“No.” His laugh was strained. “You’re going to make me come.”
“That was the general direction I was exploring.”
His eyes darkened. “Not yet.”
My pussy clenched around nothing.
He stepped closer, kicked off his boots with more force than coordination, and shoved his wet jeans lower before climbing onto the dock with me. Then Zane was over me, big and bare and breathing hard, his skin hot against mine.
He kissed me.
I tasted him on my tongue. He tasted me too, and something about that made both of us rougher. His hand slid between my thighs again, and I was already so sensitive that one stroke over my clit made me cry out.
“Again,” he said.
I shook my head, laughing and gasping at the same time. “I can’t.”
“You can.”
“Zane.”
“You said you wanted my hands.” His fingers circled slowly. “You’ve got them.”
My back arched.
He kissed my throat, my chest, the curve under my breast. His fingers slid into me again, and the stretch of them after his mouth, after my orgasm, after the sight of his cock in my hand, was too much and not enough.
“I want you inside me,” I said.
He went still over me.
The lake moved under the dock with soft, hollow sounds.
Zane lifted his head. “Say that again.”
“I want you inside me.” I wrapped my legs around his hips. “Please.”
His control broke in his eyes first.
He shoved his jeans down farther, kicked them off with his briefs, and came back over me naked. The sight of him like that, all muscle and ink and hunger, stole the breath from my lungs.
He lined himself up and held there. The head of his cock pressed against my pussy, blunt and huge.
“Look at me,” he said.
I did.
“If anything hurts wrong, you tell me. If you want me to stop, I stop.”
“I know.”
His hand cupped my face. “I need you to know.”
“I do.” I turned my mouth into his palm. “I trust you.”
Something moved through his expression, fast and fierce.
Then he pushed inside.
