Page 42 of Ecstasy
A faint chill makes its way down my spine and I almost want to run.
When I look back at Zara’s pale face, those high cheekbones, those empty eyes, “Zara!” I snap, wanting to shake her. The cool air from the fridge is still running out between us, and I know any second it’s going to start dinging with the alarm that signals it’s been left open.
I close it, knocking her arm out of the way.
She backs up, her movements clumsy, her steps awkward. She slumps against the island in the kitchen and I move toward her, the light from the fridge gone, leaving us only the light from the full moon outside.
Her hands grip the ledge of the island, her eyes on me, but still unseeing.
I reach for her waist, pressing my fingers gently against her, Alex’s shirt beneath my touch. I want to run my hand up her thigh. I want to feel if he’s been here. Inside of her.
I want to touch her scars.
But I don’t.
I step closer, my bare chest against her shirt, my eyes searching for some sign of life in hers.
What is she on?
Whatever it is, I could give her more.
I could take her higher.
I press my brow to hers.
“Zara.”
She doesn’t say anything.
“Baby girl,” I try again. She hasn’t said it, but I think she loves when I call her that. Right now, though, she’s just limp in my arms and her breath smells like alcohol. My heart is thudding in my chest and I want to know what she’s on and I want to know where she’s been and what she did, if she fucked Alex, and I can’t—
I can’t stop it.
My hand trails down over her hip bone, to her bare thigh, and then back up, underhisshirt.
I try to stop myself. For one single second, I try.
I know Alex thinks I have a lot of self-control. He thinks, between the two of us, I’m the good one.
That’s because he doesn’t fucking know me.
Zara’s skin is soft beneath my fingers and I stare into her eyes as I touch her. She’s like a beautiful little robot, quiet and compliant against me. Unwilling or unable to stop me.
And if she’s not going to, I’m certainly not going to stop myself.
I trail two fingers up her inner thigh, loving the way her muscles quiver beneath my light touch. Even if her mind is temporarily gone, carried off by whatever she got into tonight, her body is responding to me.
Her thigh isn’t damp. I trail higher, brushing my fingers against her smooth, bare pussy. She trembles a little against me, and I feel her chest brush mine as she takes a breath.
I run my fingers up her slit, parting her lips, circling her clit with the pad of my fingers.
I hear her sharp intake of breath, and she shifts her hold on the kitchen island to my shoulders, digging her nails in.
I lock eyes with her.
She blinks.
I move lower, feel the slickness of her against my skin. I want to do more. I want to go further. I’ve watched for so long.
