Chapter 91
The moment his mouth touches my clit, my body reacts before my mind can catch up.
A sharp breath tears out of me as my knees threaten to buckle, my palms flattening against the cool surface in front of me as sensation floods everywhere at once. My reflection blurs. I can’t tell if it’s the heat, the panic, or the way pleasure slams into me without warning.
Zane makes a low sound against me, rough and unfiltered, like he’s been holding it back all this while. His hands move with purpose, steadying me, keeping me right where he wants me as my breathing breaks apart.
I shouldn’t want this.
I know that.
And yet my body responds like it’s been waiting.
Every nerve feels exposed, every thought fragments. I’m aware of him everywhere at once, the way he doesn’t rush, the way he takes his time like he knows exactly how close I already am to losing myself.
My head falls forward, forehead pressing against the glass, breath fogging the surface as I fight for control and lose it anyway.
“Zane,” I gasp, not even sure what I’m asking for.
He doesn’t answer. He just moves closer, crowding my space until there’s nowhere for me to go except into him. His presence is overwhelming, grounding and consuming at the same time, and it makes my chest ache with something dangerously close to relief.
Then suddenly he stops.
The absence is cold enough to hurt.
I let out a sound I don’t recognize, half frustration, half desperation, and that’s when I hear him behind me, slow and deliberate. My pulse stutters. I don’t turn around. I can’t.
“Don’t fucking move,” he says quietly.
Through the reflection in the mirror I see him bring down his trousers then his underwear and holyyyyyy fuck!! He’s huge, I mean I’ve felt him before and he did seem big but I didn’t think it was this big. I suddenly find myself wondering if he’s going to fit because it’s been a while for me and I have not had that size before.
But my body obeys before I can argue with myself.
The next moment is all heat and force and inevitability. He comes back and pulls me to stand, then he gently turns me over and bends me, giving me the chance to back out or maybe tell him not to bend me over but I’m too far gone to object to anythibg so I bend and arch my back for him, immediately he confirms I’m in position he positions himself behind him and slams into me in one go and suddenly I’m coming, I cry out chovking against the mirror as Zane continues to pound into me. My orgasm pours through me as he slides in and out of my pussy, fucking me in deep hard strokes with the wet sounds of my pussy holding onto his thick member fills the room. The world narrows to sensation, to the way he holds me together as everything inside me breaks loose at once. I cry out, the sound torn from somewhere deep, my body shuddering as the release hits harder than I’m prepared for.
Zane stays with me through it. Doesn’t let me fold in on myself.
His grip tightens, anchoring me, keeping me upright as the aftershocks ripple through me and leave me shaking, breathless, undone.
When it finally fades, I’m still bent over the table.
Still here.
And for the first time in longer than I can remember, the memories are quiet.
Zane fucks me relentlessly sending me reeling, he grabs my hair pulling me more into him and making my back arch more. The sound of my wet pussy, my ass meeting with his abs creating that skin to skin slaps has me reeling into another orgasm this time he comes with me, he sinks his teeth in my shoulder while he groans pouring his seed into me.
I come back to myself slowly. My body feels heavy, used in the plainest sense of the word, clearly spent. My ears are still ringing a little, my thoughts sluggish, drifting in and out.
Zane doesn’t rush me.
I register his hands first, steady at my sides, grabbing me gently. Making sure I’m upright before he moves then when he lifts me, it isn’t sudden. He gives me time to brace, to curl instinctively into his chest. My face presses against his shoulder, and for a second my nose catches the faint scent of soap and skin and that woody scent underneath.
He takes me into our bathroom, and it doesn’t pass me that I’ve started referring to this house and the things in it as mine. In the bathroom he sets me on my feet near the tub but keeps one hand on my waist when my knees wobble. I don’t argue, I don’t even have the energy to.
He turns on the water and waits until the temperature is right before guiding me under it. The spray hits my shoulders and I flinch, more from sensitivity than pain. He adjusts it immediately.
Zane takes his time.
He washes my hair carefully, fingers working through it without pulling, without rushin.
I close my eyes lost in the sensation.
The warmth loosens something inside my chest. My head tips forward and rests briefly against him. He doesn’t comment on it, he just adjusts his stance so I don’t slip.
When he rinses me, he makes sure there’s nothing left clinging to my skin. No lingering traces of what came before. It feels intentional.
He then wraps a towel around me and pats me dry instead of rubbing, careful around my arms when I wince. My limbs feel loose, like they belong to someone else. He helps me step out of the tub and steers me back into the bedroom without saying a word.
The bed looks impossibly inviting.
He settles me into it, pulls the covers up around my shoulders, tucks them in just enough so I don’t feel exposed. I barely have time to adjust before sleep starts dragging me under.
Zane sits on the edge of the bed for a moment. I feel the dip of the mattress. A hand brushes my hair back from my face, light, almost hesitant.
“Sleep, my little spitfire.” he says quietly
The last thing I register is the weight of the blanket and the steady calm of the room around me. Then everything goes dark, fast and deep, the kind of sleep that doesn’t give you dreams just blissful sleep.