Chapter 103| Alone with Maren I R18+

Chapter 103: Chapter 103| Alone with Maren I R18+

There’s a theory — not written anywhere, not documented in any NSA field manual or academy curriculum, that says the second time with the same person is easier than the first.

Not because the nerves are gone. But because something has already been established. A lock state between two people that the first time created and the second time simply opens. The morale ceiling rockets in a way it never does with a stranger because this isn’t a stranger. This is someone whose hair you’ve watched get tied back every morning for weeks. Someone whose burst sequences you know by sound. Someone who brought oil and a measuring cup and signed you both in before you thought to ask.

The lock state was already set.

Thursday was just the key turning again.

_ _

Zane’s hand found her thigh. His fingers curled into the yielding flesh, thumb pressing in with a deliberate slowness that made her stomach flip. His other hand slid lower, palm cupping the curve of her ass through her fitted trousers, squeezing with a possessive weight.

She gasped against his mouth."uhmmm".

Then he was kissing her. Not gentle. Not asking. His tongue swept past her lips and she tasted the edge of his want, sharp and immediate. Her fingers knotted in his shirt, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them, just the heat of two bodies refusing to be separate.

Her moan was a quiet thing, swallowed by his mouth.

He lifted her. One arm hooked under her thighs, the other braced against her back, and she wrapped her legs around his waist as he carried her to the wall. The cool plaster hit her shoulders through the thin fabric. He pressed into her, his mouth dragging down her jaw, her throat, finding that hollow spot just below her ear.

"Zane..." His name came out breathless, almost a question.

His hips ground against hers. She felt him through his jeans, thick and hard, throbbing against her thigh with a pulse that matched her own heartbeat. Her inner walls clenched around nothing.

"Didn’t know you were this ecchi," she breathed, her fingers digging into his shoulders. "Already hard."

He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. His pupils had swallowed most of the blue. "I could get hard just from your scent."

Her throat tightened. She didn’t know what to do with words like that, so she pulled his mouth back to her neck and sucked, letting her teeth graze the skin, tasting salt and the faint trace of his cologne. His groan vibrated against her lips.

Then he was moving. He carried her to the bed, the backs of her knees hitting the mattress edge. She dropped onto the duvet, the springs creaking beneath her weight. He stood over her, breathing hard, and she watched as his hands moved to the hem of his shirt.

One motion. The fabric was gone, revealing the lean planes of his chest, the dusting of dark hair that trailed down his stomach. His hands went to his belt. Pants and boxers followed in the same fluid pull, pooling at his ankles before he kicked them aside.

He stood there, fully bare, and Maren let her gaze travel.

The lamp on the nightstand caught the curve of his shoulders, the shadow beneath his ribs. His cock stood rigid, the head flushed dark, a bead of moisture already gathering at the tip. She swallowed.

"Now mine," she said, gesturing with her finger. "Come take them off."

He stepped forward, the bed dipping as he knelt over her. His fingers found the clasp of her bra first, unhooking it with a practiced flick. She arched her back, letting the straps slide down her arms, and her breasts spilled free, the air cool against her nipples. He didn’t look away.

His thumbs hooked into the waistband of her jeans and panties together. She lifted her hips and he pulled, the denum scraping against her thighs, her underwear catching for a moment before sliding free.

She was naked beneath him, his body casting a shadow over hers.

"That’s like it, bad boy," she said, her voice a husky whisper.

He didn’t answer with words.

He lowered himself, one hand bracing beside her head, the other sliding down her stomach, fingers tracing the ridge of her hipbone. His mouth found hers again, slower this time, deeper. His knee nudged her legs apart and she let them fall open, the air brushing against her wetness, cool and electric.

His hand drifted lower. Fingers parted her folds, found her center, slick and hot. She gasped into his mouth as one finger slid inside her, then a second, curling with a knowing pressure that made her back arch off the mattress.

"You’re so wet," he murmured against her lips.

"Shut up and fuck me."

’Always this wild in the bedroom’ Zane thought. His laugh was a warm puff of air against her cheek. He withdrew his fingers and she felt the head of his cock press against her entrance, not pushing, just resting there, a promise of weight. Her hips tried to buck, to take him in, but his hand on her hip held her still.

"Look at me," he said.

She did. Her chest was heaving, her face flushed red all the way down to her collarbone, her hair fanned out across the pillow.

He pushed inside.

The stretch was perfect. A slow, deliberate intrusion that filled her inch by inch, her body opening to accommodate him, her walls gripping him with a reflexive clench that made them both shudder. She grabbed his biceps, nails digging crescents into his skin.

He was buried to the hilt. She felt him everywhere, a pressure in her throat, a fullness that blurred the edges of the room.

He began to move.

The rhythm was unhurried at first, each thrust a long, sliding drag that made her toes curl against the sheets. She matched him, her hips rising to meet his, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts. The headboard started to tap against the wall.

"Faster," she whispered.

He complied.

The pace became a slap of skin, a creaking of springs, a wet sound that filled the room. His breath was ragged in her ear, her moans threading through the rhythm. Her hands found his back, tracing the muscles that bunched and flexed beneath her palms, the sweat forming a sheen on his skin.

She was close. She could feel it building, a pressure behind her clit, a tightening in her thighs. Her fingers dug into his shoulders.

"Don’t stop," she managed.

He didn’t.

His hand slid down, thumb finding her clit, rubbing in tight circles that matched the rhythm of his thrusts. Her vision dimmed, narrowing to just the feel of him, the weight, the friction, the sound of her own desperate gasps.

"Zane, I’m.."

His mouth came down on hers, swallowing her cry as she came, waves of heat rippling through her body, her inner walls clenching around him in a pulsing rhythm. He kept moving, kept thrusting, her orgasm drawing him deeper until he stiffened above her, his growl swallowed by her mouth as he spilled inside her, hot and thick.

They stayed like that, bodies locked, breathing harsh.

Then his forehead dropped to hers.

"Don’t move," she whispered.

He didn’t. His thumb traced a lazy circle on her hip while she lay there, floating, the room slowly coming back into focus. The lamp was still on. The walls were still there. The world hadn’t ended.

But her heart was still hammering.

She opened her mouth to speak, but the door handle rattled.