“Not yet,” he says, with a grin.
I stand in the middle of the kitchen in my bra and underwear as his eyes move over every inch of me again. Slower this time as if he is making sure he hasn’t missed anything.
“Turn around,” he says.
“What?”
“Turn around, Sky.”
I hold his gaze for a second before obeying.
His hands find my shoulders and he moves my hair roughly to one side. His fingers trail down the back of my neck before he unclasps my bra and strips it off me. As it drops to the floor, his mouth finds the back of my neck, teeth grazing. I feel his chest against my back, hard and warm, and his cock pressed against me through his jeans.
His hands come around and grab my breasts. His thumbs drag over my nipples, rolling them until they are tight and aching.
“You feel what you do to me,” he says against my neck, pushing his cock against me so there is no mistaking it.
The sound I make is immediate and undignified, and I don’t even try to swallow it.
“There it is,” he says, satisfied as if he owns every sound that comes out of my mouth. “Good girl.”
His hands slide down my stomach and into the waistband of my underwear, fingers sliding slowly through my pussy, exploring how wet I am. He makes a low sound against the back of my neck like what he finds there pleases him enormously. He does it again, slower, parting me, his fingers slick with it, beforehe finally drags my underwear down, unhurried, crouching behind me to take them off my ankles.
When he stands he pushes me forward over the counter, and then his hands slide to my inner thighs. He nudges my legs apart, positioning me exactly where he wants me.
I hear his belt, his zip, and then feel his cock nudging against me, lining up. He slides in slowly, stretching me open, and the sensation of it makes my mouth drop open. My fingers scramble for the edge of the counter. He groans, the sound dragged out of him as if he can’t help it. He stills with himself buried all the way inside me and I feel so unbearably full that I cannot breathe.
“Fuck,” he grits out against the back of my neck. Like even he wasn’t prepared for it.
Zane pulls back and slides in again, deeper this time, and my whole body rolls forward with it. The sound I make is shameless and I don’t care even a little. I push back against him, wanting more of it, wanting all of it, and he gives it to me, as if he wants me to experience every single stroke.
“Good girl,” he breathes. “Take it.”
He doesn’t give me a moment to adjust.
His hands grip my hips hard and he sets a deep, unrelenting rhythm—each stroke filling me completely. The sound of it in the quiet kitchen is obscene and I can’t do anything but take it. Take him.
“Hands on the counter,” he says when I try to reach back for him. “Don’t move them.”
I put them back and keep them there.
His hand comes around to the front and his fingers find my clit.
I cry out, my head dropping forward and he doesn’t slow down, just keeps working me from both angles like he knows exactly what he is doing, which he does.
“Please,” I hear myself say.
“Please, what?”
“Harder.”
He makes a low sound against the back of my neck and gives me what I asked for. The counter digs into my stomach and I push back to meet him because I cannot help it.
“Greedy girl,” he says, low and rough, his voice carrying a satisfaction that makes it worse. “Take it then.”
His fingers don’t let up on my clit as his cock drives into me and I cannot decide which one to focus on so I stop trying and just let both of it wash over me at once.
I am gripping the counter and just taking it.
