Page 15 of Zade (Den of Sin)

“Yes,” I cry out, coming closer to the edge of euphoria.

He slips a finger inside me while never letting up on my nub, “Come for Daddy,” he growls while watching me with a heated expression. Pushing against his fingers every time he pushes them back inside me, causes him to groan, “I need to be inside you, baby.”

My pussy squeezes his finger as I cry out one last time for the man I want desperately.

“Amira,” he says, sounding pained.

My eyes pop open, glancing between him and my hand, my cheeks flush when I realize I was masturbating in my sleep while dreaming about him. Pulling my hand out of my underwear, I’m prepared for him to be angry, instead, he grabs my hand, pulls my fingers under his nose, and inhales, “Jesus.”

His eyes focus on mine, his gaze dark and teetering on the edge of danger, “Happy Birthday,” Zade says, his voice dripping with the same desire I feel in my core.

“Thank you.”

He grins, “Be ready at six o’clock. I’m taking you out for your birthday.”

My eyes lock with his, as he sits on the side of my bed, leaning down he kisses me on the forehead and murmurs, “I’ll see you later.”

Rising off my bed he leaves the room and closes the door behind him.

* * *

I spent the day cleaning, other than the hour I spent on the phone with Cyndi and now I’m deciding what to wear tonight. Once I’ve narrowed it down between two dresses, I decide my best course of action is to overthink everything. One outfit has flowers on it, the other is a solid deep red one. Eventually, I go for the red because I think the flowers might say child. That is not the image I’m aiming to show Zade tonight. I don’t want him to see the little girl he once knew when he looks at me. I’m a woman now, maybe I’m still young but I’m not a kid either.

After getting dressed, I flat iron my hair and apply light makeup. A little eyeshadow, eyeliner, mascara, and a glossy pink lipstick. No foundation because I hate that shit. Cyndi always wears foundation, refusing to leave the house without it on, but I hate it, reserving it for when it’s truly necessary. Glancing in the mirror I decide I’ll do and go sit on the bed to put on my boots. Cyndi gave me these boots two years ago but this is the first time I’ll wear them. They are red leather boots that go up to just under the knee, and lace all the way up. When she gave them to me she said every girl needs a good pair of hoe boots. I laughed at her but wasn’t sure I’d ever wear them. I hope it’s not too much.

Walking downstairs, I’m not expecting Zade home for another twenty minutes, I step into the kitchen and gasp as I clutch my chest over my racing heart.

Zade stands before me, a drink in his hand, dressed in a black suit that hugs his muscles perfectly, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

His dark gaze travels from my face down to my boots, a devious glint in his eyes, “You look stunning,” he says as his dark eyes meet mine again.

“Thank you,” I say shyly, wondering what he really thinks of these boots. Momentarily I think maybe I should change until he says, “Let's go.”

We walk outside and I spot the running vehicle, “How many cars do you have?”

I turn to him and he shrugs, “This one isn’t mine.”

Arching an eyebrow I ask the obvious question, “Then whose car is this?” And also I think to myself, why are you driving it?

He grins proudly, “Yours. Happy Birthday, Amira.”

Zade walks around to the driver's side and opens the door, “Come on. I’m hungry.”

“I’m driving?” I ask with a shocked expression as I walk over to him. He shakes his head like I’m beyond ridiculous, “It’s not my car. Of course, you’re driving.”

I slide into the black leather seat, “This is too much, Zade.”

He walks over to the passenger seat, gets in, and fastens his seatbelt, “Why?”

Turning to him, my gaze gets caught in his, and the breath hitches in my throat, “Purses, books, clothing. Those are birthday gifts. Not a car.”

He tucks a few strands of hair behind my ear while staring at me affectionately, “You told me a Mustang was your dream car. I want to make all your dreams come true, Amira. Every last one.”

“Even the one from this morning?”

He growls, his desire mirroring my own, “Behave naughty girl. Fucking behave.”

And now my panties are drenched. Every time that low rumbling sound escapes from his chest it has this effect on me. I don’t love being ordered around but he has a way of making me want to obey his every command.

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