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His hand actually disappears through the plasterboard. White powder and dust flies everywhere when he pulls it out. He faces me, his chest heaving, his mouth open, and I see what he’s feeling right there on his face. Total, complete anguish. “Fuck, Sloane.” He holds his hands to his head for the briefest moment then everything happens quickly. “Fuck it,” he hisses, and then he’s rushing toward me.
My heart jumps up into my throat—what the hell is he going to do?—and then his hands are on either side of my face and his chest is crushed up against mine and my back is slammed into the wall and Zeth Mayfair’s mouth is on mine. Zeth Mayfair’s mouth. Is. On. Mine.
My mind goes blank.
It takes a moment to truly register what’s happening. He’s…he’s kissing me. A ball of fire launches itself from the pit of my stomach all the way up to my head, stealing the oxygen out of my lungs as it goes. Despite the ferocity with which he launched himself at me, his lips are soft against mine, careful. Unsure. His breathing is erratic and all over the place, but then so is mine. I can’t pull enough air into my body to fuel the many reactions taking place right now. I’m frozen solid, standing stock still with my palms pressed against the wall behind me, suddenly not sure what to do. Should I move? Should I kiss him back? I only know the answer to that question—fuck yes!—when he grows more insistent and teases my mouth open. That might not have been enough on it’s own, but the choked groan that slips free from his mouth sends a violent, delicious shiver straight through me. He presses against me even harder, as though he can’t possibly get close enough. It could just be my imagination, but I almost think I feel his hands shaking as he touches me. He’s enjoying this—I can tell from his labored breathing and the lust filled sounds that he’s doing a really bad job of keeping at bay—but I also think he’s freaking out. Good job, because I am, too.
I’ve imagined it enough times to have worked out how this whole thing will go—noses aligned perfectly, not too much saliva, just the right amount of pressure—so when our teeth do crack together, I’m thrown for a loop. This is real. This is ours and this is happening now. I need to get my head in the game. Like one of Medusa’s frozen statues coming back to life, my hands all of a sudden remember how to work. I wrap my arms around his neck and hold on tight, and he responds in kind, burying his hands into my hair.
I feel small and vulnerable with his great mass pinning me in place, but there’s nowhere else in the world I would rather be. The All Nite Long Rest Stop might as well be St Paul’s Cathedral right now. It doesn’t matter that I’m soaked to the bone and I’m unemployed and I have no idea whether I’m wearing my good underwear. All that matters is Zeth’s lips working over mine, his hands in my hair, his hips pressing up against mine.
He makes a choked, breathless sound at the back of his throat, and then he does something that makes my head explode: he slips his tongue into my mouth.
I know the guy is devilishly talented with that tongue. Certain areas of my body have been on the receiving end of its charms many times before, but this is different. This is careful and intense and warm and sweet, and nothing else in my life will ever compare to this moment. He works his tongue over mine, exploring me, tasting me, and I lose it. I claw at his wet T-shirt, desperate to get the thing off. That’s obviously not what Zeth has in mind, though. He takes hold of my wrists and lifts them high over my head, securing them with both of his hands. I know he wants me. I can feel his erection digging into my belly, but Zeth breaks off the kiss and looks down at me, panting, and shakes his head. He licks at those full lips of his, as though they’re tingling just as much as mine are.
“Not yet,” he growls. “I’m not done with you. Fuck, Sloane, your mouth has always been perfect when it’s been on my cock, but on my mouth…” His eyes look hazy, like he’s been drugged. “On my mouth, your lips are sensational.”
A small part of me dies inside, in the very best way. I am ridiculous, and I am totally in love with this man. I’ve peaked. This is it, the pinnacle of my entire existence. He leans down and starts the whole thing all over again, except this time there’s no teeth cracking or me standing there like a frozen idiot. It’s perfect and deep and breathtaking, and feels like it will never end. There has never been another kiss like this one in the entire universe. This is the kiss.
The kiss to end all other kisses.
Zeth forgets all about soft and gentle. He owns me in this, just like he owns me in everything else. It’s not long before his hands are sliding down my body, exploring over my hips, my butt, my thighs, up and over my breasts.
“You want me, angry girl? You want me inside you?” he pants into my ear. His mouth grazes my jawline, and then travels down toward my neck. I am a shivering mess of nerves; my body can only take so much. I go limp in his arms, which seems to drive him crazy. He grabs hold of me underneath my thighs and hikes me up so my legs wrap instinctively around his waist. He’s still kissing me, pressing his lips against my neck, my jaw, my shoulder. I can’t help the senseless noises that are coming out of me. I’m one of those clichés you watch on television that completely come undone when their man lays one on them. I am that person.
Zeth carries me to the bed and instead of throwing me down on it, this time he sets me down carefully and then stands back, scanning me from head to foot. I think he’s going to climb up on top of me but he doesn’t. He grabs the single, worn chair from underneath the peeling veneer desk in the corner of the room, spins it so that it’s back to front and sits down, arms folded on top of the backrest. “Take your clothes off, Sloane.”
