His eyebrows flew up, and his mouth tightened. “Yeah. I know.”
“Which means, amongst other things, not getting attached.”
His expression turned wary. Or maybe guilty.
“The trouble is,” she went on, “I think I’ve gotten quite attached to . . . to the way you make me feel. And to making you feel—oh, I don’t know. I don’t know how I make you feel, but I like trying to make you—smile.” Her voice was choked and strange, and her words tasted like little white lies. If she were an honest woman, she would say, I love to make you smile.
Because the mortifying truth was this: Dani had grappled with ravenous affection for Zafir Ansari far longer than she liked to admit. She’d tried to turn away from it, but suddenly she couldn’t remember why. Zaf wasn’t like anyone else she’d been with, and their relationship didn’t have to fit some romantic ideal she would never measure up to. All they had to do was keep things exactly as they were. If they stayed like this—just like this—everything would be fine.
Everything would be perfect.
She saw the moment he began to understand, his eyes widening. “Danika . . .” he said slowly, “is this you—?”
“I’m not very good at saying things,” she told him firmly. “Okay? I don’t like it. So this is me not saying things. I’m just saying, that’s all.”
He arched an eyebrow. “You’re just saying that you’re not saying?” But there was a slow smile spreading across his face, one that made her cheeks heat.
“We spend a lot of time together,” she told him, “and it’s not awful. So maybe we could . . .” God, she really hadn’t thought this through, and it turned out sheer, shining adoration was incredibly difficult to express out loud.
But apparently, that was okay with Zaf, because he swept in and rescued her. “Maybe we could keep being not-awful?”
“Exactly,” she managed.
“Together,” he pushed. “Without faking it. And without limits.”
“Right,” she said faintly.
“You know what that is,” he murmured, “don’t you, Danika?”
Maybe she did—all right, yes, she absolutely did—but her nerves were already frayed enough. “Baby steps,” she told him firmly. “Okay?”
“Baby steps to . . .”
“To being with you,” she blurted out.
“Glad to hear it,” Zaf said gravely. Then he kissed her with a barely restrained passion that verged on scandalous.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Despite Dani’s newfound boldness, she was not—and would never be—the sort to make a vomit-inducing speech about Zaf’s many virtues and her many feelings. Not unless they were both trapped on a train hanging off the edge of a cliff, and therefore moments from gruesome death, or something along those lines. So when they left the reception, instead of turning to him with some romantic declaration, she dragged him into an outdoor alcove where students kept their bikes, and kissed his gorgeous face off. Again.
Judging by the heat in his eyes before their mouths met, he didn’t mind.
Kissing Zaf was like drinking ice water in a heat wave: slow sips might work, but hungry, gasping gulps felt better. When Dani’s lips brushed his, every pleasure center in her body flashed firework-bright. She slid her hands into his hair, pressed herself closer against him because she just couldn’t stop, and explored that solemn mouth without restraint. He tasted of sweet, dark honey, of peace and quiet comfort, of fresh white sheets and dawn. He tasted of things no man should, as if he were something greater. Something more. Something she’d been searching for.
Dani pulled back. “Let’s go home.”
“Definitely on board with that.”
“To your place. Didn’t you tell me you’re closer to campus than I am?”
He grinned. “And I’m so irresistible, you just can’t wait?”
“Don’t be smug.” But she liked him smug.
Fifteen minutes later they slammed into his flat, and Dani was pushing him around once more—against the door, this time. Since she knew from experience that she couldn’t actually move Zaf, that meant he was letting her. The thought sparked another burst of tenderness even as lust set her alight. He looked down at her with lips parted and kiss-swollen, his hair a mess from her hands, and he was simultaneously sexier and more divine than anything she’d ever seen.
She sank to her knees without conscious thought. Only need drove her now.
Mine, mine, mine.
“Danika,” he breathed, and cupped her face as she undid his belt. “Fuck. You’re going to ruin me.” But he made the prospect sound like heaven, like a gift.
She undid his zipper, shoved aside every barrier in her way until he was naked from the waist down, his cock hard and thick and dripping. Then he dragged his shirt off over his head, and the sight of him completely bare while she stayed fully clothed made her dizzy with want.
She wrapped a hand around his shaft, hot and velvety with that fine, thrumming vein along the underside. Then, since they’d somehow never done this before, she said, “Not to ruin the mood—”
“Literally impossible,” he choked out.
“—but don’t forget about my overenthusiastic gag reflex.”
His laughter was faint and cracked. “Never going to forget you coughing up noodles on my lap.”
“Oh, be quiet,” she muttered, her cheeks warm. Then she brought up a second fist to join the first, until just a few inches of his cock remained uncovered. She eased the fat, gleaming head into her mouth, squeezing with her hands as her tongue flicked out to taste him, and the noise Zaf made sounded inhuman.
That low, ragged growl zipped straight to her clit like a tiny electric shock. The taste of him, that salty musk, teased her tongue.
She sucked.
He hissed out a breath. “Holy shit, yeah. Sweetheart—” The word broke. She looked up to find him staring down at her, something endless and unnamable in his eyes. She could see his restraint in the pulse thrumming at the base of his throat, the rigid line of his hips as he tried not to thrust deeper—and God,
