The last three fights blur together as I watch, distracted by the way he's touching my leg. And by the time the final bout ends and the crowd starts to drain out of the venue, I'm wound so tightly that when he takes my hand and pulls me to my feet, the contact alone sends a current through my whole body.
Twenty minutes later, we're through his front door and his mouth is on mine before I've kicked off my shoes. His hands are on my waist, pulling me into him, and I grab fistfuls of his shirt and walk him backward until his back hits the hallway wall.
"I've been thinking about this since the second fight," I say against his mouth.
"I've been thinking about it since I picked you up." His hands slide down to my ass and grip hard, lifting me onto my toes. "Those jeans have been killing me all night."
"Yeah?" I bite his bottom lip and tug. "What about them?"
"The way they sit on your hips." He runs his thumbs along the waistband, dipping under the denim, his fingers hot against my skin. "I've been staring at you for four hours trying not to lose my mind."
"You should've said something sooner."
"I'm saying it now," he says as he spins me around and presses me face-first against the wall, his chest flat against my back, his mouth on the side of my neck. His hands come around my front and pop the button on my jeans and drag the zipper down, and his fingers slide inside and press against me through my underwear.
I groan and my forehead drops against the wall. He's barely touching me and my hips are already pushing back into him.
"You're soaked," he says against my ear, and his vibrates through my spine. It makes my body temperature rise to approximately the temperature of the sun.
"That's your fault" I say, pushing my ass back into his pelvis where his dick is rock hard.
"Good." His fingers push my underwear aside and when he makes contact with my clit my whole body jerks. He holds me steady with one arm across my stomach and works me with two fingers in circles that tighten with every pass.
"Kaz, God…"
"Tell me what you want."
"Don't stop." Every time he rubs over my swollen bud it makes me jolt.
He presses harder and speeds up and my knees buckle, but his arm is so strong holding me up. I haven't even taken my clothes off yet and he already has me ready to split open.
"Fuck, you're so fucking wet." His fingers slide lower and push inside me and the angle from behind is different—deeper, fuller, his palm grinding against my clit every time his hand moves.
"Right there," I breathe. "Right there, don't move, don't change anything."
He curls his fingers and strokes that spot inside me while he keeps his palm pressed tight against my clit and neck and shoulders start to tense. The orgasm builds from my center outward, rolling pressure that tightens and tightens until it snaps.
My walls clamp down around his fingers and my mouth opens on a moan pours out of me. I couldn't hold back if I tried. My legs shake and my hips buck against his hand and I feel my wetness flood his palm. Every tiny twitch and jolt makes me feel like I may collapse but he holds me through every wave, his arm locked around me. His mouth presses against my neck, murmuring filthy things until the last convulsion fades and I sag against the wall gasping.
Then he pulls his hand free and I hear him lick his fingers. The sound alone makes me clench again.
"Holy fuck," I groan, sucking in a deep breath to loosen some of the tension in my chest that lingers. I lean against the wall hard until Kazimir takes my hand.
He pulls me off the wall and we stumble down the hallway with our mouths colliding. His hands find the hem of my shirt and yank it up and I lift my arms so he can pull it over my head.It hits the floor somewhere behind us and his palms are on my bare stomach, sliding up my ribs, thumbs tracing the underside of my bra while he walks me toward the bedroom.
I reach for his belt and unbuckle it without looking, pulling the leather free and letting it drop. He groans into my mouth when my knuckles graze him through his jeans. I pop his button and he kicks out of them between steps, one leg then the other, and nearly trips over his own feet. I laugh against his lips and he bites my bottom lip in retaliation and the laugh turns into a moan.
My back hits the doorframe of the bedroom and he pins me there, one hand flat on the wall beside my head, the other unhooking my bra with a twist of his fingers. He peels the straps down my arms and tosses it and his mouth drops to my collarbone, my chest, the curve of my breast. His tongue drags across my nipple and my knees almost give out. It's so incredible.
Then I shove him backward and he lands on the edge of the bed, sitting up, his gray eyes nearly black in the dim light. His chest rises and falls fast and the tattoos move with every breath. He looks up at me standing over him in nothing but my underwear and his lips part but nothing comes out.
"Fuck, you're sexy," he growls as I step between his knees and run my hands down his chest, over the ink and scars, feeling the muscle jump under my palms. I drag my nails down his stomach and his abs contract as a sound rumbles up out of his throat.
I drop to my knees between his legs.
"Zora—"
"Shut up." He lifts his hips when I wrap my hand around his dick and take him into my mouth. He's salty and musky, and his handflies to the back of my head, fingers twisting into my hair. His hips push forward and I take him deeper, hollowing my cheeks, working the base with my fist in rhythm with my mouth.
