So. Fucking. Good.
I should’ve put a stop to it right here.
A smarter Maggie, a Maggie of twenty-four hours ago, would have. But she wouldn’t have been in bed with Zane in the first place.
Which meant she would’ve missed out on this unbelievably pleasurable bliss.
But, yes. I should’ve stopped it. Last night was one thing.
A separate, one-time thing.
A crazy ending to a fucked-up night, prompted by hours of built-up, pent-up sexual tension. I’d been ditched mid-foreplay by Coop, and I was pissed off at my dad. I’d been humiliated and hurt. I was a little high. And a lot drunk.
But now? What excuse did I have for letting him do this to me?
I was no longer drunk. Not even a bit.
In the dim morning light, I was as stone-cold sober as it could get, and still I spread my legs for Zane.
I writhed and undulated beneath him, screwing his hand, wanting more. Even as I did it, I knew I was overthinking things. Zane had warned me not to do that. Actually, he’d kind of ordered me not to.
Well, fuck that. I didn’t follow his orders.
I pushed him up and off, throwing one leg over him and shoving him down on his back, straddling him. His fingers were still inside me, and I rode them with all the pent-up frustration I still had left. There was a lot of it, apparently. Maybe until last night, when I’d fucked Zane—three times—I’d never realized how hard I held things in. Didn’t realize it until I actually let loose and it all came rushing out.
So. Much. Tension.
He wrapped his hand around the back of my neck and pulled me down to him, kissing me fiercely as I kept riding his hand. The man had a wicked, talented tongue… but I gave back everything I got. I ravaged him, sucked on him, ate him alive, taking everything that was mine in this moment with my lips, my tongue and my teeth. It was hot and wet and all kinds of greedy. It was messy.
It was chaos.
It was becoming addictive.
It was only a few hours since we’d fallen asleep, but technically it was kind of a new day. The day I was supposed to get off my masochistic ass and get my shit together. Deal with the last night of the tour. Wrap things up with Brody and fly home. Say goodbye to the band, for now.
Say goodbye to Zane.
I’d see him again in a few months, when promotion for Jesse’s solo album, which was coming out soon, really ramped up.
Maybe even before that.
But between now and then? Zane would do what Zane did. He could be with a hell of a lot of other women. I had no claim on him, despite what happened last night.
I didn’t want a claim on him. Or so I kept telling myself, again and again, last night in the dark, as we claimed each other… again and again.
But we were here right now, and he was willing. There was nothing standing between us anymore. No one else, no booze, no distractions… other than my busy brain. Here, in the near-dark… it was just me and Zane.
And no one ever had to know.
What happens in Vegas…
I was moaning, kind of panting into his mouth as I neared orgasm. He felt it. I knew he felt it as I bore down on his fingers. He groaned and rolled me over, pinning me again as his fingers dug in and his thumb pressed my clit. It almost hurt, and I wanted it to. I just kissed him harder, pulling him down to me.
He withdrew his fingers and climbed on top of me and I braced for the thrust of his cock. Just once more. Once more and then we’d go back to our lives. He’d go back to screwing everything with a pussy—except me—and I’d go back to screwing the odd random hot guy who crossed my path, up to and perhaps including the occasional rock star… so long as it wasn’t the one currently on top of me, seizing my wrists and pulling my hands up above my head, claiming me, again, with his mouth, his possessive kisses.
Shit, but that was a depressing thought. Way more depressing than it should’ve been.
He nudged my knees apart and settled between my legs, and as I opened for him, he rammed into me with an urgency that startled me, just like that first time. I gasped in pleasure-pain as my body stretched to take him. All of him. Zane did not hold back in this, or in anything he did. This was pure Zane, and it was beautiful and it was messy and it was perfect.
His blue eyes found mine and I just nodded, breathless, for him to keep going.
He fucked me hard and slow, pinning me there against the bed, churning into me with his hips the way I’d fantasized about him doing a hundred thousand times as I wrapped my legs around him and took him.
I felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes.
It was all so overwhelming.
Suddenly he stopped and withdrew, letting my wrists go as he crawled down my body. Then his tongue found my pussy and it was all over—any over-thinking, any kind of thought at all… rational or otherwise.
He lapped the flat of his tongue over my sensitive flesh once, twice, three times, and I relaxed into the bed. Then he focused on my clit, flicking the tip of his tongue lightly over it, then swirling around, and I shuddered, gasping for breath. After the rough treatment of his hand, the warm, gentle caresses of his tongue, soft and slick, were almost too much.
“Ah… Zane…” I gasped out, my voice all raw from last night, “… I can’t…”
I didn’t know why I said it. I just did.
“Maggie.” He fluttered his tongue against me and practically growled. “Gonna make you come so hard…” And then he did. With
