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Farrow looked miserable, which mademefeel miserable. I loathed that her mood seemed to seep into mine, like we were connected by an invisible chain.
“I can respect that.” She nodded. “All I ever wanted was a family. Somewhere to belong. I can see why you’d make one up, even if it’s not organic.”
Farrow’s chills had graduated to violent shivering. I noticed her teeth chattered, too.
“We should get naked,” I blurted out.
She swatted my chest. “Very convenient.”
I licked my lips. “To prevent pneumonia.”
“I’m not that cold.”
“Well, in that case, do it for me.”
“You want me undressed?”
“I want you any way, anyhow,” I admitted, knowing she’d never misinterpret my intentions for her. “But especially naked, and specifically on top of me.”
She reached for the hem of her hoodie, pulling it off in one go.
And just like that, I went under, drowned by desire.
Zach’s cock shot up at the sight of me without a bra.
My nipples begged for attention, extra taut and sensitive. He ignored them, reclining in his seat, his erection sticking to his thigh through his wet slacks.
He stroked his cock lazily through his pants while his other hand unbuttoned his dress shirt.
I arched my back, shimmying off my jeans to my knees, still maintaining eye contact. “How many?”
His shirt fell open. “How many what?”
He shook the fabric off his shoulders—ripped, bronze, and perfect.
I leaned against the driver’s door and kicked my boots off with my pants, leaving my underwear on, so he could take it off with his teeth. “How many movies have you watched for me?”
Zach toed off his shoes and unbuckled his belt, not taking his eyes off my tits. “Too many.”
Of everyone I’d ever met, no one made me feel as stunning as Zachary Sun did, simply by staring at me the way he stared at me.
In fact, he was the first man to make me feel beautiful.
He pushed off his pants and briefs in one go. His dick sprung out, the shaft as silky as velvet. Thick, long, and complemented by smooth veins and a prominent crown.
The mere sight of it made my mouth water.
Zach tossed his pants to the backseat, his hand halting on something. “What’s this?”
He pulled it from the backseat.
A Chanel shoe box.
Heat shot to my cheeks. “Your gift to me.”
“Part of it,” he corrected, hooking his finger at the bottom of the satin bow and untying it until it loosened into a long cream-white string. “The best part of your gift is yet to come. Put your wrists together and press them to your headrest.”
Normally, I would tell the person asking me to respectfully go fuckhimself.
