Midnight Sommelier - Anne Malcom Page 0,48

body screamed with the loss of his lips, with the violent need for more. For anything that wasn’t the distance between us.

It wasn’t a conscious decision, at least that’s what I’d tell myself later. But I’d been fully in control when I surged forward. When I tore my hands through his hair as my tongue plunged into his mouth.

I was in control of the kiss, sinking my teeth into his lower lip, tasting blood. He made a sound at the back of his throat that sounded remarkably like a growl.

His hands were everywhere, my hips, the back of my neck, roughly caressing my breasts. The kiss quickly changed in intensity, I wrapped my legs around his hips, and he lifted me up. My hips ground against an unmistakable hardness over his jeans. I was wearing yoga pants that provided little barrier between my pussy and him, so even grinding was enough to push me toward orgasm. A kiss and some dry humping ... what was I, a fifteen-year-old boy?

I didn’t notice us moving, not until he started climbing the stairs. We were inside the house now. That should’ve set off warning bells, urging me to make my escape. But I heard nothing above the dull roar that was my desire.

It was impressive that Zeke’s gait didn’t even falter carrying me on an incline all the while kissing the ever-loving fuck out of me.

If there was anyone who looked like he could carry a full-grown woman—albeit slightly underweight—up a flight of stairs while kissing her, it would be Zeke.

The bed came quick, Zeke throwing me down on the soft mattress. He wasn’t gentle, and I liked that. Needed that. If he were gentle, it would’ve made it much easier to stop this. I would’ve been forced to stop this.

But there was no stopping this. Not know.

Zeke lingered above me in the low light of his bedroom, his eyes ravaging me, his body held so taut, a vein was pulsating in his neck.

My skin crawled with need. If he’d stayed there, watching me for another second, I wouldn’t have been able to think past the furious hunger.

But he didn’t.

His body covered mine, lips at my neck. I gasped as his teeth grazed my fragile skin, his hands brushing down the sides of my body.

My shirt was gone, quickly. Did he rip it off me, or did I raise my arms to let him pull it off?

I don’t remember.

All that mattered was his lips, fastening around my nipple. The way his brutal caress traveled all the way down, inside me and then moving expertly to set my body on fire. I clenched my thighs together, my hands pulling at the strands of his hair.

He moved to the other nipple, tortured me with the slow, careful way his tongue circled it. I ached to cry out, to demand he give me what I need, to move, take control. But I was paralyzed, glued to this bed. At his mercy.

His lips moved, traveled downward with excruciating slowness. He laid kisses on my ribs, the scar that served as evidence of the emergency c-section I’d had with Jax—surely he couldn’t have seen it, but he laid kisses there nonetheless.

Then he moved. Right to the place I’d been craving this, needing it.

My hands fisted into the sheets so tight I heard a rip. There was nothing but Zeke’s tongue working my clit like an expert. It was too intense. Pleasure so all-encompassing it became pain. But I couldn’t open my mouth, couldn’t speak. There were just low, desperate sounds coming from the back of my throat. Then it came. My orgasm was a nuclear bomb, leveling everything in its path, black spots dancing in my vision.

Zeke’s mouth still worked, a low growl at the back of his throat vibrating every sensitive part of me, sending aftershocks to my toes.

Then he moved. His mouth wasn’t in between my legs anymore. His body was gone, reaching toward the nightstand. There was a crinkle of foil. Then he was back. And he was inside. He didn’t treat me gently. This wasn’t making love. No, his thrusts were quick, violent, beautiful. This was pure fucking.

He hitched one of my thighs over his elbow to get deeper, my scream muffled in his mouth. He kept going as I toppled over the cliff again, still going while the second—or was it the third?—orgasm laid me to waste. Then his body tightened, a vein in his neck protruding, and he let out a strangled