Page 62 of Heated
Barely.
My hand continues to rest on her sweetly rounded lower belly, my thumb sweeping back and forth just inside the opening of her jeans, our fast, loud breaths the only sounds in the room. Finally, several moments later, she raises her head from my neck and meets my gaze. Even in the dimness of the living room, I glimpse the shadows in her eyes. But they take a back seat to the bright glimmer of lust.
And to the “Make me come” that falls from her lips.
On a growl, I wedge myself between her thighs, spreading her wider. A slight tremble afflicts my hand as I slide it between denim, cotton, and skin. Excitement and anticipation race neck and neck with desire, and when my fingers slide through slick, soft flesh ...fuck.
Our twin groans melt on the air, and I press my forehead to hers, biting the inside of my cheek. Her head tips back, pressing to the wall, twisting from side to side. One day—one day soon if I have my way—I’m going to have a front-row seat to the beauty of her pussy parting for my fingers, my tongue. But tonight, I’m studying her face as if there will be a test on it later. Studying it for telltale signs at my every caress, circle, stroke. Studying it for that particular tautened expression just before ...
I rub her clit. Hard.
Her cry trips free, and I slam my mouth down on hers, taking it, owning it as my due, and not letting up on her flesh. I pluck and caress, drawing out the release until she whimpers into my mouth and her hips flinch. Only then do I slowly withdraw my hand from her pants.
And lift it to my mouth.
Her hooded gaze flares as I slip my drenched fingers between my lips and suck her from my skin. Her taste—tangy, fresh, and soher—explodes on my tongue, and it only whets my appetite to gorge on it directly from the source.
I pull my fingers free and slowly lower her to the floor. Her arms, which were still wound tight around my neck, loosen, and she drops them to her sides. She flattens her palms to the walls on either side ofher lush hips. The vulnerability of the move hits me in the chest. Is she afraid of me? Or of the pleasure we just shared? Because even though I’m still hard and hurting, giving her release—having her swollen, wet flesh under my fingers—was pure rapture.
“Zora.” Her gaze lifts to mine, and the shadows are deeper now that the glaze of passion starts to fade. My gut clenches. “Talk to me.”
Her glance drops down my body to the erection no doubt fucking with the seam of my jeans. I don’t try to adjust or hide it. Hell, if anything, I want her to witness what effect she has on me. See how much I desire her.
“You,” she whispers, jerking her gaze back up to mine. “You haven’t—”
“I don’t give a fuck about that.” I slash a hand through the space between us. “And you’re not ready for that.” The brief slump of her shoulders confirms my guess. I’m not even sure she realizes her body revealed that small tell. “Only you are,” I murmur, cocking my head.
She averts her gaze. “Cyrus, I’m—”
“Don’t you dare apologize.” I cut her off. “What just happened here was all my pleasure. It was my damn honor. If I don’t get to do anything else but touch your sweet little pussy—because goddamn, baby, it’s so fucking sweet—and have you come on my fingers, then I’m happy with that. If it’s your choice not to go any further, then we’ll end this right here. Not the friendship, Zora. Just this part of it. But you don’t want to end it, do you? You want me, baby.”
I lower my gaze to the obvious beads of her nipples under her white thermal shirt. And the evidence of her desire is still thick on my tongue. And her sex no doubt still pulses with the echoes of her release; her thighs are still damp with her cream.
“Your choice, Zora.” I skate my fingertips over her temple and cheek and across her jaw. “You decide whether we continue as we’ve been, just friends. Or do we become lovers as well, enjoying each other’s bodies, giving each other pleasure? Using each other to beat back theloneliness neither one of us wants to admit to but we both know we have. Either way”—I shake my head—“three months. No strings, no demands, no expectations.” I drop my arm and step back. “Think on it, baby. Your choice,” I repeat. “And whichever one you make, I’ll honor.”
Shifting forward, I brush a kiss over her forehead, her honey-and-almond scent filling my nose. I inhale, closing my eyes.
I step back.
“Night, Zora.”
Then, without looking back, because my masochism has its limits, I walk the short distance to the front door and let myself out. On the other side, I pause, waiting until I hear the turn of the lock before descending the steps to my car.
Only then do I glance at the house.
And it’s harder than it should be to get in my car and drive away.
CHAPTER TWELVE
ZORA
“Hey, Zora.”
I glance up from the cup of coffee I’m brewing toward the door of the small break room. Deanna stands there, wearing a smile as bright as her voice. But as soon as she steps through the doorway and closes it behind her, her mouth flattens, and her brows crease into a frown.
“What’s wrong?” I turn from the one-cup coffee machine and face my office manager and friend. “Your mom? Warren?” A couple of weeks ago, she’d met this guy, and I’m praying he’s the one to get her over her crush on Levi.
“No, no, they’re both fine.” She waves a hand, and her smile makes another brief appearance. “More than fine, actually. Warren, I mean, not my mother. Although, I’m sure she’s doing great, too, but I didn’t wake up next to her this morning—”
