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“Ready to admit you weren’t coming over because of the music?” he asks, his voice strained.

“Fuck you.” I laugh.

“That’s the idea.”

He pushes inside, and I gasp at the stretch. He’s big. I knew he would be, and I feel every inch as he sinks deeper. My nails dig into his shoulders, my legs wrapping around his waist. He gives me a moment to adjust, his forehead pressed to mine, both of us breathing hard.

Then he moves.

The first thrust knocks a moan from my throat. The second makes my eyes roll back. He fucks with the same intensity he brings to everything; focused, relentless, like he’s trying to prove something. But I’m not about to let him.

Halfway through, I brace my hands against his chest. “Flip.”

He pauses, confused. “What?”

“Flip me on top.”

Understanding flickers in his eyes, followed by that infuriating grin. “You think you can handle it?”

“I think you’re about to find out.”

He pulls out, and I bite my lip at the sudden emptiness. Then his hands are on my hips, and he’s rolling onto his back, pulling me with him. I straddle his waist, my knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his ribs.

The new angle puts me in control. I reach down, guide him back inside, and sink down slowly. His head falls back against my pillows, a groan tearing from his throat.

“Fuck, Ruby.”

I ride him hard, my palms flat on his chest, my hips rolling in a rhythm that makes his hands clench on my thighs.

“Who’s winning now?” I pant, grinding down.

He laughs, breathless. “Still me.”

I clench around him, and his laugh turns into a strangled moan. His hips buck up to meet mine, and somewhere in the rhythm, the fight drains out of us both. We stop trying to prove anything. We just move together, chasing the feeling, the friction, the building pressure.

His thumb finds my clit, rubbing circles that match the pace of my hips. I’m close. So close, and when I look down at him, his blue eyes are fixed on my face like he’s memorizing every detail.

“Come for me,” he says, his voice wrecked. “Let me feel it.”

The command tips me over. My orgasm rips through me, clenching around his cock, and I cry out, my nails raking down his chest. He follows a moment later, his hips slamming up, his groan muffled against my shoulder as he pulls me down to bite the curve of my neck.

We collapse together, a tangle of sweaty limbs and heaving breath. I’m still on top, my face pressed to his chest, his heart pounding under my ear.

I’m flushed, sweaty, and fairly certain I’ve just made the neighbor situation infinitely worse.

His hand comes up to rest on the back of my thigh, his thumb tracing lazy circles over the fox tattoo on my hip.

For a while, neither of us says anything.

Zander lies beside me on his back, breathing almost normally again. I stare at the ceiling and wait for my brain to catch up with what my body clearly decided without consulting it.

Eventually he turns his head toward me. “So.”

“Whatever you’re thinking, don’t.”

His mouth twitches. “I was going to ask if you’re okay.”

That takes some of the fight out of me. “I’m fine.”