Page 44 of Snag
She giggles as if I’ve just complimented her, yanking at my belt and then my zipper. “That doesn’t stop you from wanting to fuck me,” she says. “All three of you cunt-struck idiots. You were just the easy target.”
“What?”
She shoves her hand in my boxers. I’m soft. So soft that I’m surprised she finds my dick at all.
I grunt.
She pouts, tugging on my limp dick hard and fast. “Really? I expected more.”
I snarl, getting seriously pissed off. It’s not like she’s ready for me either.
I jam my dry fingers into her. She mews, arching off the wall and shoving her breasts forward. As if she’s actually enjoying being fingered, but …
I still can’t smell her, still can’t —
“Reck!” she snarls. “Stop fucking around. I want your dick in me. I want your come dripping from me.”
Under her slightly-too-tight grip — and the image she’s shoved into my head — my dick finally starts to harden.
She hums contentedly. The noise slithers down my spine. The cu-sith has retreated deep into my mind. That should be a relief. But I look down at Zaya’s upturned face, pumping my fingers in and out of her and making swipes at what I’m hoping is her seriously uninterested clit with my thumb, and I can’t reconcile any of what is happening with what I actually want.
This is not the Zaya I want.
This is not the Zaya who ruined me for all other potential hookups, and for any other intimacy, the first time she slid her tongue between my lips.
The first time she ground down on my ridiculously hard cock with only our shorts between us.
The first time I slipped my fingers into her bikini and watched her come on my hand, nearly fucking coming myself just from the press of her energy.
This isn’t the Zaya from the picture I’ve hoarded all these years — covered in layers of decryption so theAuthority techs couldn’t accidentally stumble upon it during their biannual mandated sweeps — because when my fucked-up life was too much to bear, I just needed to look into the eyes of my dead soul-bound mate.
Each time I gave in to that need, I swore I’d never do it again … yet I never could bring myself to outright delete the photo of my Larkspur looking at me as she orgasmed.
Zaya yanks me by the dick, lifting her leg up over my hip and trying to line me up. “Lift me,” she commands. “Fuck me against this wall.”
Moving with intent before I even make the decision, I fucking tear her sunglasses off.
The purple eyes that meet mine are so pale they’re practically white. Zaya’s irises are ringed in darker purple, almost black, but then abruptly fade into a light lavender barely indistinguishable from the outer whites. The severely bloodshot whites. Her pupils are sharp pinpoints, not blown out with any level of desire.
“What the fuck is wrong with your eyes?” I snarl.
Zaya twists my rapidly deflating dick in her hand harshly, though I barely feel anything. “This is what you want,” she insists. “This is what you’ve always wanted.”
I start to pull away, knocking her leg off my hip.
Straightening against the wall, she clenches both legs tightly around my hand to stop my retreat, partly trapping my fingers in her barely damp cunt.
“You don’t want me,” I say, trying to regain some control. “You never wanted me, Zaya.”
My own lie slithers over me, cutting deep.
My … lie?
Zaya grabs the back of my neck, using it and my dick as twin levers as she yanks me against her. As if she’s going totry to stuff my soft dick inside her despite my unwilling body.
She’s way too strong.
I grunt, rearing back and shoving her harshly against the wall to get her off me.
