My one sane brain cell roared that this was a horrible idea and I was a fool for letting Zeno into my sanctuary.
I rarely allowed anyone inside my room.
Zeno lowered me to my feet and I breathed uneven when we pulled away. His lips were kiss-swollen like mine and he smelled divine. Like my favourite spring season with dashes of pine and spice.
He took inventory of my room. Lazy eyes ran over my antique vanity, my princess bed sitting on a dais, and zeroed on the floor-to-ceiling walls covered with bookshelves.
“I read a lot,” I said as if the proof wasn’t already there.
“I can tell.”
“Do you read?” Please, let it be more than the playboy and hustler variety.
“The classics, yes.” He walked closer to my bookshelves. I followed after him, my heels clicking on the floor. “But you, Miss Hill, are quite fond of bodice rippers it would seem. You naughty, naughty girl.”
The playful jab caused me to let out a sheepish chuckle. I was big on romances that had an inclination towards dom-sub relationships. Dacia sometimes plucked a book or two from my personal library, and Mother stayed away, having always frowned upon my taste in literature.
“I read classics too, but I prefer cheesy romances.” I shrugged when Zeno stared at me with an odd, warm expression. There was something non-judgemental about it and it had me blurting out, “Want to know a secret?”
His arm curved around my waist and he tugged me into him. “I want to know all your secrets.”
“I’ve written some too,” I hushed, cupping his jaw. “Romance books.”
“Have you?” His eyes glittered. “Tell me more.”
“I’m a self-published author.” I ran my knuckles down his slim tie but didn’t collect my barrette. I liked that he kept a piece of me. “I use a pen name, so nobody really knows it’s me.”
Only my closest friends knew.
My mother, on the other hand, would have a heart attack if she found out her daughter was a successful romance author who had not only published a dozen stories, but made enough cash flow to not need her inheritance.
And now Zeno knew.
“Thank you for telling me.” Zeno clasped my hand against his chest. He pressed his forehead to mine, giving me his full attention. “When did you start writing?”
I gazed into his brown eyes, feeling giddiness, the kind stemming from a first crush, unfurling inside my chest. “When I was really young, although I completed my first novel at nineteen. I started publishing shortly afterward. My job is busy, but I try to release at least one full-length novel a year. I currently have a series of interconnected standalones that I’ve been writing for almost a decade.”
“So a strict principal by day and a romance writer by night.” Zeno skimmed my mouth with a light grin of his own, a hint of pride in his tone. “That’s amazing, Darla. Will you be using our encounter as inspiration for an upcoming book?”
I bit his lip and tugged. He groaned in that sexy manner I was beginning to love too much. “Maybe. Would that bother you?”
“No,” he growled playfully and walked me backwards towards my bed. “In fact, I think I should give you some more inspiration.”
“I like the sound of that.”
“Knew you would.” He smacked my ass and I hissed, remembering the crack of his belt and immediately longing for something more impactful. “Should we practice some dialogue?”
Oh, I was in trouble. He was funny too. “I’m game.”
Zeno’s mouth brushed the shell of my ear. His voice was low and smoky when he taunted, “You look like you need some disciplining, Principal Hill.”
My throat dried up and my eyes met his, already swirling with the beginning dredges of salacity.
His fingers worked my blazer off my shoulders while his lips moved to the curve of my jaw in a slow caress. I would never forget this feeling until the day I died.
“What did I do wrong?” I asked breathlessly, a hint kittenish. Loving every minute of this moment.
“You made me so fucking hard.” His teeth grazed my bottom lip and he threw my blazer on the floor. “Now I have to teach you a lesson.”