by Tara Wyatt
He circled his arms around her waist, and suddenly she was in his lap, straddling him.
“No sex,” she whispered, her breath whooshing out of her in a hard exhale when he sucked the skin right under her ear. His hands caressed up and down her back, and she closed her eyes.
“We’re not having sex. We’re making out.” He kissed her neck, and she rolled her hips against him, unable to help herself. His cock was spectacularly hard and thick, even through his jeans.
God, it felt right. Real and hot and so, so right. She’d been drawn to him from the second she’d laid eyes on him, as though her body and heart had known something her brain hadn’t wanted to acknowledge: that maybe, just maybe, he was meant for her.
He brought his mouth to hers and kissed her, slowly and deeply, as their hips moved together. His tongue stroked into her mouth, matching the rhythm of his hips, and she kissed him back, the slide of his tongue against hers sending hot shivers through her. She wove her hands through his soft, thick hair, and he groaned quietly against her mouth and then broke the kiss, his chest rising against hers.
“You see what you do to me? God, Alexa,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, his cock pressed against her thigh. A surge of power charged through her, unlike anything she’d ever felt before, and she wanted to chase it, needing more. Tentatively, she rocked against him and was rewarded with a husky groan. “I should go,” he said in a tortured whisper, just before he crushed his mouth to hers in a searing kiss, his lips hot and urgent against hers.
“I know.” Her mouth moved against his as she slipped her hands under his T-shirt, tracing her fingertips over the ridges of his abs.
He pulled back slightly, his eyes dark and hooded. “Sean’s home. We might get caught.”
“We might,” she agreed. His cock twitched against her, and she let out a soft sigh.
He kissed her, slow and teasing, cupping her ass and rocking her against him again, the ridge of his cock sliding against her, and even through her yoga pants and panties, she felt that slide like an electric shock.
“We should probably stop,” she said, her voice a little shaky.
“Do you want me to stop?” he asked, his brown eyes holding hers. The air between them thickened, pulsing with tension, and she slowly shook her head.
“Ah shit,” he ground out before kissing her again, a little harder, a little rougher than before, and she realized just how much he’d been holding back. He kissed her until she couldn’t breathe, until she couldn’t think, until she couldn’t feel anything but him. Kissed her and kissed her and kissed her. Never in her life had she been so thoroughly kissed.
“But no sex,” she managed to gasp out several minutes later.
“We’re not having sex. We’re making out.” His voice was husky, and, with one arm wrapped around her waist, he caressed her breast, his knuckles brushing over her nipple through the cotton of her shirt. She arched into his touch, moaning softly, raw need spreading through her like a fire. He kissed her again, his tongue sliding against hers, sending heat spiraling through her and feeding the growing throb between her legs.
She felt as though she were about to burst into flames, everything in her body heavy and hot and aching for something more. It was intense and not anything she was used to. This gnawing hunger, the sensation of climbing toward something was almost too much to bear. And all they were doing was kissing and touching, fully clothed.
With a ragged breath, he broke the kiss. “Take your shirt off. I want to see you.” He rolled her nipple through her shirt, and she jerked, hot pleasure arrowing through her body and feeding the pulsing ache between her legs.
“But no sex,” she said, leaning back slightly and reaching for the hem of her T-shirt.
His jaw clenched. “Take your shirt off.”
She did, pulling it off over her head and letting it fall to the floor beside the bed. As his eyes devoured her, he raised his hands and traced the curves of her breasts, studying them as though he’d never seen a naked woman before.
“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper, his hands still moving so, so gently over her bare breasts. When he looked at her like that, with reverence and awe and lust, she felt beautiful in a way she never had before, especially with a man. It was a golden truth, and warmth radiated through her chest, a happiness almost too big to hold.
She cupped his face and kissed him softly. “You make me feel beautiful.”
“God, Alexa. My God.” He buried his face in her neck, still caressing her breasts. His thumbs traced over her nipples, and her breath came in sharp gasps. He caught her earlobe between his teeth and tugged gently, sending tingles of pleasure racing down her spine. She pulled impatiently at his shirt, and he leaned forward so he could pull it off and toss it to the side. She fell against him, her breasts pressed into his bare chest, and the sensation of being skin to skin with him almost overwhelmed her. The warm slide of his bare skin against hers felt like joy, felt like desire, felt like home. Something inside her was unraveling and tightening at the same time, and she needed more. Needed Zack.
They weren’t alone in the house, and they weren’t supposed to have sex, but she couldn’t bring herself to stop kissing him, stop touching him. She’d wanted this—exactly this—for too long. She didn’t care about anything but Zack and how good he felt. How good he was making her feel. And God, it felt good not to care about anything except feeling good.
His mouth trailed lower, and he kissed a path across one breast and then the other. He pulled her nipple into his mouth, sucking and licking and biting, holding her in place with an arm around her waist, his hand caressing her other breast as she writhed against him. Pleasure speared through her, and she clenched her thighs, feeling achy and empty.
“Oh God, that feels good,” she said, and he responded with a low, growling moan, moving his mouth to her other breast.
“So damn beautiful,” he said, his mouth moving against her.
Another surge of power zapped through her, and she slid her hand lower, over his gorgeously muscled chest, his firm, taut stomach, and down to his cock, hard and straining fiercely against his zipper. She ran the tips of her fingers over him, smiling when she felt his cock twitch as though jumping toward her touch.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, and brought his mouth back to hers again. “We should stop,” he murmured against her mouth, his thumb playing over her nipple as she stroked him, his other hand cupping the back of her head. He pulled back, and she wanted to beg him not to stop. It was a greedy, selfish thing to ask, and she should feel guilty, but she didn’t. She was so wound up with wanting that she didn’t have room for anything else.
But then his eyes, hot and dark, met hers. It was as though someone had lit a fuse, igniting the air between them, and she knew they weren’t going to stop. Knew it and could’ve cried, she was so relieved.
For the first time in her life, she understood why everyone was so obsessed with sex.
He pinched her nipple, drawing a moan from her, and she brought her trembling fingers to his belt buckle, the hot, aching throb deep inside her growing more and more intense with each touch, every kiss. One hand still on her breast, he hooked a thumb into the waistband of her yoga pants, toying with them, teasing her as he slid his thumb against the fabric.
“Yes,” she moaned, and he started to slide them down, easing them over her hips. She stood and kicked free of them, but then stilled, the tiniest twinge of guilt working its way through the haze of lust clouding her senses. “What about no sex before a fight? The routine? The tradition?”
Zack swung his legs over the edge of the bed, facing her, and he gently gripped her hips and pulled her into the cradle of his parted legs. He kissed and nipped at her stomach, and she shook a little. Shook with wanting and needing and feeling and falling.
His hands still on her hips, he looked up at her. Holding her gaze, he hooked his thumbs into her panti
es and started working them down. “Fuck tradition. I need to be inside you.”
This wasn’t a fantasy. This was real. Zack was actually saying these words to her, and she could tell from the intensity shining in his eyes that he meant them. Her heart burst open, its insides spilling everywhere like something hot and melty.
She whimpered, almost overwhelmed with the intensity of the moment. Of what they were about to do, and what it meant to her.
“Fuck, princess. Look at you,” he murmured as her panties landed around her ankles. She blushed under the hunger of his gaze, heat crawling across her chest. He smiled and, as he kissed her hip, slid one finger between her lips, stroking lightly over her clit. “God, you’re so wet.”
“From making out,” she managed to say, although the last word barely came out because he’d circled his thumb over her clit. She felt him smile against her hip, and then he eased two fingers into her. She clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle the loud moan that tried to escape.
“I want to go slow and taste every single inch of you,” he said, looking up at her as he fucked her slowly with his fingers. “I want to spend hours finding all the different ways you like to be touched and kissed. Finding out what turns you on. What makes you come.” He curled his fingers inside her, and her hips jumped toward him as pleasure shot through her body. He feathered his thumb over her clit, and she let out a tiny, gasping moan, trying desperately to be quiet. “But I can’t. I can’t wait. I’m about to lose my mind.” His free hand palmed the flesh of her ass, and she felt his hand tremble slightly.
The idea that he was just as gone as she was sent lust swirling through her, and she clenched around his fingers. “I don’t want to wait. I just want you.”
He pulled his fingers free, and he stood. He was so tall, so broad up close like this, and she traced the contours of his chest, her pulse pounding in her ears, in the tips of her fingers, between her legs. The soft clink of metal drew her attention downward, and she watched his big hands as he undid his belt and opened his jeans. Watched as he pushed first his jeans and then his boxer briefs down. Watched as his thick, hard cock snapped free of his clothing.
She bit her lip, worry flickering through her. “Um…whoa.” Tentatively, she reached for him and stroked him, his cock heavy and hot in her hand. She couldn’t fit her grip all the way around him, and she swallowed, nervous anticipation fluttering low in her stomach. He was big. Really big. Gorgeously big. Thick and long and…big.
He flexed his hips, pushing into her grip. God, she loved how he felt in her hand, velvety soft skin covering his impossibly hard cock. When he slid his arms around her waist and kissed her, it was soft and sweet, and she knew he was trying to reassure her. “I’ll go slow.” He kissed her again and then kissed a path from her mouth to her ear, teasing her earlobe with his tongue. “But you’re so goddamn wet that I don’t think we’ll have a problem.”
Even though she could see the pile of their discarded clothes, could feel the air against her bare skin, could feel Zack’s hands stroking up her back, his mouth on her neck—hell, his hard, naked cock was in her hand and she was stroking him—it still felt surreal. She was about to have sex with Zack De Luca.
Doubt seized her, and she bit her lip. Did he like how she was touching him? Did he like how her body looked? Felt? What if she disappointed him in some way? What if he found her lacking? What if he regretted breaking his “no sex before a fight” rule for her?
What if what if what if. The two syllables thrummed through her.
“Hey,” Zack said softly, tipping her face up to his, “you’re shaking.”
“I’m nervous.” It was a half truth, but all she could give, because, despite her doubts, she still wanted him. Wanted to be with him.
He cradled her face with one hand. “Don’t be. Nothing to be nervous about.” He ran a hand through her hair and stroked the other down her back, caressing her ass. “We’ve both wanted this.” He kissed her, so slowly, so sweetly, that it was like honey flowing over her. “We both know this is right.”
His words settled over her, and she stepped away from him, pulling him toward the bed. He smiled, that crooked smile that lit up his whole face. “Hang on.” He bent and pulled his wallet from the pocket of his jeans to retrieve a condom. She sank down onto the bed as she watched, riveted, transfixed, unable to take her eyes away from him, completely fascinated by his body, by the way it looked and moved and smelled. He tore open the wrapper and rolled the condom on, and as he moved toward her, she scooted back on the bed, her heart fluttering in her chest.
He eased his weight down on top of her, and she wrapped her arms around him, never wanting to forget this moment. The brush of his skin against hers sent ripples of need coursing through her, and she arched up into him, wanting more. Wanting everything.
Supporting his weight on one arm, he reached between them and pushed slowly into her, only an inch, maybe less. Enough that she could feel him. Enough that she wanted more.
“God, Zack. Yes. I want you inside me,” she whispered. He held her gaze as he slowly worked his cock into her, his eyes soft and full of emotion. Inch by inch, he stretched and filled her, and she felt like a spring, not coiled tight, but being stretched in opposite directions, everything inside her pulling and tightening. Pressure and warmth and throbbing that all felt so damn good she didn’t have words for it.
He pulled all the way out and then slid back into her, burying himself to the hilt this time. She bit her lip to stop herself from crying out and wrapped her legs around his hips. He held completely still, and she traced her hands down his back, marveling at all the hard, rippling muscle beneath warm skin. He flexed his hips, somehow pushing in deeper, and she arched up into him, pleasure flaring through her.
Supporting his weight on his arms, he gazed down at her, his eyes so, so bright. “Alexa,” he said, her name a hoarse whisper.
“I know.” He stroked in and out of her once, and she held her breath, trying to be quiet. “I know.”
She was in love with Zack De Luca. With his body inside hers, she couldn’t deny it—didn’t want to deny it—any longer. He pressed his forehead against hers and pumped his hips, establishing a slow, steady rhythm, and something deep inside her started to build, hot, twisting pressure.
“You feel incredible,” he said, gazing down at her with those smoldering brown eyes as he fucked her slowly, sweetly. “I’ve never…” He kissed her, and she kissed him back with everything she had, because she’d never either. Never and probably wouldn’t for the rest of her life.
He rolled his hips as he slowly pulled out, and she gasped, pleasure slicing through her. “Do that again,” she begged, whimpering when he complied. He kissed her again, and she shuddered, the drag of his cock inside her exquisite, igniting all her dormant nerve endings. His breath came harder as he set a new, faster rhythm, rolling his hips and stroking deep, urgent passion spreading between them and pulling them down like an undertow.
“Yes, Zack,” she panted, over and over again, losing herself in the intense, glorious fullness of his cock inside her. He thrust into her harder, and she couldn’t stop the surprised, gasping moan from escaping her mouth as an orgasm crested over her. Her body started to shake, and she clenched around him, her orgasm bursting through her in heavy throbs.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he ground out, still pumping in and out of her as she pulsed around him. “Come.”
She twisted her head and pressed her face into the mattress as he took her higher and higher with each stroke in and out of her drenched, throbbing pussy. Higher until she didn’t know what she wanted or needed. Until she couldn’t talk or think or breathe. She could only come, wave after wave of hot pleasure slamming into her.
His face pressed into her neck, he slipped a hand between their bodies and found her clit. One slide of his fingers over her wet, swollen flesh, and she clenched again, coming harder. She felt as though she’d burst open, and he thrust into her hard and deep several mo
re times before every muscle in his body went rigid, and she felt the pulse of his cock inside her as he came.
A silence fell over the room, and for several seconds neither of them moved. Then, without a word, he pulled out of her and disappeared into her bathroom. When he returned he settled against the pillows and pulled her into his arms. She laid her head on his chest, trying to breathe against the turmoil of emotions surging through her.
He trailed his fingers across her back and kissed the top of her head. “Goddamn, princess,” he said, his voice a little rusty sounding.
She smiled against his chest, her limbs boneless. “Goddamn yourself.”
He tipped her face up to his and kissed her, lingering and tender. “Thank you. That was…” His eyes were once again soft with emotion. “God, that was fucking beautiful.”
Her eyes stung, and she pressed them shut. She took a deep breath and then another, her chest squeezing as her throat thickened.
She felt good. Too good, and everything burned. Her mind spun clumsily, and her body hummed with the afterglow of what they’d just done. What she’d just done. She blinked and swallowed, holding everything back, but it was no use. He’d cracked the dam, and she wasn’t sure she could contain it, what felt like magnitudes. Her shoulders trembled slightly, and Zack’s arms tightened around her.
“Hey, you okay?” he asked, stroking a hand up and down her back.
“No. Yes. I don’t know.” She sighed and squeezed her eyes shut as she tried to find the words to say everything she wanted to say. A tear slipped free and rolled down over her cheek, landing on Zack’s chest.
“Shit, Alexa, did I hurt you?” With an impossibly gentle touch, he nudged her face up, forcing her to meet his gaze. His eyes were dark, intense, and full of worry.
