Page 84 of That's Too Pucking Bad

Later, we’re tangled in the sheets, her body warm and soft beneath mine. I move slower this time, savoring the way she arches into me, the way her nails scrape lightly down my back.

“Zane,” she whispers, her voice full of need. She’s begging for more.

“I’ve got you, baby,” I murmur, my lips brushing her collarbone. “Always.”

When we’re done, I pull her close, tucking her against my chest. Her breath evens out, and I let myself drift, the weight of her in my arms the only thing I need right now.

I wake up to darkness. The clock on the nightstand glows 4:32 AM, and it’s dead quiet, the kind of quiet I’m not used to. Usually, I’m tossing and turning by now, staring at the ceiling, my head buzzing with shit I can’t turn off.

But not tonight. Tonight, I’ve slept longer than I have in weeks.

I glance down, and there she is. She’s lying on her stomach, her hair a mess, one arm tucked under the pillow. Her lips are slightly parted, and she’s breathing slow, her chest rising and falling like she’s as comfortable as can be in my bed.

My chest tightens. She’s just... fucking beautiful. Soft. Perfect.

I shift closer, brushing her hair back off her face. She doesn’t even stir. Damn, she sleeps hard.

Smirking, I let my hand drift down her back, tracing the curve of her spine, feeling the warmth of her skin under my fingertips. She murmurs something in her sleep, her body shifting just a little, and my smirk turns into a grin.

She’s mine.

The thought hits me out of nowhere, like a sucker punch to the gut.

I don’t overthink it. I lean down, pressing my lips to her shoulder, then lower, my mouth finding the dip of her waist. She sighs softly, her body arching toward me, and my pulse kicks up.

“Fuck it,” I mutter under my breath, rolling her onto her back.

She stirs, her head turning, but she doesn’t wake. I take my time, kissing her stomach, her thighs, the soft, sensitive skin that makes her twitch in her sleep. When I finally press my mouth between her legs, she moans, her hips lifting off the bed.

“Zane.”

Her voice is soft, barely audible, but it’s enough to have me gripping her thighs tighter, holding her in place as I keep going. She’s writhing now, her hands fisting the sheets, her breathing coming in short, desperate gasps.

I glance up, watching her face, the way her lips part, the way her head tilts back. Fuck, she’s incredible.

She’s close— I can feel it in the way her body’s tensing, the way her thighs are trembling under my hands. But I don’t let her get there. Not yet.

I pull back, shifting up to hover over her. She whimpers, her eyes fluttering open as I position myself at her entrance and push inside, slow and steady.

“Hey,” I murmur, my voice low.

Her eyes meet mine, still heavy with sleep. “Hey,” she whispers.

I start moving, slow at first, savoring the way she feels, the way her body wakes up under me. Her hands find my shoulders, her nails digging in, and her hips start to meet mine.

“Is it morning?” she asks, her voice breaking on a gasp.

I kiss her, slow and deep. “No,” I mutter against her lips. “Not yet.”

She moans, her body arching against me, and I lose my rhythm for a second, overwhelmed by the way she takes me in, the way she clings to me like I’m the only thing keeping her grounded.

“Zane.”

Her voice— Jesus, her voice— is my undoing. I pick up the pace, my movements rougher now, chasing the release that’s been building since the second I woke up.

When it finally hits, it’s like the world stops for a moment, and all I can hear is the sound of her breathing, the way it syncs with mine.

I collapse onto her, still inside, my head resting against her shoulder. Her hands slide up to cup my face, her fingers gentle as they trace along my jaw.

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