ZOE

We barely make it through his front door before Andre is on me.

His kiss tastes like heaven when he flicks his tongue against my upper lip.

His kiss tastes like hell when he explores my mouth, driving me to insanity, making me beg.

He’s paying me back for my climax in the car.

Little does he know that there aren’t any complaints coming from me.

I shouldn’t want Andre. It goes against everything I believe in—he abandoned me when I needed him most. He told me that we wouldn’t have sex, and yet here we are.

But I do want him. Because on the other half of that coin is the Andre I know exists under the hardness. The Andre who pulls out chairs for me, that puts my safety above everyone else’s. The Andre who cares about my stupid sprained ankle, and stands up for me when I need him.

The man is as complicated as a jigsaw puzzle, and I so hope to be the one to solve him.

No, no there is no solving.

That sort of thinking landed me in this mess.

I just need to enjoy the moment. Enjoy sex with Andre Beaumont for what it is. Uncomplicated, feel-good pleasure.

Needing to feel him, I urge his T-shirt up and over his head. Visually, I eat him up. Tangibly, my palms trace the hard lines of his chest. I pause over his flat nipples. “The piercings would have looked good on you.”

His laughter reverberates through his body. “Yeah, maybe. Except that my nipples turned green for days, and I swear to God I thought I was becoming the Joker.”

I giggle. “Sexy.”

“Yeah, I thought so.”

And then we’re right back at it again. His arm hooks around my waist, drawing me up against him, so that my feet dangle off the floor.

“Where are you taking me?”

“My evil lair.”

“The sin bin?” I quip in reply. “I don’t deserve a stint in the penalty box.”

“Zo,” Andre says with a shake of his head, his fingers digging into my backside, “for that stunt you pulled in the car, you deserve to sit out the entire game.” He kicks open a door with his foot, and my eyes adjust to the dim bedroom. He drops me on the bed, and I bounce with a laugh. “Luckily for you, however, I’m not interested in doing this next bit alone.”

Large hands go to my jeans, stripping them off and throwing them to the floor. He does the same with my blouse, my shoes, my bra, my panties. Until I’m blessedly naked and he’s . . . shirtless. That’s it.

I nudge his hips with mine, biting back a moan at the feel of his cock through the soft material of his pants. “Get naked,” I tell him. “Join the club.”

“Oh, I plan to join the club.”

“Which one is that?”

His brows lift. “The party going on between your—”

I clap a hand over his mouth. “Don’t say it.”

I can feel his lips moving into a smile against my palm, but the words are so jumbled, they’re intelligible. Then—oh, my God—he flicks his tongue against my palm, and I yank back as if burnt.

“Dirty trick,” I mutter.

“No, dirty man.”

And then his fingers go there, between my legs, and he’s right—there is a party between my legs.

He plays me like he was born to pleasure me and me alone. As his mouth works mine with agonizingly slow thoroughness, his fingers send the lower half of my body into something I don’t recognize. A tail spin. His thumb finds the hood of my clit, and I cry out. His middle finger circles my entrance, and without further prompting, thrusts inside, thrusting up to hit me just in the right spot. The keening moan I release doesn’t even sound like it belongs to me.

He doesn’t stop.

Not there.

He quickens the pace, adds another finger. Curls just right. Oh. My God. Oh. My God.

“No,” he grunts, “not yet.”

And then he pulls away. Out of their own accord, my fingers head south to the apex of my thighs. I need what he was about to give me like I’ve never needed anything else in my life.

He rolls a condom down his cock, then bats my hand away.

“I told you, Zo, you’re mine.”

His.

God, I wish that I was. I wish that I was with every fiber of my being.

With a hand to my hip, Andre guides me onto my side and then slips behind me. His lips land on the back of my neck. His hand urges my leg back and over his hip, which exposes the bottom half of my body.

I’m not given a chance to feel any embarrassment.

Andre dances his fingers over the most sensitive part of me again, and then I feel the round head of his cock line up at my entrance. Surprise hits me that this is how he plans to take me for the first time in so many months.

With my leg tossed over his, his hand clasped to my breast, his breathing rustling the hair on my neck, the position is . . . Sensual. Romantic. Things—emotions—I didn’t expect from anyone, much less Andre.

He enters me in a single, smooth thrust.

I cry out from the intensity of the position, and his hand moves from my collarbone to the base of my throat. “God, you feel so good. So fucking tight.”

He does, too.

Good, I mean. Huge, too.

I can’t find the words, but my nails sink into his forearm, holding him to me. Forever, I want to say, I miss you. “Don’t stop,” I whisper, “please, don’t stop.”

His chuckle ruffles my hair. His hips pick up the pace. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to, Zo. Never.”

He doesn’t stop, just as promised. His fingers tweak my nipple, rolling the sensitive nub between his thumb and middle finger, before traversing the lines of my body until they stop where I need him most. Just the slightest amount of pressure, the fast pistoning of his hips, and he makes me orgasm long enough that I still feel the tremors long after his have subsided.

“Andre?” I whisper against the inner part of his arm.

His cock twitches inside of me at the sound of his name. “Yes?”

Don’t say it. Please don’t say it.

I gather my courage. “For one night, can you pretend that there is no one else?”

Andre’s hand tightens on my hip. “Yes, Zo. I can definitely do that.”

He slips me onto my back, black eyes burning brightly, and then gently kisses me on the lips. “I can definitely do that.”