“A surprise? From another woman with really pretty handwriting?”
His lips quirk. “You think her handwriting's pretty?”
“Zach.”
“Honey.” He cups my face, his thumbs brushing my cheekbones. “Do you trust me?”
The question hangs between us, loaded with everything from last night. I asked him to trust my judgment about Jenni. Now he's asking the same of me.
“Yes,” I say quietly. “But—”
“Then trust that everything I do is for you.” He dips his head, his lips brushing my ear. “Let me remind you how much it drives me crazy when you wear my clothes, and why I want you here with me all the time.”
His hands slide under the hem of the T-shirt I'm wearing, and I should push back, should demand answers, but the way he's touching me makes it impossible to think about anything else.
He walks me backward toward the bed, and when the backs of my knees hit the mattress, I let myself fall. He follows me down, his body covering mine, his weight pressing me into the sheets in a way that makes me feel safe and trapped all at once.
“Honeycomb,” he murmurs against my neck, his hand sliding between my thighs. “Fuck. I love you like this.”
“Zach,” I whisper.
He lifts his head just enough to look at me. “You’re thinking too much,” he says quietly. “Let me help you with that for a minute.”
He pulls the T-shirt off me, and I let him. I always do, because when he touches me like this it’s impossible not to feel wanted.
He presses a kiss between my breasts, then another along my ribs. “You know I’m yours,” he murmurs. “Right?”
My throat tightens. “Zach…”
“I am,” he insists softly, lifting his head to meet my eyes. “No matter what’s in your head. No matter what you’re afraid of. I’m right here.”
He slides one finger inside me, then two, curling them just the way I like it.
I arch into his hand before I can stop myself, a soft, helpless sound slipping out as his fingers move with that slow, knowingrhythm that always unravels me. He watches my face the whole time, eyes dark and focused, like he’s memorizing every flicker of pleasure that crosses it.
“That’s it,” he breathes against my skin, lips brushing the underside of my breast.
He adds his thumb, circling my clit with the perfect amount of pressure, and my hips jerk. My hands find his shoulders, my nails digging in as I try to anchor myself, but he’s already everywhere—inside me, over me, surrounding me.
“Zach,” I breathe out. “It feels—”
I can’t get the words out because the second his thumb circles my clit, I’m lost in the haze of tiredness mixed with want. I sink into the mattress just as my thighs start to tremble, and I can feel his focus on me.
He knows I’m close.
I grip the sheets, moaning out his name on a broken, needy cry.
“That’s it, Honeycomb,” he growls against my neck, his voice rumbling through me. “Let me hear you.”
My hips grind against his hand, chasing the drag of his fingers hitting me in just the right spot. When his thumb presses down and circles, the pressure builds to a boiling point. I try to make it last longer, squirming beneath him, but the minute his teeth nip at my neck, I know I'm gone.
The orgasm rips through me, fierce and consuming. My back arches off the bed as I shatter around his fingers, crying out his name until my throat is raw and my vision goes dark at the edges.
By the time I come down, I feel boneless and completely wrecked.
It’s dark, and I have no idea what time it is, but that’s what happens when I come to Zach’s house. I lose my sense of everything.
Still panting, I feel him slowly drag his fingers out of me before sliding them up my body until they’re at my lips.