“Fuck, Abby,” he muttered, and his own voice shook.
But she didn’t seem to notice as she twisted and arched under him, a soft, desperate little moan escaping her.
“Zach,” she whimpered.
And he knew. He heard it and the need in her voice just hit him in the heart, in the gut. Releasing his hold on her knee, he slid his hand along her inner thigh and sought out the hard little knot of nerves just above her entrance. Slowing down the rhythm of his strokes, even when all he wanted was to take take take, he stroked her clitoris and felt the answering tension in her body.
A harsh, breathless scream echoed through the room as she clenched down, milking him as she started to come. Hard and fast . . . and so fucking sweet.
Once he knew she was falling, he let himself follow.
Always . . .
* * *
In the darkness of the room, Abby lay sprawled with her head on his chest and he toyed with her hair as he stared out the window.
“Are you mad at Seb?” she asked drowsily.
Closing his eyes, he bit back the instinctive answer. That answer wasn’t complimentary, but he knew if he let her know just how pissed he was, she’d want to know why.
“Other than irritated about him having his head up his ass?” he said, keeping his voice easy. “Nah.”
Guilt tugged at him for lying to her and he knew he shouldn’t. Well, I’m not. Not exactly. He does have his head up his ass, and that’s why I’m pissed. I’m just not clarifying what I’m pissed about.
It was splitting hairs and he knew it, but this just wasn’t a talk they could have yet.
This was too new.
As she stroked her nail along the line of the tattoo over his chest, he rolled his head over to look at her. “You ever call the dickhead?”
She wrinkled her nose. “No. It just doesn’t seem as important now.”
Zach blinked. “But it’s in your journal.”
“Yes. The very weird journal.” She moved closer to the dagger where it pierced the heart. “I think if it’s a very weird journal that means I’m allowed to modify the rules as I see fit.”
“But you don’t modify rules.” He shifted in bed and tumbled her onto her back, pausing a moment to appreciate the shift in positions as her thighs parted to accommodate him. Then, before he could get distracted, he settled his elbows on the bed next to her head and peered down at her face. “You get locked on one certain thing and you have to see it through. Tattoo, check. Affair, check. Stop worrying . . .” He paused and stroked a thumb down her cheek. “How is that part going?”
A grin curved her lips and she shrugged a little. “Zach, lately, you’ve got my head spinning around so much, I don’t have time to worry about anything. And I’ll have you know, I still plan to flip off the next photographer who snaps a picture of me. Then when they plaster that picture of me in the next gossip rag, they can talk about how I’m fat and angry.”
“You’re not fat,” he snapped. He shoved back on his knees and settled between her thighs, staring at her, the long, lush curves of her thighs, her breasts, the gentle curve of her belly. “You’re so beautiful, you make my teeth hurt.”
She blushed a little. Then she shrugged. “I’m not saying I think it. Although compared to what they want in Hollywood these days . . . baby, I’m an absolute cow. Which is probably yet another reason I’m glad I never plan to go back there.” She eased upright and settled on her knees in front of him.
The dark silk of her hair spilled down to curl around her breasts. “Seb’s so certain you miss it, although he never questions my choice to leave it. It’s funny, if you think about it. We both got into it at the same time, did it for the same length of time . . . and it ended at the same time for us.” She eased closer, wrapping her arms around his neck and studying him. “If it’s no big deal for me to walk away, why not you?”
Cupping her ass in his hands, he shrugged. “Hell if I know. Sometimes, I think he sees himself as the way I was when it ended for me. Maybe he thinks if I’m done with it, that’s what he faces.