A strange melancholy nipped at the heels of her lust, but then Zaf bit her lower lip and squeezed her jaw—just enough to say, Me. You’re with me. So come back. And she did, delicious tension squeezing her core, desire pooling thick and sweet as honey.
Faintly, she murmured against his mouth, “Are you a sex wizard?”
His laughter was strained, as if he didn’t have enough air in his lungs to do it properly. “No. But I’ve been thinking about this for a long fucking time.”
Her breath hitched in her throat, and she pulled back slightly. “How long?”
“Long enough,” he said, low and rough, “that I’ve thought of a thousand ways to kiss you. So let me.”
Let me. She slid her fingers into the raw silk of his hair and pulled him closer. He slipped his hands under her shirt, high enough to cradle her ribcage. And then he stopped.
“Touch me.” Her voice was tight with need.
“I want to take this off,” he rasped, tugging at her T-shirt.
“So take it off. And take yours off, while you’re at it.” She dragged at his shirt, and then they broke apart enough to fumble with their clothes until they were both bare-chested and panting. Zaf was as gorgeous as she’d known he would be, big and strong and golden, with a wealth of chest hair that arrowed down to the bulge in his jeans. His eyes seemed almost black as he watched her, his lips slick and parted. He looked like sin and sex and hers.
“Fuck, Danika,” he breathed, his fingertips skating over the stretch marks on her hips. “You’re so . . .”
“What?”
“Beautiful,” he said softly, so softly she almost didn’t hear. Wanted to pretend she hadn’t heard, because the word shook with a reverence that shouldn’t be there, that shouldn’t fill her up inside. She’d never been so conscious of her own breath before, of the rise and fall of her tits and the shift of her lungs and the movement of her belly. But everywhere Zaf looked at her felt realer than before—almost too real, teetering on the line between intensity and discomfort.
Dani liked walking that line, if the wet fabric clinging to her pussy was any indication.
Zaf’s palms slid up over her rounded belly, and then his thumbs caressed the sensitive undersides of her breasts.
“Christ,” she groaned, pleasure igniting over her skin.
“Like that?” Their gazes held as he stroked his thumbs over her tight, needy nipples. Then he pinched gently, and sweet relief sparked through her, quickly followed by even more tension than before. She leaned forward, pressing her brow against his, trapping them both in a world of heat and skin and soft, slow moans.
“Tell me,” he murmured, rolling her nipples between finger and thumb. “Tell me you like it.”
Each quick circle tightened the coil inside her so violently that she could barely speak. “Yes,” she gasped as he kissed her jaw. “Yes, I like it.” Pleasure pulsed through her clit until she had to slide a hand beneath the waistband of her shorts.
She felt his lashes flutter against her skin as he looked down.
“Are you touching yourself?” he asked, an edge to his voice that sounded like urgency.
She spread her legs wider and eased her middle finger through hot, slippery folds. “Yes.”
“Want some help?” His voice was slow, velvet sin.
She rubbed her clit frantically, her breaths labored. “Fuck, yes. Please.”
“Stand up, then.” He leaned back, watching her like an animal waiting to strike. She stood and shoved off her shorts and her underwear in one fast, thoughtless, unsexy move, and his jaw clenched so tight she worried it might break. His hips lifted, just a bit, as if he’d started to thrust against thin air and had barely managed to stop himself. “Turn around,” he said, his voice like iron.
She turned, and saw her altar, and the statue of Oshun, and thought, Thank you, universe, for sending me—
Meaningless sex, she ought to have thought.
—Zafir, her mind supplied.
If she’d had another second, her lust-soaked brain might’ve sobered in surprise, and she might’ve realized that it wasn’t normal for her entire body to be on fire for one person, wasn’t normal for his voice to thrill her as much as his touch did, wasn’t normal for his hands to squeeze her heart as much as, you know, her tits.
But Dani’s mind never got the chance to hurtle down Danger Avenue, because Zaf was still talking in that strained, hungry, God, I want you voice. “Bend over,” he ordered, and she leaned forward at the waist until she heard his low, tortured groan. Closing her eyes, she imagined what he could see: the curve of her arse, the hint of her swollen, glistening pussy.
Then she felt his big hands on her, his fingers digging into her hips. “What’s with the tattoo?” he asked.
She flushed at the reminder of the words inked onto her arse. “Undergrad. Sorcha.”
“Ah.” Since Zaf had met Sorcha a few times, that was probably explanation enough. She felt his teeth graze her skin, biting gently, as per the tattoo’s instructions. Something in her stomach clenched like a fist. Then cool air hit her sensitive folds, and the vision in her head changed: now he was holding her open, exposing her ruthlessly, and he’d see more than just a hint. He’d see her cunt, soft and wet for him, and—
One of his hands slid between her thighs, his finger nudging her clit. Dani’s whole body jerked, so hard and so sudden that he wrapped an arm around her hips to keep her still.
“Fuck.” The word shuddered out of her, as unsteady as her legs. She put her hands flat on the altar and bit her lip.
Zaf tapped her clit again and murmured, “Good?”
“So good,” she gasped, rocking back. “Fuck, Zafir.”
His finger, wet with her want, circled her clit with brutal slowness, and whatever scraps of cool she’d been clinging to disappeared.
“Oh my
