She gasped as he cupped her breasts, thumbed her nipples. She sobbed his name, rose toward him, caught his bottom lip between her teeth and bit the tender flesh.
Zach slid his hand between her thighs.
The breath shuddered in his throat.
She was hot and wet; she moaned as he cupped her. As he parted her. Her clitoris was already swollen and he stroked it with his fingers. She was panting. Gasping. He stroked harder and she cried out, lifted one leg and wrapped it around his.
He cupped her bottom with his big hands, raised her to him as he backed her against the door. She brought her other leg around him and he clasped her thigh, brought her leg higher, higher…
“Now,” he said, and he drove into her hard and fast and deep.
Her cry of pleasure, the clamp of her muscles around his erection, almost undid him. Hold on, he told himself. Wait. Wait…
But he’d already been waiting. Days. Nights. Weeks. For this, the exquisite taste of her mouth. This, the honeyed sweetness of her body. This, the feel of her muscles contracting around him.
She was weeping.
Was he hurting her? It took all the effort he possessed to withdraw, hold still…
“Don’t stop,” she said, “don’t stop don’t stop don’t—”
Zach groaned. He rocked into her again and again and caught her cries with his mouth. She was coming apart in his arms and he—God, he was flying, flying…
One last thrust.
She screamed.
Zach threw back his head and flew into the night with her, let the ecstasy of being inside her again sweep everything else away.
* * * *
They stayed that way for long minutes.
Then, he kissed her mouth. And, slowly, lowered her down the length of his body until her feet touched the floor. He kissed her again and again, with a tenderness that brought tears to her eyes.
She sighed. Leaned into him. Buried her face in his chest.
Their respiration slowed.
She felt boneless; if he let go of her, she thought dreamily, she’d probably sink to the floor.
Amazing, that being in the arms of a man she hardly knew should be like coming home.
The last weeks had been so hard. The fear that Steven was stalking her. Trying to make sense of what she’d done in New York, not just that she’d slept with a man she’d known for, what, a couple of hours, but that she’d run away rather than face him in the morning.
That, at least, was behind her now.
Zacharias was here.
He’d come to her.
After weeks had dragged by.
No phone calls. Nothing. For all she knew, he hadn’t thought of her once during that endless time. Now, suddenly, here he was, at her door in the middle of the night, pounding on it, demanding entry.
And she’d gone straight into his arms.
No explanations. No apologies. Not even a hello. She’d let things happen exactly as they had that first time, his rules, his script. What was happening to her? She didn’t like this new Jaimie, this—this out-of-control creature who seemed to have forgotten the simplest tenets of morality.