Page 124 of Craving Venom

His grip tightens around my ass as he lifts me off the ground, pinning me against the wall. A startled gasp leaves my lips, but I don’t fight him. My legs wrap around his waist.

Zane’s cock is hard, pressing against the seam of my jeans, and when he rolls his hips forward, the friction nearly makes me whimper. I gasp and dig my nails into his shoulders, his back, desperate for leverage, for distance, for control, but I have none.

He grinds up, his cock rolling against my pussy through our clothes, and my head falls back against the wall.

“Zane—” My breath shatters. “No, this isn’t—”

He grinds harder, dragging my body down against him, making me feel every thick inch of him. His lips find my neck to press an open-mouthed kiss to the bruise he left earlier.

“This isn’t what?” he drags his lips higher, brushing my ear. “Not what you want?”

Zane groans, his hands sliding over my ass, forcing me to move with him, to feel him exactly where he wants me to.

“Yeah,” he rasps against my throat, moving his hips harder, faster, dragging heat and pressure exactly where I need it. “That’s what I fucking thought.”

My entire body clenches, and suddenly I don’t know where the pleasure stops and the panic begins.

I need to stop.

“Miss Collins?”

I jerk at the authoritative tone that shoves reality back into my head.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I push against Zane’s chest, shoving him hard, and thankfully his hold drops instantly, but the loss of support sends me tilting backward. Zane’s hands snatch my waist, steadying me before I can hit the ground.

I suck in a breath and snap my head to see Dr. Harrington standing right in front of us.

Zane’s hands shift, probably fixing his mask in place, making sure the only part of him showing is his eyes.

“Miss Collins,” he says slowly. “Care to explain why you’re out here instead of watching the game?”

I scramble for an excuse. “I—uh—”

Zane’s thumb presses into my hip, and I force my expression to stay neutral.

I clear my throat. “I was just—getting some air.”

Harrington points at Zane. “And him?”

“Same.”

Harrington’s eyes scan Zane, taking in the hood, the mask, the way he’s standing just a little too close to me.

“And why is he wearing a mask?”

“He has the flu,” I say quickly. “But he didn’t want to miss the game, so he came anyway.”

Harrington doesn’t look convinced. His arms cross, trying to connect dots that don’t need connecting.

“And who is he?”

Before I can think of an answer, before I can control the damage, Zane speaks.

“Her boyfriend.”

I whip my head up, but Zane’s already looking at Harrington with a steady gaze.

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