Page 142 of Hidden Echoes

His fingers fist in my hair, breath catching as he licks into me like he can’t get enough. Like he needs to consume it. Claim it.

“Fuck,” he breathes, lips brushing mine, eyes dark. “You taste like me.”

He kisses me harder, messier, tilting my head back so he can take it all. So he can kiss the evidence of his own release off my mouth like it’s holy.

And God, he moans again—that sound.

Like he’s unraveling just from the taste of his own surrender on my tongue.

"I want you," I whispered, voice thick with need, eyes locked on his.

Zane’s breath hitched, lips already parted.

“Tell me how you want me,” he rasped, voice trembling, like he needed the words—like he was already on the edge just imagining them.

I didn’t answer right away. I let my fingers trail down between us, slow and deliberate, until I was wrapping my hand around his cock—still sensitive, still leaking, twitching in my grip.

His head dropped back, a raw moan spilling from his throat.

I guided him down, hips rolling forward as I pressed the tip of his cock against my clit—soft, lazy strokes, just enough friction to make us both lose it. The swollen head dragging over me, slick and aching, spreading his mess across my folds while my body clenched around nothing, begging.

He groaned like it physically hurt not to be inside me.

I rocked my hips again, rubbing the tip against me in slow, teasing circles, my mouth brushing his ear.

“Like this,” I breathed. “So close I can feel your heartbeat in your cock. So close we’re both shaking, moaning, dripping. So close you forget who you are and just give in.”

His hands gripped my thighs like he was trying not to lose it.

“Please…” he panted. “Mia… I’m already fucking desperate.”

“Good,” I whispered. “You’ll give it to me like that. Desperate. Messy. Mine.”

“Those fuck-me eyes again,” he groans against my ear, voice low and wrecked, pulling me tighter against his trembling body.

“I want you to be a good boy and put your big cock inside me,” I gasp against his ear, my fingers tangled in his hair, tugging just enough to make him whimper.

His breath stutters, and I feel his cock twitch against my thigh, so hard it almost aches.

“Yes, baby,” he murmurs, voice thick with need. “I’ll give you everything you need.”

His hands slide under the hem of the only thing covering me—his oversized shirt—and he peels it away slowly, like he’s unwrapping something sacred.

When he tosses it aside, his gaze drinks me in like he’ll never see me again. His palms glide down my sides, warm and reverent, and he groans when he sees how wet I am for him.

“I want to watch,” I breathe. “I want to watch you slide into me. Stretch me open. Fill me. I want it now.”

And Zane listens—of course he does.

He shifts me on the bed with one fluid motion, strong arms positioning me so I’m lying back, legs open, body begging. He kneels between my thighs, guiding the head of his cock to my entrance, pressing just enough for both of us to lose our breath.

Then, with one deep, unhurried thrust—he sinks into me.

“Oh my God,” I moan, my hands flying to his shoulders as my body stretches to take him. “Zane…”

His jaw clenches, brows drawn in that desperate, overwhelmed way I love.

“You’re so tight,” he pants, voice cracking as he buries himself to the hilt. “So wet—I can barely fucking think—”

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