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I answer by dragging his mouth back to mine, my legs wrapping around his waist to erase the space between us. There’s no gentleness here, no room for guilt or grief, just the desperate hunger to feelaliveagain.

His fingers slide beneath my shirt, palms hot as they skim up my ribs. When his thumbs brush the underside of my breasts, I arch into him, a sound tearing from my throat, part moan, part sob, all need.

“I need this,” I gasp against his mouth. “I need to feel something that isn’t?—”

Z snaps, his restraint fracturing. He grabs my shirt by the collar and yanks, ripping it straight down the middle in one vicious tear. Before I can react, his fingers hook beneath the band of my bra and wrench it apart, the clasp giving way under the force. Cool air rushes over my bare skin, nipples tightening instantly as he tosses it aside.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his gaze hungry. “Look at you.”

His hands find my breasts, rough and greedy, kneading with a firm rhythm, thumbs circling my nipples until I’m writhing beneath him. Then his mouth replaces his touch, latching onto one hardened peak. I cry out, back arching off the mat as his teeth graze sensitive flesh, the sting of it sharpening everything, grounding me with need.

“Mark me,” I plead, yanking him closer. “Make mefeelit.”

He utters a low curse against my skin, then bites down just hard enough to steal my breath before soothing the sting with a slow flick of his tongue. One hand moves to my other breast, pinching and rolling the nipple between his fingers, pressure delicious and deliberate,claiming.

“Like this?” he asks, his voice a graveled rasp as he sucks a bruise onto the swell of my breast.

“Yes,” I gasp, arching into the sweet pain of his mouth. “Don't stop.”

Z trails bites and kisses down my stomach as his hands work at my jeans. He tears open the button with impatient fingers, yanking the denim down my legs with such force I hear a seam rip. I kick off my shoes to help him, desperate to feel his skin against mine.

When I'm left in only my underwear, Z pauses, rising to his knees to stare down at me. His chest heaves with each breath, his split lip bleeding again from our kisses.

“Your turn,” I demand, reaching for the hem of his shirt.

He pulls it off in one smooth motion, revealing the sculpted planes of his torso. The familiar sight of his tattoos sparks a rush of heat low in my belly. My fingers trace the lines of ink, following them down to the waistband of his sweatpants where his arousal strains against the fabric.

Z hisses when I palm him through the thin material. “Careful, moya koroleva,” he warns, voice strained. “I'm barely holding on as it is.”

“Then don't hold on,” I challenge, hooking my fingers into his waistband and dragging them down along with his boxer briefs. His cock springs free, hard and flushed against his stomach, the sight making my mouth water with want.

Z kicks the clothing away impatiently, now gloriously naked above me. His hand slides between my thighs, fingers finding the damp cotton of my underwear. He pushes the fabric asideand strokes through my folds. The calluses on his fingertips create a delicious friction that has me arching off the mat. “I need to taste you.”

Before I can respond, he's tearing my underwear off with a sharp rip of fabric. His broad shoulders push my thighs wider as he settles between them, his hot breath hitting my core in a way that makes me shiver with anticipation.

“Please,” I gasp, beyond pride or patience.

Z's eyes flash as he looks up at me from between my legs. “Since you asked so nicely.”

The first stroke of his tongue nearly unravels me. He groans against me, the vibration rippling through my core as he devours me with relentless focus. His grip on my thighs is unforgiving, holding me steady as I writhe beneath him, completely at his mercy.

“Z, fuck.” My words dissolve into incoherent sounds as he slides two thick fingers inside me, curling them to hit that spot that makes my vision blur. His tongue circles my clit with merciless precision, alternating between broad strokes and targeted flicks that have me climbing rapidly toward release.

“You’re close, moyo koroleva, aren’t you?”

I nod, unable to form words as pleasure builds inside me like a gathering storm. His fingers curl deeper, finding that spot while his mouth works relentlessly against my most sensitive flesh. The pressure builds and builds until I'm balancing on the knife's edge of release.

Suddenly, he pulls away, withdrawing his fingers and mouth just as I teeter on the precipice. My body jerks in protest, a desperate whimper tearing from my throat.

“What are you—” I gasp, trying to pull him back.

Z hovers above me, keeping just enough distance that I can't find the friction I desperately need. "Not yet. I want you to be desperate first.”

His fingers return, circling my entrance with maddening lightness, never quite giving me what I need. “Z, please,” I beg, writhing beneath him, trying to force his touch where I need it most.

“Patience,” he admonishes, lowering his head to capture my nipple between his teeth. The sharp sensation makes me cry out, my back arching off the mat.

He builds me up again with devastating skill, fingers and tongue working in tandem until I'm once more teetering on the edge. My thighs begin to tremble, my breath coming in short, desperate pants, and then he stops again, leaving me empty and aching.