“Yes, ma’am,” he responds. But then his eyes go dark and he thrusts himself even deeper inside of me, deep enough to unhinge my jaw and make my vision blur around the edges. We find a rhythm, hard and fast, moving against each other and together all at the same time.
“Fuck,” I say again.
“Yeah?” he grunts, beads of sweat forming on his chest as we race desperately towards the finish line. Usually, we take our time. Usually, we don’t want it to be over. But after ten minutesof wrestling, play fighting, and teasing each other into a frenzy, we both need this orgasm. And we need it to be explosive.
And explosive it is.
As it rips through us at full force, we tear into each other again; him kissing me hungry and hard; me scratching my hands through his hair until finally it settles. We both relax, melting into each other on his Moroccan rug.
“That was incredible,” he says.
“Yeah,” I nod. “I don’t think I can move…”
“Me either,” he says.
“So let’s not…”
On cue, both of our stomachs growl and we chuckle.
“Well,” I say, pushing myself to my feet. “Turns out I’m still hungry.”
“Girl, don’t mess with me. I’ll take you all over again,” he says as he shoves himself up from the floor.
I giggle, but when I hear fast footsteps behind me, I shriek and make a run for the kitchen. Zane grabs me and spins me around, pinning me against the counter and kissing me.
“You’re insane,” I laugh into his mouth.
“I’m hungry,” he says.
“Well, you have to let go of me if you want something to eat,” I say.
“There are other things that I could eat that don’t require me letting go of you…” he says and I laugh again, ducking out from underneath his grasp.
“You sit down. The table is already set,” I say, and he salutes me before heading over to the table.
I follow with a bottle of wine and fill each glass. Then I pull out a lighter for the candles.
“What’s all this for?” he asks softly.
“It’s for us,” I say, matching his smile.
“You are incredible, you know that?” he asks.
I head back to the kitchen to grab the asparagus and the potatoes.
“I could get used to this,” he says. “Not the you serving me part. That’s not really how I roll. But making love and sharing dinners and sharing the moments we have alone. I could do this forever,” he says, reaching into his pocket.
Suddenly his phone buzzes on the table, and he looks down at it. His brow furrows and his smile turns downward. He pulls his hand out of his pocket and looks at me.
“What is it?” I ask. “Is something wrong?”
Zane doesn’t answer. Instead, he picks up his phone and looks at it. As his thumb scrolls through the message, his frown turns to a scowl.
“Zane, what is it?” I ask.
“What the hell is this?” he asks, and I am lost. Then he hands me his phone, and my stomach bottoms out.
The message is from his manager, Nigel. It’s a string of photos. Photos that have gone viral. Photos like Deborah wanted.
