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Well, holy shit. I wasn’t expecting that. A reprimand. Some sternly worded, poorly veiled threat. Anything but a compliment, followed by a reassurance. I open my mouth, but infuriatingly I can’t think of anything to say. Zeth puts the thin length of rope down on the table and slowly shrugs out of his jacket. I catch sight of the impressive bulge pressing against his jeans, begging to be set free and I can’t help my reaction. I blush.
“Angry one minute, coy the next…you’re confusing yourself, Sloane.” He steps into me, placing his hands on my hips. His grip is strong and masterful. “You should just go with one emotion. I find turned on is usually useful ’round about now. If you’re not with me on that one, then I can go.”
He’s been pushy and demanding ever since he walked through the door half an hour ago, so I’m not used to this sudden glimmer of compromise within him. A meet-me-halfway, secret side of him that I think he’d prefer to keep hidden away.
The tension that’s been drawing me tighter than a bow slackens a little at the knowledge that it is there, somewhere, hiding within him. Buried beneath ten layers of shit-kicking concrete, but still…
I’m feeling brave, so I do something really crazy: I reach out, take hold of his hand and guide his fingers between my legs. The evidence of my lust is right there for him to judge with his fingertips.
He blinks quickly, enough for me to think I’ve caught him off guard, and then he moves his fingers, humming deeply. “Mmmm. I see. Point taken.”
My body is jittery, impatient, demanding more than the teasing friction he is applying to my clit. He’s doing it on purpose, only giving me enough to make me crave more.
“Sit on the table,” he commands.
I do it without question.
“Good girl. Now open your legs.”
I do that, too. And then Zeth drops to his knees right there in my open-plan kitchen and begins to trace his tongue lazily up the inside of my thigh.
Let me tell you this: you may think you have been horny before. You may think you have been ready to beg, to plead, to straight up murder to feel someone inside you, but until you’ve had this…until Zeth Mayfair is on his knees for you…
He looks up at me, eyes still hooded and promising forbidden things.
“I’m gonna do this. And then you’re gonna do something for me, Sloane.” He doesn’t give me an opportunity to agree to the deal (am I even being asked?). He grabs hold of my hips, pulls me forward, and buries his tongue into the slick heat of my pussy. I’m so ready for him. I feel wanton, totally gripped by my need to drive my hips forward so he can gain better access. He laves at me, drawing his tongue upward slowly and flicking the tip across the charged bud of nerves.
During our encounters thus far, I’ve fought an inner battle. One that has prevented me from really letting go. From embracing the situation and enjoying it fully. That had a lot to do with fear, which admittedly still remains. But being afraid is overrated. I don’t want that anymore. I want to own this. To let it consume and overpower me and wipe everything—all the pain, all the worry, all the regret and guilt—from my mind. I bury my hands in Zeth’s hair and I moan. It’s a wild, unfamiliar and carnal sound.
Gonna be cringing over that when you replay this later, my subconscious whispers.
“Fuck you,” I whisper right back. With my thighs clamped firmly over his ears, I doubt very much that Zeth heard me. Thank God. I’m not even in control of my body anymore. It’s liberating handing over the reins to a side of myself I haven’t yet become acquainted with. My hips grind into Zeth’s face.
He snarls, digging his fingers into my skin, growling into me as he works me over in the best possible way. I fight back when he pulls away, not wanting his attentions to deviate from my sweet spot, but he slaps my thigh so hard my eyes sting. The pain demands an instant reaction. I drop my legs apart, panting for breath. Zeth’s chest is heaving, too. And he’s wearing that wicked smirk again. Holy fuck, I don’t care if he’s dangerous. I don’t care if he’s an axe murderer. I’m never letting him leave this house.
“Got any ice?”
“What?”
“Frozen water,” he rumbles. “You got any?”
I shake my head, trying to clear it. “Uh, yeah, I think so?”
Straightening, he crosses the room to the freezer and practically pulls the door off its hinges. I’m still sitting there with my legs wide open, struggling for breath, propping myself up on my elbows when he comes back. There’s a mischievous glimmer sparkling in his eye. “Never had you pegged for a freezer pop kinda girl,” he says. My stomach lurches. Oh. Shit. I have a thousand of the things stashed in my freezer. Bubblegum flavor—a shade of blue that scientists will probably reveal gave people all over the world cancer in ten years’ time. They’re my guilty treat. And now Zeth is producing one of them from behind his back.
“Oh boy, you should put that—”
“I know exactly where I’m putting it, Sloane.” I can see in his expression that this is way better than the ice cube he had planned.
Fuck!
“I don’t know how I feel about that, Zeth.”
“I’m gonna make you feel good about it,” he says, nodding his head, as though that alone is enough to change my mind. I’m still shaking my head when he drops back down on his knees and presses the offending article against the tender flesh I’ve left exposed to him.
