Page 118 of Best Served Cold

He smirked and arched his hips so his hard dick pressed against mine. “And what are they?”

“How much of an exhibitionist you are, and if you let me win.” I leaned closer, until our lips were only inches apart.

“Do you give a shit if everyone thinks you’re gay?” he asked. “It won’t matter that you’re bi if people see us. They’ll just run with us being gay and that will be the end of it.”

“No,” I said honestly. “Do you care?”

He tilted his face up and slightly to the side. “No.” His warm breath fanned over my cheek.

He leaned in, but rather than let him kiss me, I pressed my lips against the side of his mouth. He drew in a hissing breath. I gently kissed the other side.

He didn’t close his eyes, so I didn’t either as I slicked my tongue over his bottom lip. It should have been uncomfortable to be staring into each other’s eyes like this. Every kiss we’d shared had been hot and hard and about dominance. That was sexy as hell, but it wasn’t what I needed right now.

I was pretty good at reading Zane, all things considered, and my instincts were telling me he needed it this way, too.

Strong hands gripped my sides, then slid under the hem of my shirt to rove over my back.

God I loved his hands. So big and strong, and his calluses felt amazing on my skin, adding layers to the sensations I’d never experienced before.

Taking a chance, I cupped his cheeks with both hands and held his face still. His eyes went wide but he didn’t pull back.

Slowly, I brushed my mouth against his in a fleeting kiss. His lips parted on a soft sigh. I kissed him again, lingering a bit, but pulled back when he tried to deepen it.

“Noah?” he whispered.

Jesus he looked wrecked already. His pupils were blown, his eyes dark with desire and something I couldn’t quite place. Was that fear, or maybe nerves? But that couldn’t be right.

Why would Zane the fuckboy be nervous about making out with me?

Instead of asking, I leaned in and kissed him. He sighed and relaxed against me. I pressed our chests together to help keep him from sliding down the wall and ran my hands down his sides and over his tight stomach.

“Fuck you’re hot,” I murmured against his lips, fighting the urge to devour his mouth and get lost in him. We could do that later. Right now I wanted to show him just how good being with a man could be.

How good being with me could be.

His pecs were firm and defined, his nipples pebbled in tiny peaks as I found them with my thumbs and stroked them.

He jerked against me. I swallowed his cry of surprise, or maybe it was pleasure?

Wanting more of those sounds, I trailed my lips across his mouth, over his jaw, then down his throat, dropping wet, open-mouthed kisses against his skin.

“Fuck,” he grunted, grabbing a handful of my ass, and squeezing hard enough to create a jolt of pain.

I moaned against his neck as the pain switched to pleasure and echoed through me, lighting me up from the inside.

His hand threaded through my hair, gripping the strands tight and holding me in place. I sucked on his skin, needing to mark him.

He held me tighter and rocked his hips, dragging our cocks together.

When I was sure my hickey was big and obvious, I tore my mouth from his neck and captured his lips in a crushing kiss.

He kissed me back, moaning and sighing as he let me lead. If I thought bossy Zane was hot as fuck, he had nothing on submissive Zane.

I’d never truly understood how someone could be a switch until we started messing around. I’d assumed men were dominant and women were submissive thanks to my years of brainwashing, and with my limited experience, that was all I’d ever known.

Zane could be as dominant as they came, minus the whole ‘good boy’ and ‘sir’ shit. I had nothing against it for other people, it just didn’t do anything for me.

I liked it when he took charge and reduced me to a blubbering mess of raw need who’d literally begged him to fuck me. I was embarrassed as hell that he’d seen that, but I’d loved every second of it.

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