Zane smiles and shrugs. “More truth, though?”
“Yes, please.” I manage to refrain from clapping my hands together.
His teeth snag his bottom lip as he represses another grin at the expense of my giddiness. “I really want to kiss you again.”
Oh. My. Universe. The butterflies. Damn. I forgot what it was like to feel those. Guess being too immersed in the rough and dirty makes it hard to find a pure, innocent, gentleman in this scene.
More than — so much more than — willing and ready to provide, I lean in, close my eyes, and brush my lips against his. A small hitch in his breath echoes through my senses, overriding the music. I lift my hand to place it on his face, but his trembling fingers wrap loosely around mine, and he drapes my arm over his shoulder, drawing me closer in naturally. Instead of my tongue slipping out to trace his lips, his beats me to the punch, slow and explorative, yet instantly finding mine.
For the first time in a while, I am so damn tempted to peek my eyes open and study my partner during a kiss — because, damn, the investment he is throwing right now is legit.
Instead, I keep them closed and join him, flattening my tongue against his and curling it upward before delving deeper. Zane matches me, twist for taste. Our breathing increases, and his fingers twitch against my outer thighs as we both become more involved.
My other arm drapes around his opposite shoulder, and I clasp my fingers together, cupping the back of his neck.
His fingers curl a smidgen tighter.
I rise long enough to go from sitting sidesaddle to straddling him.
His hands cup each of my bare ass cheeks, so lost in the kiss that I doubt he even realizes where they are.
I lift slightly again, offering a mere inch of space between us.
He rewards me by slipping his palms a few inches lower until his hands are wrapped near the crease of my thighs… fingers curled conveniently toward the inside.
So close.
So. Damn. Close.
After one more seductive curl of our tongues, I open my mouth wider, allowing us both not just a breath but to bring a slight drag of teeth into the mix, too.
As soon as my teeth drag against his upper lip, those fingers find their way inward, tensing, grabbing, seeking both purchase… and experience.
A drop of reserve leaves him, taken over by the brush of excitement. I sense it in the loosening of his tight shoulders under my forearms, and the opposing tightening of his fingers as he grips the underside of my thighs tighter with each breath.
I unclasp my hands and drag my fingers up the buzzed back of his head until they are, once again, in his hair. Then, I grip those curls between my fingers and add a dash of Lace into the mix, tugging his head back, taking the control I like, and rising just enough until my chest brushes the underside of his chin.
His fingers leave my thighs, and the tension returns, but he keeps going. His hands move to the collar of Coty’s jacket, and he pushes the material off my shoulders.
My body instantly becomes lighter with the removal of the heavy leather.
Zane then scoops his fingers under the thick cloth of the hoodie and slides it upward until I have to let go of his hair and break the kiss in order to remove the item of clothing.
Our eyes clash for a brief second before the material veils our view as it is lifted up and over my head and discarded. My long hair cascades in the next moment; the strands graze against my bare back, and my skin explodes from the sensation as though someone has taken a cat o’ nine tails to my flesh.
His head tilts forward, and our foreheads connect while he manages his breathing and I suck in some recovery air, too.
Eyes downcast, he focuses on the rise and fall of my breasts. His warm, exaggerated breaths cause hundreds of goosebumps to rise over every inch of my newly exposed skin.
Zane slowly separates our foreheads and lifts his gaze to mine, mouth parting slightly to deliver a thought. A question? But he changes his mind and, instead, covers my taut nipples with his warm hands.
His throat constricts and bobs over a hard swallow as he splays his fingers and gently clenches them again.
I lean forward a micro inch, desperate for more, but also desperate to not scare him away. His nostrils flare the slightest bit. I can tell that this contact is beginning to register as uncomfortable for him, so I lean down and give him a teasing lick on the lips. He immediately gives in, clearly fond of the tongue play. As hoped, the breast fondling becomes more natural.
Problem is, it’s not enough for me. Not anymore. “Zane,” I hum against his mouth while simultaneously placing one of my hands over his and pinching his fingers between mine, showing him what I want rather than verbalizing it and reopening the awkward conversation.
My prompt doesn’t need a verbal response but a physical one. I delivered his name as a request. A demand. I work his fingers near the peak of my nipple, persuading him to play, pinch, feel. Then, I break our kiss only long enough to breathe out, “I like it. Hard. Soft. You can touch me anywhere, and I will enjoy it. Promise.”