Page 19 of After Hours

Because this part was about the fucking.

This was about the journey. The thrust and the retreat, the slick way he used her to fuck him, like they were both part of the same machine.

Some people were always in a rush to the finish, but that wasn’t sex as far as Zachary was concerned. He liked to fuck. He liked to make it last.

He liked to hang out on that edge and see how long it took to break.

She moaned something, and he grinned, feeling wild with all this intensity, and the way shefeltdraped around him, like he’d carved her into being straight out of his best fantasies.

“No coming until I tell you,” he reminded her. “And no words, little bird. All you have to do is hold on and let me make you fly.”

She tilted her head back and he could see her, then. All of her. The mad passion in her eyes, bright like gold. The way she couldn’t quite get her mouth to close over the way she was breathing out those moans of hers.

The way she gripped him, her thighs around his torso and her arms around his neck, those round breasts of hers scraping their way across him with every deep thrust.

He could also see how much she wanted to speak.

Maybe almost as much as she wanted to come, quivering around him the way she was.

“You better hold on tight,” he gritted out at her. “I’ve needed to fuck you like this for a long, long time, Romily. This is going to take a while.”

Chapter Six

The world seemed to narrow down and expand all at once. There seemed like a thousand things she ought to have been doing, noticing, cataloguing—but she couldn’t manage it. It was like she had no access to her brain the way she normally did no matter what was happening.

Tonight, all Romily could concentrate on was Zachary.

On the impossible strength he displayed so offhandedly. The way he held her up and moved her against him and didn’t seem even remotely out of breath.

On the way his dangerous Viking face looked, harsh lines somehow beautiful, that beard a revelation now that she’d felt it against her skin and those blue eyes that she was certain saw every last part of her.

On the fact that she was naked and he was almost entirely clothed still, his jeans shoved down to free him and nothing else like the fantasy she’d watched play out earlier—only now it was happening to her.

On the enormous cock that hammered into her again and again and again. Or maybe she was technically the hammer inthis situation, given he was using her as the tool to fuck them both.

And it turned out that this beautiful, terrifying, perfect man was remarkably good with tools.

Zachary maintained the same rhythm. The samepreciserhythm, moving her body so that she was creating the friction even though she was literally putty in his hands and frictionless in every other way.

It was glorious. It was outside anything Romily had ever experienced before. It was as if she’d never touched or been touched before—that was how utterly new this felt.

And it wasn’t just the way he was doing this, the actual mechanics of this. It was everything surrounding it. Her obedience. His approval.

Her surrender, his delicious control.

She could barely conceive of what had already happened, much less what was happening to her now. Happening and happening andhappening.

Normally it took a lot of work and time and effort for her to come. This was true when she was alone as well as when she’d been with other men in the past. She’d been certain, for years now, that it was an anatomical situation. And she hadn’t much cared, because she could usually get thereeventually.Not generallywithanyone.

But Zachary seemed positive not only that shewouldcome, but that she might come more than once.

And then he’d ordered hernotto.

It had seemed silly. She might have laughed if the situation had been less intense. If she’d been mouthier she might have told him not to worry, that she’d be just fine holding herself back from something that was unlikely to ever occur, thanks.

But now it was like every single breath she took was athreatconnected directly to her clit.

The more she told herself not to come, the moresomethingseem to wind tighter and tighter deep inside of her. Something big and precarious and as serious as that blue gleam in his gaze.

---