When he looks back at me, he actually stops moving. Just freezes, staring.
“What?”
“Give me a second. I’m committing this to memory.”
“Zayden.”
“I’m serious. This image is going to get me through a lot of long road trips.”
I throw a pillow at him. He catches it, laughing, and then he’s back—pressing me into the mattress, skin against skin, nothing between us but heat and want.
“Better?” I manage.
“So much better.” He kisses me deeply, thoroughly, until I’m dizzy with it. “You feel incredible.”
His hand slides down my stomach, and I stop thinking altogether.
He takes his time with me—learning what makes me gasp, what makes me arch off the bed, what makes me say his name like a gasp. He’s patient and thorough and devastating, and by the time he finally pulls away to reach for the nightstand drawer, I’m trembling for entirely different reasons.
“Good?” he asks, hovering over me.
I pull him down by the back of his neck. “Very.”
He presses into me slowly, giving me time to adjust. My breath catches. He’s big—I knew that, objectively, but knowing and experiencing are very different things.
“Okay?” His voice is strained, like it’s taking everything he has to hold still.
“Yeah.” I wrap my legs around him, pulling him deeper. “More than okay.”
He starts to move, and it’s—
It’s everything.
Slow at first, finding our rhythm, learning how we fit together. Then faster, deeper, as the tension builds between us. His forehead drops to mine, breath ragged, and I can feel him holding back.
He pauses above me, and something raw crosses his face. “I haven’t—” He swallows hard. “It’s been a long time since anyone—”
I cup his jaw, feeling the muscle tick beneath my palm. “Don’t,” I tell him.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t hold back. I want all of you.”
Something flashes in his eyes—dark, hungry—and then he’s not holding back anymore. He hooks my leg higher on his hip and changes the angle, and I actually cry out because it’s so good.
“There?” he asks, and the smugness in his voice should be annoying, but it’s really, really not.
“There. Right there. Don’t stop.”
“Never.”
He keeps his word—over and over—until I’m clutching at his shoulders, until I’m making sounds I’ll probably be embarrassed about later, until I feel the pressure building to something I can’t contain.
“Zay—I’m going to—”
“I know.” He kisses me hard. “I’ve got you. Let go.”
I do.
