I arched and cried out, my voice raw and rasping.
“Fuck, I love your voice,” he murmured against my flesh as I came down.
Then he was at it again, teasing me to climax, taking his time, taunting and exploring, experimenting as he assaulted my clit with what felt like a thousand different types of licks, nibbles, kisses and strokes from every direction. I went off again and again, until he finally rose above me on his knees, panting.
He braced his hands on either side of me and lowered his hips, stroking the long, hard shaft of his cock against my pussy… and I exploded again, coming so hard as he ground against my clit that I bit my tongue.
“Oh my God,” I panted. “Shit. I bit my tongue.”
“You bleeding?” His brow creased with concern as he slowed his teasing thrusts and I shuddered, still coming down off that last orgasm.
“No.” I poked my tongue around my mouth. “Just… ow.”
He smiled and leaned down to kiss me softly. Then he lifted my limp legs by my thighs, spreading me wide, and thrust into me. I was so sopping wet by now that even as big as he was, his cock filled me in one smooth motion. No friction this time, no pain. Just slippery wet and heat. He shoved himself in to the root, then started rocking his hips, pumping himself slowly in and out. I met his thrusts, lifting my hips off the bed as he picked up speed, making him lose his rhythm in ragged breaths.
Then I was on top of him again, riding him with abandon, and then we were tumbling onto the floor. Zane managed to shove a blanket from the bed underneath me, more or less, and then he was pounding into me, hard. Unlike the bed, the floor had no give, and his pounding thrusts felt like punishment. It was a punishment I could take. I wanted it. I wanted him. I wanted him to tear me apart.
His whole body tensed as his breathing got rougher. His dazed blue eyes met mine as he started to come. “Zane…” I rasped his name as his cock jerked inside me.
He growled, low and strained in his throat. “Maggie,” he gasped as he erupted. “Fuck… Maggie…” He pounded into me a few more times, sloppily, completely losing himself.
I came then, suddenly, his messy, desperate thrusts sending me over the edge again… writhing under him as he buried his face in my neck.
“Jesus… shit,” he panted when it was over.
It wasn’t eloquent, but yeah, that kinda summed it up.
We were both soaking wet. My whole body throbbed with my heartbeat, every nerve humming and alive.
We lay there a long time, entangled, until the sweat on my body cooled and I started to get cold. He felt me shiver and got up, tugging me to my feet.
As I flopped back onto the bed, I made the mistake of glancing in the direction of the bedside table. My phone was lighting up.
I took Brody’s call as Zane went to the bathroom to clean up. It was only then that it struck me he’d been wearing a condom. Well, shit. Thank God one of us had been thinking.
But leaving that kind of thing up to Zane? Not a smart move.
Not smart at all.
Luckily the chat with my boss kept me from examining that too closely. Especially when he wanted to know why his Twitter feed was blowing up with a bunch of cell phone videos of Zane serenading me and my dad with “Rebel Yell” at a karaoke joint last night, and also, why he wasn’t invited to that little party. I sputtered through my response to that, at which he sounded amused, and mercifully turned the conversation to other business.
After I got off the call, I thumbed through my new texts, including a link from Brody to one of the aforementioned videos, which I clicked on and watched for about three seconds before Zane came back out of the bathroom.
He cocked an eyebrow at me as I stuffed the phone under my pillow.
Pretty sure he caught a snatch of the song though, and his own voice, not to mention all the lustful screaming in the background; there was a lot of it, more than I’d been aware of at the time, since when Zane Traynor took a stage, all else pretty much ceased to exist for me… and judging by that screaming, similar to the screaming that could be heard anytime he took a stage, I was not the only woman with this reaction.
I was wondering if I should just get it over with and do the naked morning-after dash to the bathroom, to avoid the awkward aftermath, when I realized I didn’t need to. Instead of heading for the door with some lame excuse for needing to disappear, Zane sauntered over and sprawled on the bed next to me, face-down.
Like it was totally normal for him to sprawl out on a bed next to me, buck naked.
King of cool.
I should’ve gotten up and gotten dressed. Brody wanted to meet for breakfast in half an hour, and it would’ve been suspicious if I’d begged out. So I didn’t.
It also gave me the perfect excuse to get out of here.
But Zane didn’t seem to be in a hurry.
I really meant to get up. But somehow, I didn’t budge.
Instead I listened to Zane’s even, relaxed breathing as his beautiful feet played lazy footsie with mine.
And then, because I needed to say something to fill the air and distract myself from this growing awkwardness that was an uncomfortable mashup of embarrassment, confusion and guilt, I said, “I can’t believe Elle missed our big fat fake wedding. She would shit.”
“Thought you didn’t wanna tell anyone,” he mumbled into his pillow, the long blond strands of his hair scattered across his face.
“I don’t.” I reached up and smoothed the hair back with my fingertips, gently, so I
