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My hand drifts lower.
“Don’t.”
The single word cuts through the room.
I barely register him rising to his feet. He empties the rest of his whiskey, catching my discarded panties between his teeth.
His eyes never leave mine.
The look he gives me sends a shiver racing through my entire body.
A silent promise.
A warning.
A promise all over again.
Maybe…
…I’ve pushed him just a little too far.
THIRTEEN
Zayn
“If you want us to stop,” I tell her, coming to a halt at the edge of the bed, “you need to say it now. Before I touch you, Selene. Because I sure as hell won’t stop once I start.”
It’s the only warning she gets. Mostly because I’m not capable of giving her more, and even this much takes effort to force out.
She’s drunk enough that any decent man would’ve shut this down from the beginning—not letting the teasing, the tension a chance to build.
Not me.
I’ve wanted her since I was capable of understanding what that meant, to realize what it did to me just to see her, to have her close. I kept my distance out of respect for the relationship I knew she was in. But now that she’s single?
No fucking way am I letting this opportunity slip away.
And she’s still aware, sharp, ready to provoke me on purpose. So yeah… I think we’re safe.
“What makes you think I’d want us to stop for even a second…” she breathes, her chest rising quickly as her fingers circle her clit in a hypnotic rhythm, “when we haven’t even started, Zayn?”
Goddamn it.
She needs to lose that accent. Because I’m not sure there’s anything she could ask for in that voice that I’d ever be able to refuse.
I shove my boxers down without hesitation and climb onto the bed, caging her beneath me.
“I’ll take it from here, pixie,” I murmur, gently brushing her hand away from between her thighs.
I watch her closely, greedy for every flicker of reaction while my fingers replace hers. The warmth, the slickness waiting for me there, and the way her eyes fly open for a second before drifting closed again send a violent rush through my veins, as if my blood ignites all at once.
Her head falls back against the headboard, lips parted, her breathing already too fast. One arm slips loosely around my neck, drawing me closer, and the other trails downward until she finds me.
I’m not prepared for her touch.
My cock pulses in her hand, the sensation crashing into me harder than I expect, sinking deeper than it should. Before I can even process it, she pulls me to her and kisses me.
You know that feeling—finally—when you’ve wanted something for so long it almost stopped feeling real? Like it belonged to a fantasy instead of your life?
