Chapter Seven
Sloane
My head is pounding when I crack my eyes open. Too bright. Too damn cold. The room pitches a little as I pull the covers up around my shoulders. “There she is,” a voice says softly beside me. Zeth. His hands find me underneath the blankets, moving firmly over my body as he takes hold of me and pulls me close to him.
“Jesus, girl, you’re burning up. You feeling okay?” he rumbles into my neck. A violent shiver rocks through me as his mouth moves languidly over my skin. The sensation is wonderful, but the shiver isn’t because I feel good. It’s because I’m feeling bad. Really, really bad.
“Oh, god. Oh, no.”
“What is it?” Zeth bites at my ear lobe, his arms tightening around me.
“I think… I was out in the rain last night. I think I’ve caught a chill or something.” Sure enough, when I breathe in through my nose, I’m all congested and stuffy. Damn it!
“I know what’ll make you feel better.” Zeth turns me slowly onto my back and climbs over me, his face hovering a couple of inches above my own. He looks deliciously tousled from sleep; his hair is much longer than I’ve ever seen it. He could style it now if he wanted to, yet at this particular moment it’s sticking out in every which direction, begging me to tease it between my fingers. I do so, groaning at the ache in my joints. Movement is not my friend.
“Oh, boy. It must be bad. The great Dr Romera is moaning like the world is coming to an end.” His mouth moves to the hollow of my neck, where he grazes his teeth against my skin. I’m so torn between pulling the cover tight against me and clamping my eyes closed until the awful spinning in my head passes, or pulling the sexy guy on top of me closer and letting him have his way with me.
Thing is, I’m feeling very delicate right now. “I don’t think I can handle sex with you right now,” I moan. “Your usual ministrations might just break me.” I can’t even believe I’m saying this. I never thought I’d be turning Zeth Mayfair down.
He kisses my chin, then the apple of each of my cheeks in turn. “Sloane?” He continues to kiss me, gently lowering himself onto me, so I can feel just how badly he wants me. His cock is hard, pressing gently against my stomach, making me even more conflicted. “Sloane?”
“Mmm?” I hiss when he rubs his cheek against mine, his stubble scratching at my skin in the most delicious way. “You shouldn’t kiss me,” I whisper. “I don’t want you to get si—”
He cuts me off, pressing his lips firmly against mine. I think he may not have been paying attention to what I’m saying at first, but then I realize he’s done it on purpose. His tongue teases the crease of my lips until I eventually give in and open my mouth to him. The kiss is deep and sweet and wonderful. He tastes so incredible, even first thing in the morning before brushing his teeth. Not too long ago, I couldn’t have imagined this. He waited to kiss me for so long. Weeks and weeks and weeks. It was pure torture. Now, it seems like he doesn’t want to stop.
Eventually, he has to.
“You’re crazy,” I whisper.
“If being sick means I still get to kiss you and be inside you, then bring it on. And also,” he says, gently rocking his hips against mine, “who said anything about my usual ministrations?”
“What, no black bag?”
“Not this morning,” he whispers, grinding himself against me. “Open your eyes.”
I do. The tone of his voice is intense, full of some hidden message I’m not sure I understand. When I look into his eyes, I see what’s there, though—he loves me. He fucking loves me, and I’ve been grumbling, absorbed with how terrible I feel. My worsening condition doesn’t seem that important anymore. I’m intrigued by what he has in store for me. “Oh really?”
“Mmmm.” His lips vibrate against my skin as he hums. “You want to try something different?”
“How different?” I peer up at him, wondering at the fierce look on his face.
“Well…” He almost looks like he’s about to smile. No matter how crappy I’m feeling, my heart swells in my chest at the sight of his lips lifting at either side of his mouth. It’s the most amazing thing. It’s addicting. He dips his head and lightly rubs his nose against the bridge of my own. “How about you let me show you?”
“Okay.” I whisper the word, half expecting to be caught up in a whirlwind of movement and tension and Zeth less than a second later, but that’s not what happens. Instead, Zeth lets his weight down on top of me so he can take my face in his hands. He kisses me, deep and intense, his mouth working against mine in a slow, passionate rhythm that makes my bones feel like lead weights inside my body, making me heavy. Drunk. Dizzy.
The way I feel could be attributed to the fact that I’m coming down with something, but then again it really doesn’t feel that way. It’s that desperate, adoring, all-powerful, all-consuming fire that I’ve never experienced myself but I’ve read about. This is what being in love is. This is what falling even more deeply in love is, with each and every passing second.
Cities could burn and the world could be ending, crashing down around my ears, and I wouldn’t trade this feeling or this man to save a single soul. I just wouldn’t be able to.
His hands move over my body slowly, curiously, like he’s never touched me before. We’ve had sex so many times now, but it’s never been mechanical or rote. Every single inch of my skin has been explored and marked, claimed as his own, and yet when he touches me now it’s as though he’s still in wonder of me. Still completely obsessed with the texture and softness of my curves.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, Sloane,” he whispers into my hair. I feel like I’ve been drugged. When he slides his hands down over me and in between my legs, my breathing has quickened, right alongside my heart rate. He makes me feel incredible. “Close your eyes, Sloane,” he whispers. His voice is thick with the fire that’s burning up within his own body. I don’t really want to close my eyes—watching him like this is the most amazing thing I’ve ever experienced—but then again, falling into myself, letting him own me, sinking into the pleasure of his naked body against mine is amazing in its own right.
His fingers work over my clit, teasing me, driving me crazy. I’m completely absorbed in the sensation, wanting to beg him, plead with him for more, but there’s no rushing this man. He’ll give me what he wants to give me and when. And besides, the pure torture of it is delicious.
Zeth gathers my right wrist in his free hand, and then the left, lifting both up over my head. He slides off me to one side so he doesn’t crush me, and then he pushes my legs apart, opening me to him. I don’t fight against him. My legs fall open, and then he has access to all of me. He makes good use of that access, his fingers tracing up and down over my pussy, setting me on fire as he teases my clit, gently dipping his index finger inside me, and then moving further down to lightly stroke an area of my body I never thought I’d allow anyone to touch. Ever.
With him, there are no taboos, though. No area of me off limits. No part of me I’ll ever deny to him. Especially when he makes me feel this good.
“You gonna come for me, angry girl?” he says into my ear. He’s breathless; I can feel his heart thumping in his chest, where his skin is pressed up against me.
“Yes.”
“You want to come hard?”
“Yes.”
“I want to feel you all over my fingers, okay? I want to know exactly when you’re about to explode.”
“Oh my god. Fuck, oh my god.” But he is my god. He’s the sun and I’m the earth, orbiting him always, unable to escape his gravity. Unwilling to try.
“Come for me, Sloane. Come on. Do it.”
I’ve never been able to hold back with him. I have this overwhelming need to do what he wants me to, despite how much I fought against that idea when we first met. And right now, he wants me to come. He makes this pretty damn easy for me when he slides his fingers all the way inside, twisting them toward him and making a beckoning motion that tips me right over the edge.
I’m incapable of making a sound as my body locks up, gripped by the sheer force of the orgasm that hits me. It feels like I’m slamming into a brick wall.
Zeth growls deep in his throat as I writhe against him; he holds onto my wrists, stopping me from reaching out to touch him. I want to so badly, but I can tell by the firm grip of his hand that he doesn’t want me to.
“Fuck, your body looks incredible like that. All stretched out and long, with your arms over your head, ” he says, his voice deep and filled with promises. I’m still coming, synapses snapping and firing blindly in my head as he stoops to take one of my nipples in his mouth. He licks and sucks at me, squeezing my nipple in-between his teeth as I squirm, trying to catch my breath.
“Are you ready for me, angry girl? Do you want me inside you? Is that what you want?”
I nod my head, burying my face in his shoulder as he continues to work his fingers inside me. Zeth doesn’t wait for me to regain my voice; he accepts my nodding as all the permission he needs. He’s inside me a second later, strong, hard body between my legs, his hands pulling my thighs up and around his waist. This is normally where he would fuck me until I can’t see straight. I’m expecting it, holding my breath, waiting for it, and yet it doesn’t happen. Opening my eyes, my heart still charging beneath my ribcage, I find Zeth staring down at me with a look akin to complete awe on his face. He just shakes his head, half smiling as he begins to move inside me.
It’s torturous. Slow. Purposeful and intense. I’ve never experienced anything like it. And the whole time, Zeth doesn’t look away. He holds me in his gaze as he fills me, carefully bringing me back to the point of frenzy. My body is crying out for him to sink himself deeper, harder, faster inside me, but my head knows that’s not what this moment is right now. I’m too scared to even admit what this moment is.
Zeth’s hands stroke my body as we move together, and it’s almost as if I can feel it happening. This is more than just our bodies connecting. This is something else entirely.
When we come, we come together, and it’s silent. Zeth wraps his arms around me and I cling to him, and it feels like he’s absorbed me into him. I have the most insane, obscene urge to cry. Why the fuck do I want to cry? I can’t let it happen. If I do, he’ll think I’m one of those crazy bitches who start sobbing after sex in the movies, and that is the very last thing I want. Instead, I press my face into the skin of his chest, eyes closed, trying to remember what my life looked like before he was in it. All I can remember is darkness.
Zeth slowly rolls us over, still inside me, so that he’s lying on his back and I’m lying on top of him. There isn’t a second where he removes his arms from around me. He holds on tight, like he’s afraid I’m about to vanish into thin air. I can hardly breathe around the burning in my throat as his huge hands, used for so many years for violence, for inflicting pain, carefully stroke my hair.