Page 73 of Heated
“Zora,” he murmurs. “Look at me.”
I drag my eyes from where his cock is notched at the entrance to my sex. My chest rises and falls, rises and falls. When I meet Cyrus’s gaze, he nods.
“Eyes on me, baby. Be with me. Breathe with me.”
I inhale, exhale. Following his lead. Leaning forward, I press my lips to his.
“Come inside me,” I invite him.
He doesn’t wait. Doesn’t hesitate. He thrusts forward, burying his cock, stretching me, filling me, branding me. I whimper against his mouth, and it’s part plea, part demand. And they’re the same word: more.
His arms wrap around me, holding me tight, even as his hips buck and grind, driving into me. Winding my legs around his waist, I open up to him, allow him to claim all of me, pound deeper, giving me all of his long thick length. As if in thanks, he strokes a hand up my back, tangles it in my hair, and tugs my head back, capturing my mouth. His tongue strokes inside, mimicking his cock, taking, claiming, leaving me thoroughly fucked.
Lifting his other hand to the back of the couch, he steadies himself and rides me hard, offering me no mercy. Pleasure sizzles and snaps through my body. My sex quivers as every one of Cyrus’s thrusts rubs the base of his cock against my clit, setting off minifireworks. I’m shaking—my thighs, my belly, my arms.
“Let me have it, baby,” he growls, reaching between us and strumming his fingers over my clit. “Give it to me.”
One more caress. Then another. And I’m exploding. Scattering in pieces. Even as my cries bounce around my head and ricochet off the walls of the room, his cock jerks within me, setting off another, smaller but just as intimate orgasm. I clutch him close, trusting him to be my safe place to fall.
Even if only for a little while.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CYRUS
I watch from the predawn shadows of the kitchen, coffee in hand, as Zora creeps down the staircase and soundlessly makes a beeline for the clothes scattered on the living room floor. She shimmies into her jeans, and despite coming three times with her, my dick stirs at the unselfconscious sensual dance. I sip my coffee, leaning my hip against the counter, and continue to take in the show.
She rummages among the couch cushions and finally locates her bra and then her sweater. As she’s about to pull on her boots, I move from the kitchen to the living room entrance.
“Were you going to say goodbye?”
“Holyshit.” A boot flies from her hands and hits the chair leg across from her. Spinning around, she glares at me, splaying a hand across her chest. “Could you maybenotscare the living daylights out of me?”
“Sure.” I sip my coffee. “The next time you’re not sneaking out of my house at the crack of dawn, I promise not to.”
“I’m notsneaking,” she hisses, appearing offended.
I arch an eyebrow.
“I was being considerate and trying to clear out before you started your day.”
“Did I ask for that ... consideration?”
We stare at each other, her with narrowed eyes and me over the rim of my cup.
“Fine.” She throws up her hands, then plops them on her hips. “You got me. I was trying to avoid the awkward morning after.”
“Well, you definitely accomplished that,” I drawl.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
I shrug a shoulder. “A little.”
Sighing, she digs in her jeans pocket and, a moment later, ties her hair in a messy bun on top of her head.
“Can you at least offer me coffee?”
“I can do that,” I rumble, battling the lust rapidly firing inside me at that simple, easy gesture.
