Read Burn for Free Online Page B

than it needs to be, but still genuine in its origins; it feels amazing when he does that. My pussy is throbbing, desperate to be touched, and yet I’m still fully dressed. It’s a fucking travesty. Zeth’s smile twitches. I know he knows I over acted that last moan, though he says nothing. Instead he rocks back onto his heels, cock standing proud and eager, brushing against his belly. He takes hold of the ankles of my jeans and then pulls without even bothering to undo them. They don’t come off easy, but he doesn’t seem to care. He’s just determined to get them off.
    “I’m gonna try something different with you, Sloane. And you’re gonna like it, okay?”
    By the dangerous lilt in his voice, I’m convinced this information should be taken as a warning and not as reassurance. “What are you going to do?”
    With a final rough jerk he manages to tear my jeans free of my body. “Wait and see.” My T-shirt goes next. He grabs me by my hips and pulls me toward him on the bed, drawing me upright so I’m sitting, and then he rips it over my head. He falls on me like a man possessed. The straps of my bra have fallen down over my shoulders, and my breasts are still free; my nipples are contracted as tight as they can go, almost painfully so, and they throb even more when Zeth cups both of his powerful hands over them.
    “You’re tits are amazing,” he whispers. “But I wanna see them up here.” He picks me up and holds me to him like I weigh nothing at all. On his knees, he grabs a hold of my thighs and pulls one up over his hip, indicating what he wants me to do. I’m all too happy to oblige. His cock is trapped between us, jammed between our bodies, and with every minute movement he makes, it sends a jolt of pleasure firing through me. He kisses and licks at my chest, his hands gripping me tightly around the waist as he arranges himself in a sitting position with me sitting over him.
    I’m still wearing my panties, but that doesn’t seem to be bothering him. He carefully takes hold of the material, gathering it together and tugging it upward so that the bunched lace applies the most intense pressure on my clit.
    “Ah!”
    “I hope you’re not overly fond of these,” he says, doing it again. “I don’t think they’re gonna last long.”
    I’m panting by now. My cheeks feel flushed; hell, my whole body feels flushed. It feels as though some primal, animal part of me is taking over as I begin to rock against him, angling myself so that our hips are in alignment, pushing and rubbing and grinding. Coupled with the fact that he continues to tease my underwear, pulling it taut as I move, I begin to feel slightly dizzy. Out of breath. Delirious. I don’t need to exaggerate the cry that comes out of me when he slips his fingers beneath the fine material of my panties and he strokes the slick heat of my pussy. I’m too far gone to be embarrassed by how wet I am. How wet he’s made me. I just accept it and grind harder into his hand.
    Zeth props himself up on one elbow and leans back, taking me in, assessing me from head to toe as I set my body free, letting it do whatever it wants to do. I lean forward and place my hands on my chest, tracing my fingertips across the dark spill of tattoos across his pecs and his shoulders. The bruised purple of the scar where he was shot just below his collarbone nearly two months ago now. The graceful, packed lines of his solid muscles. I’m learning every single last line of him, committing him to memory and enjoying it immensely. I’m drunk on him. The way he feels underneath me; the dark, penetrating need in his eyes; his hands wandering over my hips, my breasts, my pussy, down my thighs. And I’m not just beer drunk on him. I’m fucking tequila drunk. Sideways. Gone. Blind with how badly I need him. Want him.
    “You’re fucking amazing,” he rasps. I don’t know if it’s just my malfunctioning ears, mildly deafened by the roaring of my own blood and our