Page 175 of Terror at the Gates

I held his face between my hands and pulled him to me. We kissed, and then Zahariev sat back on his heels, shoving his damp hair out of his face before gripping my thighs and thrusting into me. My back arched at the blissful invasion.

He was zealous and focused, his mouth and browspinched as he drove into me. He slipped out a time or two, and both times, he dragged his fingers through my heat and used that wetness to rub my clit.

I knew he was close when he started vocalizing his pleasure. It was a deep, satisfying groan that shivered through me. My stomach clenched and pushed me over the edge. As I came, Zahariev lowered to me, slipping one arm under me, pressing the other to the top of my head to keep me from hitting the door, which I suddenly realized I was up against.

He gave a few final thrusts, and when he came, he was breathless, growling with each exhale. I wrapped myself around him, shivering. It wasn’t because I was cold. In fact, it was so fucking hot in this car I was sure I didn’t have an ounce of water left in my body. Zahariev carried me through the aftershock, kissing and licking and teasing like we hadn’t been having sex for an hour. It was languid and lovely, and while I didn’t want it to end, I really needed something to drink and maybe a pizza.

Zahariev chuckled, kissing my forehead before he sat up and brought me with him. My head spun, and I had to close my eyes to make it stop.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said and then frowned.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just put my hand in something wet.”

Zahariev chuckled. “Given how many times I made you come, it’s probably yours.”

I blushed, though I wasn’t embarrassed. It was more from the memory of it, the deep, exquisite pleasure he’d given me.

“Well, you were short by one,” I said. “But eight isn’t bad.”

He looked at me, unamused.

“You are such a fucking brat,” he said.

“You like it,” I said.

“I do,” he agreed, grasping my jaw and pulling me close. “But next time, I’m going to fuck you like I don’t.”

I licked my lips. They were raw and rough and reminded me of my pilgrimage through the desert. I didn’t know why my mind unearthed the memory, but it remained, even as I focused on Zahariev.

“Promise?” I asked.

Zahariev smirked and his grip lessened, thumb brushing lightly over my skin. I liked the way he tempered dominance with tenderness.

I needed both.

“Yeah, little love,” he said. “Easiest yes I’ll ever give.”

We dressed and went inside, stopping in the kitchen to raid the refrigerator. Zahariev didn’t have any pizza, even frozen, but he had cheese, which I happily devoured.

I downed two glasses of water and carried a third to the bedroom.

We showered together and washed each other. Zahariev paid special attention to my breasts, massaging my nipples until they were almost painfully peaked. By the time he was finished, his cock was erect, and I was fighting waves of prickling lust.

He might not orgasm more than once during sex, but he was quick to bounce back.

“Wanna fuck?” I asked.

Zahariev laughed, closing his eyes as he stepped back into the spray. I loved watching the water drip down his body. He was glorious.

“Given what I promised when we left the car, I think it’sbest to take a little break.”

“I can handle it,” I said.

He smoothed his hands over his head so his hair was slicked back. His gaze was searching and a little fierce.