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His thumb passes over my knuckles.
“And then what?”
“Then you come back here. You complain about how hard I hit, and I pretend to feel bad.”
He gives a short laugh.
“I’m serious, Micah.”
“So am I.” I turn my hand in his and hold on properly. “I want the morning after with you.”
He looks at me then. Whatever he rehearsed on the way here, he seems to have forgotten it.
“I love you.”
I forget what I was going to say. We haven’t spoken those three words aloud. We danced around the truth’s edges, letting our hands make the confessions our mouths refused to form.
Now, the truth hangs in the humid air of the rented studio, and I can’t stop looking at him.
“I love you too.” My throat aches from saying it. “Whatever happens tomorrow. Whatever comes after. I love you.”
Zane crushes his mouth to mine.
The kiss holds no hesitation. It bursts with desperate gratitude and a tidal wave of unsaid emotion. He tastes like mint and raw adrenaline. I part my lips, letting him in, meeting the aggressive thrust of his tongue. He grips my face, his calloused palms burning against my jaw.
I reach down and grab the hem of his dark hoodie. I pull the thick cotton over his head and toss it onto the floor.
His golden skin gleams in the faint street light. The severe dehydration required to hit the one-hundred-and-seventy-pound limit leaves his physique looking carved from stone. The lamp casts deep shadows beneath his ribs. He looks dangerous. He feels fragile.
He reaches for the waistband of my sweatpants. His knuckles graze my stomach. I suck in a sharp breath, lifting my hips to let him strip the fabric away. He tosses my clothes into the pile of discarded clothes. A second later, he sheds his own jeans and boxer briefs.
We press together, bare chest to bare chest.
The friction ignites a roaring fire in my blood. I wrap my arms around his waist and flip us over on the mattress. I pin his shoulders to the quilted comforter. He stares up at me, his chest heaving, his amber eyes blown wide and completely black with need.
“You belong to me.” I frame his face with both hands.
“Yours.” He arches his spine, pressing his heavy erection against my hip. “Show me. Please.”
I reach for the nightstand. My fingers close around the plastic bottle of silicone lube. I pop the cap with my thumb, pouring a thick, cold pool of the liquid into my palm.
Zane parts his muscular thighs. He opens himself to my gaze without a single flinch. The undefeated Ironside king surrenders every ounce of his control, laying his vulnerability bare on my cheap sheets.
I coat my fingers. I lean down, dragging my open mouth down his throat.
“Deep breath,” I murmur against his pulse point.
He inhales a jagged breath. I press two slick fingers inside him.
A loud, wordless groan tears from his lips. He tosses his head back, his fingers digging into the mattress. I stretch the tight, hot muscle with a firm, relentless pressure. He tightens around my fingers.
“Look at me,” I command.
He opens his eyes. He looks right at me, and I nearly forget to move.
I add a third finger. I curl my hand upward, hitting the spot that makes him shudder. Zane bucks his hips into my palm. A high, broken whine escapes his throat. He reaches blindly for my shoulders, his nails biting into my skin.
“You are so beautiful.” I trace the sharp line of his jaw with my free hand. “I’m going to take care of you. Tonight. Tomorrow. For as long as you let me.”
