“You never told me.” My thumb grazes his jaw.
“Don’t do that.”
I tilt my head. “Why not?”
He shudders. “If you do, I won’t be able to stop.”
My throat goes tight. The candle flickers between us, as if being nearly blown out by the storm outside. I close the last inch of space. “Then don’t stop.”
For a long, fragile moment, Zane just looks at me. Then he leans in and kisses me so softly, it almost doesn’t register. His lips taste like a promise broken and re-forged. The second kiss is firmer, and then there’s no more space between us. The blanket falls to the floor.
He pulls me into his lap, careful but desperate. It’s like if he’d been waiting for years to do exactly this. My hands find their way under his hoodie, over his ribs, and across the hot skin of his back. I want to memorize every inch of him. His tongue is patient, coaxing, our kiss a slow burn. I nip his lower lip and he groans. The sound goes straight to my knees.
Outside, the storm tears at the windows. I can barely hear it over the pounding in my chest. The resignation of all restraint Zane and I have exhibited since the very day we learned we were scent-matches.
So many years of holding back.
Of fighting against biology and tradition.
He moves his hands up my shirt, pausing just below my bra. Is he asking for permission? I nod. His hands are big and rough, and the way he cups my breasts makes me dizzy. I moan—unashamed and hungry, completely lost in the moment. His mouth trails from my lips to my neck, nipping at the place where my scent is strongest.
He breaks away only long enough to breathe. “Tell me to stop if you want me to.”
“Don’t you dare,” I whisper.
He grins dangerously and yanks my shirt over my head. I try to do the same to him, but he gently pins my wrists and kisses the hollow of my throat. The scrape of his teeth makes me arch into him.
“God, Helena,” he says, voice hoarse, “you have no idea.”
I want to say, “I do,” but all that comes out is a gasp as he licks a slow, hot path from one nipple to the other. It’s almost clinical at first. He’s clearly determined to make me lose my mind with patience. But the longer he tastes me, the rougher his motions get. I’m shaking by the time he settles me onto the sofa and kneels between my legs, pushing my shorts down with a care that borders on reverent.
The candle’s flame throws gold and shadow across the room. He looks up, waiting for a sign that this is too much. But I am so far past that point that I barely remember my own name.
He kisses the inside of my thigh, then higher. His teasing seems to last forever until his mouth isfinallyon me. Stars bloom behind my eyes. His tongue is slow, methodical, as if he were trying to unravel all the knots in my body with just his mouth. Except there’s one knot I do want in my body.
I bury my hands in his hair and pull him closer, not wanting him to ever stop.
A sob rips through me as I cum, so loud, I’m sure the neighbors will call the police. I hear him laugh, low and pleased, and then he’s crawling up my body, kissing every inch of me on the way.
I’m still trembling from the aftershocks, but my hands work with the precision of a thief’s as I tug at Zane’s sweats, dragging the waistband down his hips. The soft cotton peels away and, for the first time, I see exactly what I’ve been fantasizing about for years. He’s huge—fitting, really, considering the rest of him—and already so hard, it bobs upward as soon as I free it.
Good lord.
My breath stutters, a laugh blooming out of pure disbelief. Zane huffs and reaches to cover himself, but I catch his wrist and pin it to the sofa.
“Let me.” I’m surprised by the greed in my own voice.
His chest heaves and the air between us is as charged as lightning. The power’s still out, leaving only the candle’s golden light to break the darkness.
I kneel between his knees as the last of the storm’s thunder rolls through the eaves. Zane shivers, not from cold, but from something more urgent and raw, a tension as old as time.
I want to see him come undone.
I let my hands trace his hips, gentle, reverent, drawing out the anticipation as I slide his sweatpants down further, baring him completely. He’s beautiful. I want to remember every detail: the way his breath hitches as I wrap my fingers around him, the tremor in his thigh muscles as he tries to will himself steady.
I stroke him slowly with both hands. An unguarded, primal sound coils from his lips with the motion. My body flushes with heat in response. I savor the moment, the power and the trust. The way he gives himself over to me with no expectation, just a hunger that’s both familiar and shocking in its intensity. With every movement, his restraint threatens to snap, but Zane is Zane; even stripped of every defense, he wants to do the honorable thing.
I tease him, barely brushing my lips to the tip, tracing the length of him with just the wet edge of my tongue. He grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut, refusing to look down at me. Maybe because if he saw me like this, kneeling for him, he’d lose it completely. It’s a tantalizing thought.
