Page 103 of Offside Devil

Even with his hands burning trails down my back and fisting in my dress until I wish he’d put us both out of our misery and rip it off, I have to be practical. I always have to be practical. I can’t afford not to be.

Literally. Figuratively.

I need this job and the money.

I need to stay five steps ahead of my past, and I can’t be bogged down with anything resembling an actual life when the time comes to run. No boyfriends with wicked tongues. No adorable blonde-haired little boys with crooked smiles.

Starting this with Zane when he’s all I’ve thought about for weeks is the closest I’ve been to putting down roots since I moved to Phoenix four years ago.

Which means it’s almost time to leave again.

Except leaving would require letting go of Zane, and I don’t know how to do that. Instead, I hold him closer.

He drags my body against him, giving us both friction exactly where we want it. I moan and Zane kisses me again, lazily, almost like he’s drunk.

“Okay. Okay.” He’s rocking against me even as he’s thinking. “Fine. Don’t tell me that.” His thumbs stroke over my inner thighs, sending a rush of heat to my core. “Just tell me you want this. That would be enough.”

A startled laugh bursts out of me. I’m throbbing for him, hanging on by a thread. So wet I’m sure he can smell me.

“Of course I want this, Zane.”

That’s all it takes.

I thought we were already out of control, but as soon as the words are out of my mouth, all the other reasons for why this is a stupid idea burn up in the inferno between our bodies.

They dissolve in the molten heat of Zane’s mouth on mine.

He swirls his tongue into my mouth, tasting me like he’s been dreaming about it. I moan and he pinches my bottom lip between his teeth. He tugs on it before making his way down my neck.

I’ve never been tasted like this before. Savored.

People might argue that this isn’t sex, but they’d be wrong. The way Zane’s stubble is scraping over my collarbones, the way he’s murmuring things I can’t hear against my chest and the pulse in my throat—it’s like he’s already inside of me.

I’m not sure how anything can be better than this.

He huffs out a sharp laugh. “It’s going to get so much better, Mira.”

Oops. I didn’t mean to say that out loud, but I don’t care when he bunches my dress around my waist and almost falls to his knees when he sees the scrap of black between my legs.

“Are these—” He curls his fingers over the soaking wet lace. The same pair I had on the day we met. He drags them off of me and crumples the delicate material in his palm. His blue eyes meet mine, shimmering with something unreadable as he slides my panties into his pocket. “These are mine now.”

Possession.

I’ve never belonged to someone before. Not my family. Or a boyfriend.

But I could belong to Zane Whitaker.

For tonight.

“They were already yours,” I breathe, achingly aware of the cool air across my damp center. “Since the moment you walked into that bathroom. I think of you every time I wear them.”

He growls and circles his thumb against my clit. “This is mine, too.”

I swallow down a moan and cling to him.

We’re just getting started. This is supposed to go on and on. Hours—days—of Zane touching me, tasting me. But he’s about to send me over the edge with nothing but his thumb.

I want to take him with me.

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