Wrapping her hands around my neck, Moira pulls me down a little closer, and our mouths move just a little harder against one another. My blood quickens as my hands move from her face to her hips to pull her body into mine. My cock starts to harden, and I understand now... how a soft and sweet kiss can turn bolder, becoming so sensuous that sex would be the next logical step.
Yes... sex is definitely next on the list. That wasn't my original thought when I first kissed her, but it's certainly my thought now.
My only thought as a matter of fact.
Dropping my hands, I swiftly put one hand under the hem of her skirt and run my fingers up the inside of her leg. Moira gasps into my mouth and her hips flex forward, seeking my touch. I slip one finger under the edge of her panties at the crease of her leg, and take a swipe at her pussy. Warm and moist... fucking perfect.
I sink my finger into her, and Moira bucks against me. Her mouth pulls from mine slightly and she bites my lip, causing me to jerk away. I look at her with surprise, and her eyes challenge me to continue the kiss.
Fuck yeah, I can take a little biting. As my finger pumps in and out of her, I crash my lips back to hers and kiss her with savage need.
Moira's hands go to the button on my shorts and she works at it frantically, practically ripping the zipper as she slams it down. Her soft, warm hands reach in to take my cock and oh, fuck... that feels like heaven.
I've never had a woman's hand on my cock before. So fucking good.
She strokes and squeezes me, causing my finger to thrust harder into her hot flesh, while my head spins with dizziness. I feel like I'm going to break apart in just a few more short strokes of her hand so I rip away from her, my chest heaving with the exertion of trying to maintain some level of control.
Moira stands there, her cheeks flushed, her eyes glazed, and her breathing just as heavy as mine is.
I look down at my hands, and they're shaking.
Fucking shaking.
"Zach?" Moira says softly.
My eyes rise to hers slowly.
"I want to do something to you," she whispers. "I want to take you in my mouth."
Oh, fuck.
A seismic shudder runs through my body at the thought. Yes, yes, yes. I want that very much. Having her mouth wrapped around my cock, just like I saw that woman in the video I watched. The imagery of Moira doing that to me is almost too much to bear. I'm not sure I could keep control. I'm fairly certain she would break me.
"No," I tell her. "Not yet."
"What?" she asks stunned. "But I want--"
"Turn around," I order her. "Bend over the kitchen table."
"Zach?" she asks uncertainly.
"Just do it," I order her. "I want to fuck you from behind."
Because it's too intimate to stare at her face. I just can't handle the feelings that will invoke.
Disappointment fills her eyes and, for a brief second, I reconsider. But I can't let her have the control. It's the only thing left of my true nature, and if she takes that, then she takes everything from me.
Moira inhales deeply through her nose and lets it out softly through her mouth, before turning away from me. But she doesn't walk to the table, instead striding right past me to her purse on the table by the door. She grabs it and opens the door.
"I'm going out to buy you a cell phone. I'll be back in a little bit."
She doesn't even look at me again as she walks out the door and shuts it behind her.
Chapter 12
Moira
I've avoided talking to Zach for three days now. It's not been hard, since he's not talking to me. I've offered to take him places but he's declined, stating that he had some books he wanted to read. He's sequestered himself in his room and comes out at meal times, eating silently and acknowledging any questions I might have with short, one-word answers.
I know I shocked him when I wouldn't do as he demanded the other day. God, I wanted so badly for him to fuck me from behind like he ordered, but something inside of me refused to bend. Zach is shying away from the intimacy involved in sex, trying to hold on tight to his control. I have a feeling that losing his discipline may be too much for Zach to bear at this moment, and I don't want him to do something he's not comfortable with.
Yet, I can't be the one that bends to his every whim either. I'm not built that way. Not for the long term anyway.
I'll never regret for a moment giving in to him that first time. Letting him pin me to the floor in a glorious display of superior dominion. It's something I had been naughtily dreaming of since the day I first laid eyes on him. I know Zach's inherent nature is to dominate, to force submission, and even the second time we had sex, he had to assert his will on me.
Once the dam was broken within me, I knew there was no going back. I couldn't undo what we had done, and I don't want to. I also want to do it again, and again, and again with him. But I have an inherent nature too, and I desire having a two-way street when it comes to my sexuality. I like to give, and I want him to receive, but Zach has to want that too. And unfortunately, it doesn't seem like he wants that at all.
I'm also a woman--let's not forget that. And it about killed me when Zach walked away from me the other night, even as I still had sparkles of pleasure coursing through me. Any fantasies of Zach pulling me in his arms and stroking my hair with tenderness were quashed right there.
So I'm not sure where that leaves us. My feelings are tied up, but I also have to keep my eye on the prize. And that's making sure Zach has a healthy adjustment here in this new world he's facing. I can't do that if we're both tied up in knots over the uncertainty of where we stand with each other. The only problem is, I don't know how to approach any of this with Zach, so I've kept my silence and bided my time.
Unfortunately, time is up. Randall Cannon is eager for us to visit him in Atlanta, and I can't put him off any longer.
Walking back to Zach's room, I knock softly on the door. "Zach?"
I can hear the creak of the bed and then footsteps. He opens the door, just a few inches, and peers out at me.
"You got a minute to talk?"
"Sure," he says, following me out into the living room. He's wearing a pair of olive green cargo shorts and nothing else. They ride low on his lean hips, and I wonder if there will ever be a time that I can look at him without my mouth going dry.
I sit down on the couch and he takes the seat at the other end, angling his body toward me while flipping his arm over the back cushion casually.
"Randall called this morning. He's anxious for us to come out so you can meet. I'd like to book us a flight out of here tomorrow."
I expect a fight out of Zach because he has been vocal all along about his distaste of Randall Cannon. While I think he's forgiven me for my role in our transgressions against him, he's still harboring a world of bitter feelings against his godfather.
"How long will we be staying there?"
I shrug my shoulders. "I'm not sure. Maybe just a few days. I know he's eager to get to know you."
"Yet I don't want to get to know him," he says.
"I know," I say with a frustrated sigh. "So, let's plan on two days, and then we can come back if you want."
"Fine," Zach says and starts to stand from the couch.
"Wait a minute," I say desperately because I can't stand the cold shoulder I've been getting. I miss the easy humor that had started appearing within Zach not long ago, and I
miss his innocent curiosity about things. I miss just talking to him, and I'm dying for something here. "Are you mad at me... because I wouldn't do as you asked the other day?"
Zach flops back down on the cushion and scrubs his hands through his hair. He turns to look at me, "No, I'm not mad. Frustrated, but not mad."
"I'm sorry," I tell him honestly. "I'm not being contrary. I just... I'm built differently from the women you're used to, and I just can't submit to your demands all the time."
"I know, Moira," Zach says quietly... a bit sadly. "I think that was just a good reminder that I don't belong in this place. The way you are... so confident and sure of yourself. You want certain things, and you know what's best for you. You don't need a man... not really. It's hard for me to accept."
My heart sinks over his words because I recognize the finality in his tone. I want to argue and rage against what he's saying. I want to tell him to try something new, to give it a chance. But I can't go there. It would be me arguing for something that I want personally, not what is best for Zach. I'm not here to change him, only to help him understand things. It sounds to me that he understands the way of things well enough though, and that means I need to leave it alone.
"Look," Zach says, standing from the couch again. "I'm going to go get packed up. Just let me know when we're leaving, and I'll be ready."
"Okay," I murmur, feeling the desperate need to latch onto further conversation, but realizing in my heart, there isn't anything more to say.
The plane trip to Atlanta is uneventful and after a twenty-minute cab ride, we are finally pulling into an immensely long driveway bordered by stately oak trees. It winds along for a good quarter mile, and then we round a bend, revealing a massive Tudor-style mansion. It sprawls on forever with steeply pitched roofs, half-timbered panels inlaid with herringbone brickwork, a sprawling porch that could hold about a hundred people, and tall, mullioned windows that reflect the early afternoon sun.
The cabbie pulls up in a large, circular driveway, and the front door immediately opens as we get out of the car. I see Randall walking down the front steps, looking fit in a pair of pressed khaki shorts, a white polo shirt, and brown loafers. He's followed by a man in about his forties, wearing a pair of black slacks and a white dress shirt.