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To feel.
I can’t force her to leave, but Colt’s words have muddled everything. I don’t want to give her a reason to stay, but selfishly, I can’t retreat.
“So you’re staying,” I breathe out.
Her lips twitch into another smile. “I’m glad you’ve caught on.”
I tighten my grip on her neck and a soundless moan parts her lips. Her hands fly to the back of my head.
“Don’t touch me,” I command.
Her fingers thread in my hair defiantly, clutching tighter. Her eyes light up in rebellion that sends warmth to my heat.
“If you’re going to be in Mistpoint Harbor and you continue to put your fragile life in danger, then I’m not leaving your side,” I tell her sharply as I quickly unbutton her jeans with my free hand. “Someone has to protect you. Which means I’m rejecting your proposition of ‘freeing’ me from that responsibility.”
She curses through a moan. Her soft palms track lovingly down my face, along the nape of my neck—shoving aside my puffer jacket—I shiver as she descends the slope of my shoulder and tries to near my breasts. I catch her hands into mine, my heart racing, and I whisper against her ear, “Listen to me, sweets.”
“October,” Zoey rasps, wanting me.
I want you but I can’t. “Don’t touch.” I kiss her cheek.
She listens this time.
Our lips ghosting, our eyes melting in heady contact, I draw her zipper down and slip my hand into the front of her jeans. Pressing my fingers between her legs. Feeling the wetness of her panties, I cross the “no going back” territory.
“You’re soaked.” My heartbeat thrums between my legs.
“Because of you,” Zoey mutters, biting her lip. “Thank you very much.”
“You can thank me after,” I refute and slip my finger past the fabric of her panties and into her warmth. She lets out a shuddered gasp before sinking in me, and I bear more of my body against her, my knee bent between her legs. My movements are slow, languid strokes, running gently over her clit—how I like to be touched. How I’m certain she likes to be touched, too. What I know feels earth-shatteringly, legs-quakingly good.
Slow and sensual.
Suffering underneath the painstaking, drawn out desire.
Zoey grips my puffer jacket that half hangs off me. Her lips brush against my ear and the corner of my mouth.
Oh my God.
I ache for more, but another side of me says, no. I twitch away and slide another finger inside of her.
Her breath hitches.
I inhale, heat boiling. Eyes unblinking as though if I do blink, I’ll miss a moment I can’t recapture, a feeling I need to consume.
Her.
Zoey.
She tries to kiss me, but I back her head up against the wall. Chin raised, she stares at me in complete defiance while I pump my fingers inside of her.
“Kiss me,” she begs.
“No.”
A growl rumbles through her throat, and her clutch returns to my hair. I don’t protest, not even as her grip tightens. She pulls back the strands, my scalp searing. It feels glorious—this tug-of-war with Zoey.
My eyes burn.
Hers sear deeper into me like she’s trying to brand my soul. I don’t scare Zoey. I’ve never scared her the way I can easily scare others.
I circle her swollen clit, and she squirms against me. Breathing shallow. I still know how to make you feel good, Zoey. She still knows how to obliterate me. Our foreheads nearly meet, but I resist the urge to kiss her.
“Come for me,” I demand, back inside her once more.
“No,” she says in a mocking tone.
My lips fight off a smile, and I slide my fingers out again to tease her bundle of nerves. Immediately, she bucks up against me, writhes.
“Nonono,” she says, more desperate and wanton than before. Her lips part and can’t close.
“Do you really mean that?” I ask. Her no’s have always meant yes when we fooled around, but it’s been a while, and I need to make sure it’s the same.
“No, I don’t. No. Keep going, please.” Her eyes cinch closed, body shuddering.
My own need crawls under my skin. A high-pitched sound catches in my throat, an aching moan that snaps Zoey’s eyes open. She cries against me, “October—”
“Shh,” I breathe.
Zoey.
Zoey.
Her eyes close again in pleasure as I rub her in a slow, pressured rhythm. She quakes into another aroused cry, originating from the back of her throat and leaving her lips in an uncontrolled wave. She hangs onto me.
I want to hang onto her for as long as I can.
She shudders.
My body tightens and pulsates. I can feel the wetness between my legs.
“October,” she moans against her orgasm, and I loosen my grip around her throat.
Slowly, she opens her eyes like waking up from a dream. Her hands fall from my head, untangling from my long brown hair. I pull my hand out of her jeans and politely zip them back up and button her together.
