on my fly,her fingers brushing against my rock hard erection. Christ, does she know what she does to me?
“This is supposed to be about you. You don’t have to…” My voice trails off as she reaches inside my jeans, her hand circling me through my shorts.
But apparently she wants to. So I reach down and cup her pretty face. She looks up, that adoring gaze in her eyes that I’m desperately trying not to react to. Not to read into.
It’s all a game. This is just part of it.
“You’re so big,” she whispers, pushing my shorts down, enough for my cock to feel the coolness of the air and the heat of her hand against it.
I breathe hard, trying to remind myself that I’m the one in control here. I’m the one in charge.
But I think we both know that’s a fucking lie.
She looks up at me again, her eyes so wide I’m already lost in them. “Tell me what to do,” she whispers.
She wants me to be in charge. To demand that she makes me feel good. And that’s okay, I can do that.
