Page 12 of The Enforcer (Damn! #2)

Her whole body jolted, like she’d been slammed into the past. Same pull. Same firestorm. Same surrender in disguise. Her mouth opened beneath his, not because she meant it to, but because that want, deep and sharp, was already unraveling inside her.

And she hated how easy it was to fall back into him.

The kiss deepened, a brutal clash of mouths, teeth, breath.

Her fists struck his chest once, just once, but it wasn’t the hard shove she imagined.

It was instinct, a burst of resistance that vanished the second her knuckles met him.

And in the next breath, her hands betrayed her, curling into his bare chest, dragging him closer like she couldn’t help it.

Like some primal, infuriating part of her needed his heat even as the rest of her screamed no.

Dragging him in. Tearing him down with her.

And the second her lips parted for him, she knew she’d failed herself all over again.

She should’ve stopped it. Every nerve in her body screamed that this was the same path, the same kiss, the same fire, the same mistake.

She’d known exactly where this would go the moment his hand touched her throat again, the moment his voice slipped past her defenses like smoke and heat.

She knew better now. Knew what he was, what she was becoming.

And yet, just like before, she didn’t stop him.

Couldn’t. Even with every ounce of logic pulling her backward, her body, and something buried deeper, pushed her forward.

And he knew it.

Because even as the kiss fractured into something savage, bruising, consuming, he made no move to take. He waited for her to surrender.

And damn her, she already had.

His mouth moved over hers with slow, devastating purpose, every movement dragging her deeper into the fire building between them.

Her lips responded instinctively, parting for him, matching the rhythm, the heat.

The kiss was a promise and a challenge, and she met it with the same aching desperation twisting her insides into knots.

There was nothing tentative in the way they came together, no hesitation, no negotiation. Only need. Only heat.

Zane’s hands slid down her sides, rough and sure, mapping every inch of her like he was reclaiming something already his.

Her shirt, the one she’d taken from his closet, the one that had clung to her skin like a second breath, was gone in a blink.

He didn’t rip it. He peeled it from her like he was unwrapping a secret. One he wasn’t ready to share.

Lily shuddered as the air kissed her bare skin, but it wasn’t the cold that made her tremble. It was the way his eyes devoured her. The reverence and hunger tangled in his stare. Like she was both altar and offering.

“Zane—” she breathed, not knowing what she meant to say. Stop. Don’t stop. Please.

He silenced her with another kiss. “Don’t think,” he whispered against her lips. “Just feel.”

He backed her toward the bed, every step a silent command. Every brush of his skin against hers a brand. When her knees hit the mattress, he caught her before she could fall, guiding her down with a tenderness that burned hotter than his roughness.

He hovered over her, gaze locked to hers, his breathing ragged. “Say it,” he said. “Say you want this.”

She arched into him, every part of her screaming yes. But her voice, her traitorous, trembling voice, could only manage a whisper. “I want this.”

He kissed her again. Not hard this time.

Not demanding. But deep. Slow. Like he had all the time in the world to learn her by heart.

His mouth moved over hers, like he was tasting memory and rewriting it at the same time.

Every tilt, every press was careful, precise, trapped in a tension so taut she thought she might snap from the dominance of it.

Like this wasn’t just about wanting her.

It was about needing to remember her.

To claim her in a way that had nothing to do with force and everything to do with ruin.

Like this was the only moment that mattered, and he intended to make it last forever.

His hands explored her slowly, tracing the outline of her breasts with a featherlight touch that made her gasp. He cupped her gently, brushing his thumbs across her nipples until they peaked, and then did it again, slower this time, like he wanted to test her ability to stay sane under his hands.

Her back arched beneath his touch, and he followed the curve of her body with his palms, dragging them down the soft slope of her waist, over her hips, until they rested just above the sensitive curve of her inner thighs.

He didn’t rush. He didn’t speak. He just breathed her in like she was something sacred, and he was the only one allowed to kneel at her altar.

Then his mouth followed, hot and relentless.

He kissed her collarbone, nipping lightly before his tongue soothed the sting.

He kissed lower, between the swell of her breasts, pausing to linger, to inhale, to taste her nipples.

When he reached her ribs, he pressed his lips there, then another kiss just beside it, then another, like he could memorize every inch of her with his mouth.

Lily whimpered, trembling beneath the attention. Her body quaked with need, her hands twisting in the sheets, unsure where to touch or how to breathe. Every kiss, every drag of his fingers, felt like it would undo her, like he was peeling her open inch by inch, not to conquer, but to know her.

A low sound escaped her throat, breathy and broken, as her fingers threaded through his hair. He was relentless and unhurried, and the contrast made her dizzy. She wanted more. Wanted everything. But Zane took his time, tracing every dip and curve like he was etching her into memory.

He dragged his tongue slowly along the hollow of her stomach, then pressed a heated trail lower, just to the edge of where she needed him most. His hands were everywhere, bracketing her hips, holding her open, connecting her while his mouth grazed just above the slick, aching place between her thighs.

Her breath came in broken stutters, her spine arching, her thighs trembling as he worked her over with unbearable thoroughness. Every inch he explored made her more desperate, more lost, until her body felt like it belonged to him completely.

When he finally slipped his hand between her thighs, she gasped. His fingers were skilled. Knowing. He circled slow, teasing, keeping her right on the edge until she was writhing beneath him.

“Zane, please—”

“You’ll come when I say,” he murmured, dragging his mouth across her mound. “Not before.”

His voice was thick, raw with restraint, and she felt every ounce of it in the way he touched her, exact, maddeningly patient.

He didn’t just hold her down. He anchored her.

His heat pressed into her, his body braced above her like a wall she couldn’t move through, and the strength of his intention wrapped around her like a chain she didn’t want to shake loose.

She could feel the tension in him, the brutal edge of his self-control, seething so roughly it trembled beneath his skin. It made her ache even more.

He was watching her, reading every breath, every shift, every helpless sound she made. Like he knew exactly how close she was to falling apart and was determined to keep her teetering there until she shattered just for him.

It should’ve terrified her. It should’ve made her feel weak.

But all it did was make her burn.

She whimpered, caught between agony and euphoria, and a pulse of shame flickered behind her ribs, because no matter how hard she tried to stay composed, to hold on to what was left of her resistance, he was unraveling her.

Her body was a live wire, every nerve raw and straining.

Her thighs tensed, her belly clenched, her breath hitched in frantic, desperate bursts.

Pressure stirred low in her core, taut and shimmering.

She was coming apart molecule by molecule, her body stretched thin between pleasure and torment, and he hadn’t even truly begun.

He moved down, lips trailing fire along her inner thigh. And then his mouth found her again, soft and wicked and devastating. Lily cried out, her hips bucking, but his arm held her in place.

He didn’t rush. Didn’t relent. He drove her to the brink and back until she was begging, clawing at the sheets, at him.

When he finally pulled away, she was shaking.

“Zane,” she gasped.

He rose over her again, eyes dark with want and restraint. He shucked the last of his clothes and pressed against her, bare, huge, and hard. “Still want this?”

“Yes,” she breathed. “God, yes.”

He pushed inside her slowly, inch by agonizing inch, never looking away from her face.

Her lips parted on a sharp breath, her eyes fluttering shut, then opening again, wide, vulnerable, burning.

Her back arched, her hands flying to his arms, her nails digging in like she needed something to hold her to the moment.

He watched every flicker of sensation take her over, watched the way she tried, and failed, to stay quiet.

Her breath caught, her thighs trembled, and her whole body bowed toward him, like it had been waiting for this.

For him. And the look in her eyes when she finally met his broke something loose in her chest. She could feel her body tightening, her throat thickening with emotion she didn’t know how to name, need, desperation, something deeper than either.

It was too much and not enough, and still she held his gaze like it was the only thing linking her to the moment.

She felt him everywhere, his hands, his breath, the stretch of him inside her, the way his body bracketed hers like she belonged there. Every inch of her felt filled, marked, claimed in a way that shook something loose in her chest.

Her breath caught on every thrust, her body drawn tighter with each stroke like he was coaxing something primal from her. She was unraveling beneath him, torn open in the most exquisite way, and it was terrifying how easily she gave herself over.

He didn’t just move through her, he moved into her, filling all the places she’d locked down, all the quiet places she didn’t show anyone. And God help her, she let him. Because in that moment, even as her body trembled and her heart threatened to splinter, she knew:

She’d been made for this. For him.

And it was going to wreck her.

When he was fully seated, he groaned her name, low and guttural, the sound of something cracking wide open.

His arms locked around her, his head dipped to the curve of her neck, and for a breathless second, she felt his whole body go still.

The tension, the restraint, the careful edge he always held himself to, gone.

Shattered. The rawness in his voice sent a shiver down her spine, because she knew what that sound meant.

It wasn’t just release.

It was surrender.

The rhythm he set was deliberate, deep, thorough, pinning her with every stroke. Their bodies tangled, sweat-slick and gasping, mouths searching, hands desperate. She clung to him like he was the only thing holding her to the earth.

And when he finally let her come, when he drove her past every edge, he followed with a rough, broken cry of her name that tore from his throat like it had been carved out of him.

His body convulsed with the force of it, his hands gripping her like she was the only thing anchoring him to earth.

It was more than climax, it was devastation, full-body submission, and she felt every ounce of it ripple through her like an aftershock she’d never forget.

He collapsed beside her, arm tight around her waist, dragging her back into him. Their bodies still shaking, hearts pounding, breath shattered between them.

“You’re mine now,” he said, voice raw.

She didn’t argue.

Because her body was already wrapped in his. Because her heart was still racing in time with his. Because somewhere between the first kiss and the last breathless moan, she’d stopped pretending because—

In every way that counted, she was already his.