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“Oh, that’s so romantic,” Ezra squeaks in a high-pitched voice.
Zara places her hand in mine, looking confused but amused.
“Miri, do you have a closet that’s not full of skeletons and magic potions?”
“No guarantees about the skeletons.” Miri points to a door that blends into the dark woodwork of the game room. Looks like we’re not going far.
Zara follows without asking a question, waiting until we’re inside the small space. There’s enough light shining in before I close the door to see that it's empty in here except for a few ancient board games on the shelf. I couldn’t take a nap in here, but it’s big enough that I can stand without hitting my head on the shelf.
“Will you tell me what this is now? Are we supposed to do something?”
In the closed space, the scent of her quickly wraps around me, a tendril of spice and flowers that calls to me. I don’t think she even wears perfume, it’s just her natural scent. Zara takes a step closer, our bodies brushing against one another in the confines of the space. My hands move to her hips on autopilot, coming in contact with fuzzy fleece material.
We’re surrounded by darkness, and I don’t want to change that. “What are you wearing?”
Zara laughs, a low husky sound that melts over me like warm honey. I haven’t paid any attention to her clothes tonight. That’s how obsessed I am with her. Everything else fades into the background when she’s around. Her hands land on mine and then slide up to rest just above my elbows.
“Ruby called it a onesie. She told me I had to wear it, or I’d be kicked out of the party, but the others are wearing normal clothing.”
I chuckle, resting my hands just above her ass, and pull her in even closer. Her hands shift from my arms to my chest.
“Are you going to tell me what we’re doing in here? Do we just stand here for the next seven minutes?” I can't see Zara, but I hear the amusement in her voice.
“Well, the idea is that you have to spend seven minutes in a dark, closed space, and do anything you want during that time.”
“Anything?” Zara’s arms move up to my shoulders and her body shifts against mine as she raises up on her tiptoes.
“Absolutely anything you want.” I let my hands skate up her back and graze my thumbs over the sides of her breasts. Her breath hitches, and her chest brushes against mine. Her hands make their way up my neck, her fingers combing through the strands of my hair. Fuck, why does that feel so good?
She feels goddamn perfect in my arms. My hands are splayed across her back, and I tug her closer to me, closing up any remaining space. Zara's breaths are soft pants that I can feel against my chest, through the fabric of my shirt. I cup her cheek, leaving one hand pressed to her lower back, just above her ass. I can’t see her face, but I feel her trembling in my arms. Brushing my thumb over her bottom lip, I groan when her tongue darts out and licks. Pressing my finger in her mouth, I nearly fucking come when she sucks on it. I swear there’s an answering pulse in my dick.
With a rumble, I pull my thumb away, immediately replacing it with my mouth. She meets me with a need that rages as hot as my own. We kiss like it’s the only thing keeping us alive, as though her soft lips are the nectar of life and without them, I’ll crumble into dust.
Kissing Zara is like nothing I've ever experienced before. Every time is a divine experience, a moment when the world begins and ends with a touch of our lips, the sweet tangle of our tongues.
I want to kiss her for hours, but right now, it's not enough. We feast on each other, chests heaving for air, but neither of us wants to stop this connection. My hands wander over her body, caressing, grabbing, learning every inch I can reach and cursing her fucking pajamas.
I want to lift her up and fuck her against the door, like a mindless animal. Or to strip her naked and taste every inch of her skin.
Zara breaks away, breathless, her fingers digging into the back of my neck. “You said we only have seven minutes?”
“Less now.”
“What do you think you can do in five minutes?”
Damn, I wish I could see her face. “Is that a challenge to see how good I can make you feel? Because, challenge accepted.”
Zara huffs out a breathless laugh and nips at my jaw before kissing my neck. Fuck.
My hands move to the zipper of her absurd pajamas, baring her skin inch by inch. My knuckles graze against the skin of her chest, the side of her breast, and down to her trembling stomach, until I reach the end.
"This fucking thing." I curse as I drop to my knees, my fingers trailing over the soft skin of Zara’s waist before sliding up to palm her breasts.
“No bra?” I murmur more to myself than as a question for her.
“I hate those torture devices. There's not really a need anyway.”
I can feel Zara shrug as my hands cup the small mounds of her breasts.
