Chapter 462 - The Night II (R)

Chapter 462: Chapter 462 - The Night II (R)

She glared at him. His hand traveled higher, slowly, until his fingers brushed the edge of her panties. The moment he touched her through the thin fabric, her back arched off the mattress.

He chuckled again and pressed his thumb against her clit, rubbing in a tight circle that made her hips jerk. Her thighs tried to close and he didn’t let them.

"I bet you’ve been like this every time you saw me."

"Dream on," she snapped, her voice thinner than she wanted. "I get like this for any guy."

His expression darkened, and Roxie realized too late that she had said the wrong thing.

"You really want to try my fucking patience?"

His tone irritated her. Try his fucking patience?

She tried to sit up, but he pushed her shoulder down.

In that moment, she realized how easily he could overpower her if he wanted to. The pressure of him pinning her in place as if giving her no choice made her crave him more.

What the fuck was she thinking?

It had to be the alcohol. She had drunk enough champagne to use it as an excuse tomorrow, anyway. Whether she’d actually believed that excuse was another matter. She knew exactly whose hands were on her, and that was the part she couldn’t explain.

He pulled her underwear down. He parted her legs and settled between them.

Her heart hammered as his cock drew closer.

She looked up at him. He was watching her, and she immediately dropped her gaze.

"I think..."

He caught her jaw. "Don’t think. Just enjoy it."

She moaned as she felt his hot head kissing her entrance. It felt enormous, and she grew apprehensive, remembering that no one had entered her since they broke up.

She would rather die than tell him that.

Ten years. She had gone on dates, let other men buy her dinner, and listened to friends insist that she needed to move on. She had moved on in plenty of ways. She had a career, an apartment, and a life that had nothing to do with Zac. But she had never let anyone else get that close.

And now here he was, acting as though he could pick up where they had left off. The arrogant bastard. If he ever found out, he’d be impossible to live with.

The head alone felt enormous against her. It pressed, hot and blunt, and her body resisted on pure habit. Everything felt tight, unfamiliar after so many years. The stretch started as a burn right at the entrance, sharp enough to make her breath catch.

Her hand gripped his arms.

"Slow down."

The words came out before she had a chance to turn them into an insult. She remembered how he used to watch her face, always looking for a reaction, always so sure he knew what she needed. She hated that she remembered that so clearly.

She felt herself open around him one slow inch at a time, her entrance stretched by his thickness. He felt bigger than she remembered. Or maybe it only seemed that way after so many years. Either way, she felt the difference immediately.

He was only halfway in, and she already felt full. The pressure sat deep, low in her belly, a heavy ache that wasn’t quite pain and wasn’t pleasure yet.

He groaned as her walls gripped him hard, fluttering as her body struggled to adjust to something it hadn’t felt in years.

Every small thrust forward forced more of him inside, and she could feel the ridge of his head sliding over sensitive spots that had gone quiet for so long. The drag, the stretch, the fullness all hit her at once.

When he finally bottomed out, she stopped breathing. He was buried to the hilt and she felt completely full, stretched around the base, the sheer size of him pressing against places she had forgotten existed.

Her hips twitched without permission.

The burn had turned into a deep, throbbing fullness that made her thighs shake. He stayed still, letting her feel it, and the only thing she could process was how completely he was inside her, how much space he took, how long it had been since anything had reached that far.

Then he pulled back, just an inch, and the drag of him along her walls made her mouth fall open. The emptiness after so much fullness was almost worse. When he pushed in again, slower this time, she felt every thick inch return, opening her all over again.

She moaned and gripped the sheets.

He had always had a way of waiting just long enough to make her look at him, as if he expected her to admit something. Ten years later, he was still doing it. Roxie wanted to tell him that his smugness had aged considerably worse than the rest of him.

He kept going, steady and deep, and the burn started to melt into something heavier, hotter, the kind of fullness that made her stomach tighten with every thrust. It hurt a little, though the pleasure was stronger.

He started moving faster.

His hips snapped forward, driving deep, and the base of him smacked against her with every thrust.

The angle shifted just enough that his pelvis hit her clit each time he buried himself. The contact was sharp and wet.

She couldn’t hold the sound in. A moan broke out of her, low at first, then louder when he did it again.

"Fuck..."

She turned her face away and covered it with both hands. "Mnnn..."

She didn’t want him to see how much she was enjoying it, how her mouth kept falling open, how her eyes wanted to roll back. But the moans kept coming anyway. They spilled between her fingers, broken and helpless, every time his hips connected and that thick length filled her to the root.

Her body rocked with the force of it. She could hear how wet she was now, the sound of him sliding in and out, the soft slap of skin.

It was too much.

He let out a low, rough moan that grew louder the harder he fucked her. He reached down, pulled her hands away from her face, and slid one palm to the back of her neck. He held her there, firm enough that she had to look up at him and see the way he watched where their bodies joined.

"Look," he said, voice strained. "Look how well you’re taking me. Taking all of me."

There it was again, that infuriating certainty in his voice. Back then, he could provoke her into an argument with a single look and end up grinning when she finally snapped. Now he sounded just as pleased with himself. She wanted to throw something at him for remembering exactly how to get under her skin.

Her eyes dropped between them. She watched his cock push back in, thick and shiny, disappearing into her stretched hole. White froth gathered at the base where he kept hitting deep, strings of it clinging to her skin and his.

It looked obscene.

It looked good.

She couldn’t look away.

Every time he withdrew, she saw how wide she was held open, then how she closed around him again when he drove back in.

He took one of her hands and pulled it down. He placed her fingers on her clit, where his body kept brushing against her.

She began moving them on her own, circling and rubbing in short strokes that matched the snap of his hips. The extra pressure made everything tighter.

Her moans grew louder, shamelessly filling the room. She couldn’t stop them. Couldn’t stop touching herself while he held her nape and kept fucking into her, deep and steady.

Her stomach drew tight. Her thighs started to shake. The combination of his size stretching her, the constant hit against her clit, and her own fingers pushed her over. She came with a sharp, broken cry, walls clenching hard around him, pulsing as she shook and kept rubbing herself through it.

A short, breathless squeal slipped out before she could stop it.

The sound made her face burn.

Zac would recognize it, just as he would recognize all the other reactions she had tried so hard to hide. For a terrible second, she imagined him bringing it up tomorrow, looking at her with that cold expression he’d worn since arriving at the wedding.

Shame followed right after the pleasure, sharp and sudden. She pushed weakly at his chest and tried to sit up, tried to ease him out of her while her legs were still shaking.

"You can go out," she said, voice tight. Her face burned, and her throat felt tight. She didn’t want him to see how much she was still twitching, how open and used. She couldn’t look at him, remembering how she had moaned while he took her.

His expression darkened. He stayed buried deep, his thick length still stretching her, and caught her hips hard enough to stop her from moving.

"Get out?" His voice sharpened, low and pissed. "I’m not done."

He had heard her. That much was clear. Whatever explanation either of them gave tomorrow, Roxie would remember those words.

Before she could argue or push again, he pulled out just far enough to flip her over onto her stomach. The sudden emptiness made her gasp. He pulled her hips up until she was on her knees, her chest pressed to the bed and her ass raised, then shoved back inside from behind in one hard, deep thrust.

She buried her face in the pillow and made a broken sound.

The new angle drove him even deeper than before. He felt bigger this way, thicker, the stretch sharper after so long without anything inside her. One hand stayed locked on her hip, gripping hard. The other wrapped around the back of her neck, holding her in place while he started fucking her again, harder and rougher.

Every thrust knocked a moan out of her. She clawed at the sheets, fingers twisting in the fabric as the stretch and the heavy, wet drag of him filled her over and over. Her body felt boneless and oversensitive all at once.

Her thighs trembled. Her stomach kept tightening with every deep hit.

The base of him smacked against her with each snap of his hips, and she could hear how wet she was, the sound of him sliding in and out of her stretched hole.

She turned her face into the pillow and shoved a hand over her mouth, trying to stop the sounds from coming out, but they still spilled anyway, raw and continuous and against her will. She was out of her mind with the fullness, his size after so many years, and the way he held her neck and kept taking her as though he had every right to stay inside until he was finished. Her free hand clawed at the sheets again. Her body rocked forward with every thrust and then got pulled right back onto him.

"I’m gonna come," he said, voice rough and strained. His thrusts turned shorter, sharper, hips grinding deep.

She felt him thicken inside her.

The thought of a condom flashed through her mind. She wasn’t using birth control. She hadn’t taken anything to prevent pregnancy.

Oh, fuck.

Ten years of carefully managing her life, making choices she could live with, and she had ended up here without even discussing protection. Pregnancy was a real possibility now.

"Don..."

But the memory of how it used to feel when he came inside her hit at the same time he did. Hot pulses filled her as he pushed deep and stayed there, grinding through it, cock twitching as he emptied.

Her body seized.

Another orgasm tore through her, sudden and sharp, walls clenching hard around him while he kept spilling. She stayed lost in it, face pressed to the pillow, moaning into her hand as he came inside her, thick and deep, the heat of it spreading while she shook and pulsed around him until neither of them could move.

He groaned at the feel of her gripping him, hips still moving, still taking her through every wave.

Even through the confusion, Roxie knew what had happened. There would be no taking it back in the morning, no sarcastic remark clever enough to make the consequences disappear. She had tried to speak, and the words had gone unfinished. That would stay with her.

He was still hard even after he finished. The heat of his come was still inside her, thick and deep, when he started moving again. She didn’t fight it. She didn’t push at him or try to crawl away. She just stayed on her knees with her chest pressed to the bed and let him take what he wanted.

His hands stayed on her, one on her hip, one on the back of her neck, and he fucked her through the mess he’d already left.

Slow at first, then harder, hips snapping as he used what was already inside her to keep going.

He was going again. She could tell him to get out now. They had both come already. The itch should have been gone.

Tomorrow was going to be a disaster. She could already picture the awkward silence, Zac’s expression when he looked at her, and herself reaching for anger because it was easier than admitting how frightened she felt about the consequences.

Yet when his hand held her down, she let him fuck her hard.

She gave in completely.

Moans spilled out of her without her trying to stop them. She clawed weakly at the sheets, then stopped fighting even that, body rocking forward and getting pulled right back onto him. Her hips moved on their own, fucking him back enthusiastically.

Every thrust stretched her open again around the thick length of him.

For a while, her thoughts became difficult to hold together. She kept trying to remember what she wanted to say to him in the morning, but even the first sentence escaped her.

Her thighs trembled. Her arms gave out. She went boneless under him, face pressed to the pillow, moaning into it as he drove into her again and again.

Pleasure kept building, wave after wave, until her body seized one last time around him and everything started to blur. Sounds turned distant. Her eyes closed.

They continued long after Roxie thought they would stop.

At some point, they changed positions again. Then another time. She had already lost count.

She remembered the mattress shifting beneath her, Zac’s voice close to her ear, and the brief flashes of his face whenever she managed to look at him. The ceiling, the pillows, the window. Her memories were beginning to run together.

How long had they been at it?

She couldn’t even tell anymore.

But one thought kept returning.

Tomorrow.

Fuck. What was she supposed to do tomorrow?

She had slept with Zac again. After ten fucking years. And worse, they hadn’t used protection.

What the hell was she going to say when they saw each other in the morning?

Knowing that arrogant bastard, he’d probably act like nothing happened. Maybe he’d even give her that annoying smirk of his.

She was going to kill him.

Or herself, for being stupid enough to end up here.

She tried to hold on to that irritation, but her exhaustion was catching up with her. The room seemed to drift in and out of focus. She remembered another change of position, the sound of Zac saying something, and her own attempt to answer.

The words never came.

Her vision darkened, and the last thing she remembered was wondering whether Zac would still be there when she woke up.

Then she lost consciousness.