That bright, dangerous pressure is gathering under my skin, dragging every nerve toward the edge.
I know he feels it. My body tells him before I can—my thighs tense, my breath breaks, and my fingers grip his hair hard enough that he groans.
“Zane,” I gasp. “I’m going to come.”
He doesn’t slow. His mouth seals over my clit, sucking with just enough pressure to make my vision scatter. His fingers pump into me, curling in the perfect rhythm.
I come with his mouth on me.
My whole body locks and then it shatters. Pleasure tears through me in bright, brutal pulses, ripping a cry from my throat as my hips buck into his mouth. My fingers clench in his hair so hard I know it would hurt. My thighs shake around his head. Mypussy pulses around his fingers while he keeps licking, sucking, and dragging it out until the orgasm becomes too much and still not enough.
“Zane,” I sob, broken and breathless.
He slows, then eases me down with the gentle presses of his mouth, little kisses against the most sensitive parts of me until I am shaking so hard I can barely breathe.
When he finally lifts his head, his mouth is wet with me. His eyes are wild. His expression is proud as fuck.
He’s so fucking beautiful it hurts.
He crawls up my body, slow enough for me to feel every inch of him. His mouth finds mine and I taste myself on him. The kiss is filthy and deep, his tongue sliding against mine. I moan into it, even though I should hate how much I like it.
He pulls back and looks at my face, his eyes moving slowly over every part of it, and then they stop. Right there, above my brow.
The scar.
He lifts his hand. His fingers brush over the scar, so gently it barely registers as touch. I close my eyes and just feel him and the unbearable tenderness of being seen in the places you have learnt to hide.
He leans forward, pressing his lips to it.
That’s what breaks me.
His mouth on that ugly mark above my brow, because he has never once looked at that scar and seen anything wrong. He looks at it and sees me. He always has.
My throat tightens around something I cannot name. “Please fuck me, Zane.”
“Say that again,” he says, his voice rough.
I lift my chin, even though my body still trembles from his mouth. “You heard me.”
He pulls back.
I push myself up on my elbows as he climbs off the bed and stands beside it.
I watch his fingers work the button loose on his jeans, then the zipper. His eyes stay on mine as he shoves the denim down his hips.
He is beautiful. Not pretty. Not polished. Nothing soft and easy. But beautiful in the way a storm is beautiful. Dangerous. Built from force. Marked by every place life tried to break him and failed to finish the job.
His jeans hit the floor. His cock is hard, thick, jutting out from his body with a kind of brutal honesty that makes my mouth go dry. He wraps one hand around himself, eyes still locked on me as he gives himself a stroke.
His mouth tilts. “You’re staring, Sky?”
I drag my gaze back to his face.
“What? Are you standing there waiting for applause?”
The smirk turns lethal. “Depends. Are you offering it?”
He steps closer, one knee pressing into the mattress.
