I’m in my room with a book I have read the same page of four times when the knock comes. Two quiet raps. The kind that are giving me the option to pretend I’m asleep.
I’m not asleep. I haven’t slept properly since Lena left.
“Come in,” I say.
He opens the door. Stands in the frame. Dark shirt, sleeves pushed to the forearm, no jacket. He looks like a man who has also been awake longer than is reasonable. He looks at me across the room. I look back at him.
A week’s worth of things sit between us in this room.
“You should leave,” I tell him.
He doesn’t move.
Rain lashes against the tall window behind me, a constant low roar that fills the silence. Zane remains in the doorway, one shoulder leaning against the frame, his eyes steady on mine. The sleeves of his shirt are pushed up to his elbows, exposing the corded muscle of his forearms. At forty-four, he carries his strength without effort, broad through the chest and shoulders, the kind of solid build that comes from years of discipline.
He doesn’t speak at first. He just watches me.
I sit up on the edge of the bed, heart hammering against my ribs. My palms feel damp. Every inch of my skin feels too tight, too aware of him standing there, of the ten days of careful distance that have finally worn down to nothing.
“You should leave,” I say again, softer this time.
Zane exhales through his nose. “If I leave now, you’ll spend the rest of the night pretending you didn’t want this.” His voice is low, rough around the edges. “We both know better.”
I hate that he’s right. I hate the way my body has already begun to ache for him.
I stand up slowly. My legs feel unsteady on the thick carpet as I cross the room toward him. The moment I’m close enough, his hand lifts and slides into my hair at the nape of my neck. His grip is firm, possessive. He pulls me in and kisses me like he has been waiting for permission, which he no longer wants to ask for.
The kiss is not gentle. His mouth claims mine, hot and demanding, tongue sliding deep as he tastes me. I kiss him back just as hard, pouring every bit of frustration and exhaustion intoit. My hands fist in the front of his shirt, pulling him closer even as my mind screams that this is a terrible idea.
He breaks the kiss only to trail his mouth down the side of my throat. His teeth graze my skin, then bite down just hard enough to make me gasp.
One of his large hands grips my waist, fingers digging in as he walks me backward until my shoulders hit the cool wall beside the window. The contrast of cold glass against my back and the heat of his body pressing into me sends a sharp shiver through my limbs.
Zane’s thigh pushes between my legs, solid muscle pressing right against my center. I rock against it before I can stop myself, the friction pulling a low sound from my throat.
His hand moves down, yanking the hem of my thin shirt upward. I lift my arms without thinking. He strips it off in one impatient motion and tosses it aside.
His palm immediately covers my breast, heavy and warm. He squeezes, thumb dragging slowly over my nipple until it tightens into a hard peak. When he pinches it between his fingers, a bolt of sharp pleasure shoots straight down between my legs. I feel myself growing wetter, slick, and aching.
He lowers his head and takes my nipple into his mouth, sucking hard while his tongue flicks against the sensitive tip. My back arches off the wall. One of my hands slides into his hair, gripping tight as heat floods through my body.
His free hand slips down my stomach and under the waistband of my sleep shorts. He doesn’t tease. He slides two thick fingers through my folds, spreading the wetness he finds there, and pushes inside me in one smooth stroke.
The stretch is sudden and perfect. I moan, loud and broken, my head falling back against the glass. He curls his fingers, stroking that sensitive spot deep inside while the heel of his palm grinds against my clit with every movement. My thighs tremble around his hand.
I can hear how wet I am with every thrust of his fingers, the obscene sound mixing with the rain.
Zane lifts his head from my breast, lips brushing my ear. “That’s it,” he murmurs, voice dark. “Let me feel how much you need this.”
I hate how easily he pulls reactions from my body. I hate how good his hands feel, how precisely he seems to know exactly where to touch me. My hips roll against his fingers, chasing the pleasure even as my mind fights it. He adds a third finger, stretching me wider, fucking me deeper with steady, confident strokes while his mouth returns to my neck, sucking a mark into the skin just below my jaw.
My breathing comes faster, ragged. Sweat is already beginning to bead along my spine. Every thrust of his fingers sends sparks racing through my body. My legs feel weak, barely holding me up against the wall as he works me closer and closer to the edge with nothing but his hand.
Zane pulls his fingers out suddenly, leaving me empty and throbbing. Before I can protest, he hooks both hands under my ass and lifts me like I weigh nothing. My legs wrap around his waist instinctively as he carries me the few steps to the bed and drops me onto the mattress. He follows immediately, covering me with his much larger body, the weight of him pressing me down into the sheets.
His mouth finds mine again, deep and hungry, while his hands shove my shorts and underwear down my legs in one rough pull. I kick them off the rest of the way.
When he settles between my thighs, the hard length of him presses against me through his pants, thick and insistent. I roll my hips up, grinding against him, desperate for more.
