Page 135 of Where Broken Wings Fly

When his tongue spears my entrance, I cry out again. Nothing but his touch and tongue can break me free from the prison of my anguish. Zach circles my entrance before pushing a finger inside.

“There you go,” he hums. “So wet and tight. My perfect girl.”

“Zach,” I mewl. “Please.”

“You’re very impatient today, aren’t you?”

He adds a second finger, driving it into me without warning. I feel my walls stretch around him, the warmth tricking through my veins. Bucking against his hand, I savour the swipe of his tongue over my folds as he fingers me.

My bare back slides across the wall, still wet with paint. I can feel it sticking to my skin and hair, but I don’t give a fuck. All that matters is the feel of him dominating every last dark corner of my mind and driving the demons out.

Zach pauses, licking the gleaming moisture from his lips. I take the chance to unclasp my bra and toss it aside, until I’m completely bare and at his mercy.

“I need you to fuck me, right now.”

His eyebrows lift. “What, no please?”

Dragging him up with a tight handful of his hair, I seize his belt. “No. Stop treating me like some precious wallflower. Prove nothing’s changed and you still want me, even now that you know the truth.”

Zach lets me shove his jeans to the floor and he steps out of them, peeling his boxers off next. His length stands tall and proud, straining to be touched. I seize a handful and begin to pump, my gaze not leaving his face.

“Turn around,” he orders. “Hands on the wall.”

“It’s still wet.”

“I honestly do not give a flying fuck. Do it.”

I turn and face the wall. My hands become slick with paint, ruining my hard work, but that doesn’t stop Zach from grabbing my hips to pull my ass against his crotch.

“Shit,” he curses. “Hang on.”

Impatiently waiting, he ducks down to reach for his wallet that’s tucked into his jeans pocket. He retrieves a condom from inside, a grin blossoming on his face when I laugh at his preparedness.

“Hey, you can never be too careful,” he defends.

“I really don’t want to know why you’re so prepared.”

“Only for you, if that’s what you’re thinking. There’s no one else.”

“Good.”

Shoving a hand into my lower back, he bends me back over. I stare at the wall, a fine tremble running over me with the torment of anticipation. Zach caresses my hip, leaving me clueless to when he’s going to enter me.

When his control snaps and he finally thrusts into me, it’s in one slick, relentless pump. I scream out his name, overwhelmed by the press of his cock buried deep inside of me.

“Goddammit, Willow. You feel so fucking good.”

Drawing out again, he slams back into me, adopting a brutal, punishing rhythm. It isn’t like the first time I slept with Killian, and he was afraid of making a single wrong move. Zach’s gentleness has dissipated along with his patience.

Keeping my knees slightly bent, I take every inch of steel sliding into my pussy. Each stroke adds to the building pressure that submits to Zach’s demands for my submission. His hand circles around me, lifting two fingers to press against my lips.

“Suck.”

“Why?”

“Stop asking questions and fucking do it.”

I take the digits into my mouth and swirl my tongue around his fingers, covering them in saliva. His thrusts slow for a second as his hand glides down my spine. When he tickles the tight ring of muscle at my rear, I almost see stars.

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