32. Jasmine

Chapter thirty-two

Jasmine

Z ane's hands move with practised ease as he clears the remnants of our breakfast from the small breakfast bar. The ceramic clinking punctuates the silence between us—a comfortable quiet, a residual companion from the day before. I am content to watch the muscles in his forearms tense and release with each purposeful movement. It is a simple domesticity that belies the intensity of our less-than-platonic connection.

As the final dish is placed into the dishwasher, he turns towards me, and the morning light catches the edges of his unruly hair, setting them ablaze with hints of silver. But it isn't the halo effect that captures my attention; it's the unmistakable glint of wickedness that sparkles in his chocolate-brown eyes. That look is a silent language we both understand fluently—the prelude to the promises he made before we ate.

"Seems like we've got the place to ourselves," Zane says, his voice low and teasing. He leans against the counter, arms crossed, as if to barricade any escape from the electrifying atmosphere that now charges the room. "And I don't have to work for another hour."

His words weave through the space, like an invitation whispered by the devil himself, and I find myself already rising to meet it.

A nod is all it takes, and the words dissolve into the heat of our shared glance. My agreement is silent but an undeniable surrendering to the magnetic pull of Zane's desire.

He extends a hand to me with a smirk that promises untold pleasures, and we move as one entity toward the staircase. Our ascent up the stairs is hurried. We barely reach the bedroom door before the first item of clothing is flung aside. Once there, fingers dance over buttons and zippers in a frenetic ballet, dismantling the barriers between us. Zane's shirt is the first to go, revealing the hard planes of his chest that beg for my touch. His hands, equally impatient, work at the hem of my blouse, tugging it free from the confines of my jeans.

As the last piece of clothing slips from our bodies and tumbles into the growing mound on the floor, I stand before Zane, as bare and open as he is.

With an air of possession, Zane guides me towards the bed, our feet silent on the plush carpet. Zane's hands find the small of my back and ease me down onto the edge of the mattress. The bed welcomes me into the soft fabric as I ease my body back. With deliberate slowness, he hovers above me.

He begins at my collarbone, planting feathery kisses that dance like butterflies across the landscape of my flesh. His mouth traced a path of intent, charting a course over the rise and fall of my curves, lingering on the peaks and valleys as though savouring a fine wine.

"Your skin," he murmured against the hollow of my throat, "is like satin under storm clouds—soft yet electric." His voice, roughened with desire, sends another tremor through me.

Who needs more than words when he says things like that?

I change my mind when his hands move to my breasts. Gripping them in each hand, he massages gently, holding me captive in his grip. Tenderising my breasts like they're steaks to be devoured, his mouth moves in with sizzling kisses. His hands release me, exposing taught nipples for his mouth's attention, as one hand slides down my body. His touch travels the length of my thigh while his mouth has me writhing on the sheets. Fingertips lightly brushed along the length of my leg, a whisper of movement that left a trail of heat in its wake. My breath hitched as his other palm cupped the weight of one breast, thumb teasing over the sensitive crest while his other hand continued its ascent up my inner thigh.

"I do love your long legs." He pauses his hand perilously close to where my body aches for him. "But it's where they lead that I desire the most..." His voice trails off into something more carnal than words as his gaze locks with mine, heavy with unspoken promises.

Zane's fingers dance with purpose, finding the silken folds of my core. A gasp escapes me as he slips inside, one finger and then another, his movements deliberate and knowing. The sensation of him touching me there, in the most intimate of ways, sends ripples of pleasure through my body, each wave stronger than the last. I arched beneath him, a wordless plea for more, my hands clawing at the sheets.

"Tell me what you need," he murmurs, his breath hot against my ear as he continues to stroke my innermost places with a rhythm that is maddening in its precision.

"Please," I moan.

His warm breath tickles my skin as he chuckles, pushing his fingers deeper inside me. "You've been holding out waiting for me for so long. You deserve everything now."

His fingers curl inside, hitting me just the right way to coax my body to the edge of reason. Stars dance before my eyes as my body succumbs to waves of pleasure.

Zane checks in on me as I regain the ability to breathe; I can only nod frantically at him as he asks for reassurance of my happiness. I have never been so happy in my life. As the tremors of my pleasure slowly subside, Zane moves his legs over mine, pushing my still-quivering knees apart to accommodate him.

The head of his cock presses against my entrance, and without hesitation or barrier, he slides home. The sensation of him filling me is both familiar and breathtakingly new, as if each time we came together, we discovered something new in our unity.

"Look at me," he commands gently, and I open my eyes to find his gaze burning into mine. "I love you."

He doesn't wait for a reply; there is no such expectation in his tone of movements. And as he begins to move within me, each thrust driving deeper than the last, I know that I am exactly where I belong.

With my first orgasm still fading, Zane sets a relentless rhythm that promises to unravel me all over again. The heat of his body above me, the one arm under my shoulders are signs of tender care, that our passion is more than cardinal pleasure. This is about bringing our bodies and souls together as one.

His hips stall, his cock deep inside me. I'm blind to his movements, lost in the storm of pleasure that crashes over me for a second time this morning. Nothing else matters as we share this moment together.

The world shrinks to the point of connection between us, the place where his body claims mine with an intensity that bordered on possession. My legs wrap around him, heels digging into the small of his back to draw him even deeper. I'm lost in the storm he conjured within me, my hands roaming over the muscles of his back, feeling them tense and release with every thrust.

"Yes, yes, yes." I groan, finally regaining my use of words. "I love you too."