Page 60 of Seeking Shadows

Tristan jumps up. "I guess I better get back to work."

I open my mouth to protest, but before I can, Zane grabs my wrist and pulls me closer to him.

"You get on my nerves."

"And you made me scare Tristan. Now I need to explain to him that I'm not going to kill him." I wink at him, and Zane sighs again, looking away.

But when I stand up to leave, Zane suddenly grabs me, his hands firm on my waist as he pulls me onto his lap. The shift is instant, his body pressing against mine, and a charged silence fills the space between us. God. My breath catches, and I can feel the heat rising between us.

His eyes lock onto mine, but he doesn’t say a word. The tension lingers, heavy and electric, and I can't look away.

“You haven’t finished eating. Eat.”

His tone is low, almost calm—but the steel beneath it is unmistakable. He pulls the plate closer, scoops a bite, and brings the spoon to my lips.

I open my mouth for him, and God, the way he watches me do it—like he’s feeding me something sacred, like the sight of me obeying him sends a pulse straight through his cock.

It’s only the second time he’s done this.

And it already wrecks me.

His hand finds my waist, fingers tracing down the curve of my side with slow, claiming ease. He doesn't rush. He doesn’t have to. He touches me like I’m something expensive he paid for in blood—and he plans to savor every inch.

The heat of him presses against my back, and I feel it—him, hard and thick, nestled between my thighs. A low gasp escapes my lips, more air than sound.

I shouldn’t have worn this damn skirt.

He knows how wet I am for him. I know he knows.

“I should fuck you in this position,” he murmurs, voice rasping against the shell of my ear. “Just like this. So you don’t forget who you fucking belong to.”

I shiver. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

He spreads my legs wider, slow and casual like we have all the time in the world, like he’s just adjusting me. But then his hand slides up my thigh, and he finds the thin lace already damp and clinging to me.

“Would you do it slowly or hard?” I breathe, grinding slightly back into him.

His cock jerks against me.

“Slowly,” he growls. “So you can feel every fucking inch of me. So I can stretch you open again, make you whimper into my neck while I sink into that pretty little pussy.”

A single finger drags my panties to the side. I don't even realize I'm holding my breath until he slips one inside me—deep and unrelenting.

My gasp is sharp and loud.

“Zane—fuck—”

“I’d start slow,” he says, curling that finger deliberately. “But not for long. Not when you’re dripping like this. You’d take me so well, wouldn't you, Mia?”

He pushes another finger in, and I nearly lose my balance. My thighs tremble. My head falls back against his shoulder.

“Then I’d fuck you harder,” he mutters, mouth grazing my jaw as his fingers pump faster, deeper, rougher. “Fast enough to make you forget your own name. Deep enough to remind you who owns this fucking body.”

“Tristan—” I whisper.

“Isn’t here,” he cuts in. “Don’t fucking utter another man’s name, or I’ll deny your release.”

---