Page 8 of Snag
Those golden eyes glint knowingly. “Cuddling?”
I laugh. “Well, I was trying to seduce you, but …”
“Zaya. I’m already seduced.”
“There are probably a lot more things we should talk about.”
Rought hums in disagreement. “After the kissing.”
“You want me to kiss you?” I tease, my gaze flicking down to his full lips.
“I want to press you against this wall,” he growls, not the least bit playful. “Between these fucking pictures of our past. Sit you on my fucking shoulders, and bury my face in your perfect cunt, Zaya. I want you to come so hard, you fucking trigger me. I want you begging, then flushed and satisfied. And then I want to do that over and over again until you’re so undone, so content, that you fall asleep in my arms and you dream of nothing. No worries, no fears. Just all the sleep you need.”
“Oh … I …”
I’m warm all over now. Hot, achingly wet, between my legs. I want the pleasure he’s promising, yes. But it’s the sleep … I can’t imagine it even being possible to be that settled, that content.
“So, yeah ….” Rought says. “I want you to kiss me.”
I tilt my head thoughtfully, as if I don’t suddenly, rather desperately want to be pressed against the wall with his tongue on my clit. And I don’t normally like that. It’s too intimate. I feel oddly disengaged whenever a lover tries to —
Maybe my body knows?
Maybe my body has always remembered …
Him.
“Zaya …” he growls playfully.
Smiling just a little, I hover my lips over Rought’s. This is another sort of dance, isn’t it? Because he could have just kissed me. He could have kissed me on the front patio yesterday when I was so enthralled with him at first sight.
“Iwanted to climb you like this when we were dancing,” I whisper, only a breath away from his lips. “I wanted to work your jeans off and fuck you right there in the middle of the clubhouse.”
Rought groans quietly.
“And …” Despite the playfulness we’re both using to keep us in thenow, I feel the need to add, “I don’t … like fucking all that much.”
His gaze practically spears into mine. I open my mouth to ask him if I did like fucking. Did I like fucking him? Have we fucked? He has a bite mark on his hand, the impressions of my teeth scarred across his skin. We definitely fucked as teenagers. I can’t imagine exchanging bites in the shifter way of claiming a mate without knowing, truly knowing, each other first.
Rought doesn’t make me articulate any of that. He slides me slightly down his body so he’s looming over me again, and threads his free hand through my hair. I cinch my legs around him tighter, his head still caged within my arms. Completely wrapped around each other like this blocks everything else from my sight, focuses me solely on him, on the desire threading through me. Until I feel nothing else.
“I’ve never felt so whole as I do when I’m buried deeply in you,” he says. “So realized. So who I’m supposed to be. As I do when you’re clenched and coming around my cock. So we can tease and cuddle all you want, but when you want to fuck, I’m ready for that too.”
“But …” I say, still a little shaky. “Without … without the threads that should bind us, how do you know … ?”
Rought kisses me then, silencing my doubts. At least for the moment. His lips are firm and steadyagainst mine. I press back into him, gripping him as hard as I can. Holding him to me. But I already know he’s not going anywhere.
I know that. Don’t I?
Connection. That’s what he’s offering. And that is what I want. With him.
Something shifts deeply within me, possibly soul deep. I don’t try to analyze it. I just part my lips under Rought’s and slide my tongue against the seam of his mouth. He opens his mouth with a groan that reverberates through me, echoing from his chest to mine.
“Fuck, Zaya …” His grip tightens on my ass and in my hair.
That groaned ‘fuck’ burns through me like an essence-laced shot of whiskey, all the way down to pool between the apex of my thighs. I press my tongue against his, and —
The intersection point taps me.
