Take a Hint, Dani Brown (The Brown Sisters #2)(59)
“Now,” he told her. “Dan, please.” He cupped her breast, ran his palm down the length of her body until it curled around her hip. “I need you here.”
She bit her lip and crawled over him, needing it just as much. Moaned when he parted her sensitive folds with his thumbs. Obeyed, breathless and eager, when he ordered, “Put me inside you.”
Then she sank onto his hardness inch by inch, until she was achingly full of him.
But she still wanted more.
In the moment before they joined, a warning siren screamed at the back of Zaf’s mind. Just the usual sensible bullshit, reminding him that he actually wasn’t that great at keeping sex physical, and that catching feelings was kind of his MO. Zaf listened to the sirens for a second, then decided he wouldn’t mind being eaten alive by unrequited adoration if it happened after he felt Danika come on his dick. Apparently, this was how he made terrible sex-based decisions: with total enthusiasm.
Then she took him inside, her pussy tight and wet around his aching cock. Her moan was a whimper, his breaths were the gasps of a drowning man. Their eyes met—and when searing tenderness burned him just as hot as lust, Zaf knew he’d made a mistake. Because after months of wanting Dani, he had her, and the hunger wasn’t fading. It was already stronger. So strong it threatened to crush him, or worse, to crush the dam he’d set up against all his forbidden feelings.
Ah, shit.
She planted her hands on his chest, rolled her hips, and the ecstasy on her face . . . he would kill to see her look like this, to make her look like this, and she was just giving it to him. How was he supposed to live the rest of his life like a normal human being when he knew the texture of her skin, knew the tiny, pale stretch mark that arrowed through her left nipple like a lightning bolt through a dark berry? This was what the word intoxicating really meant: Danika trusting him to touch her, wanting him to touch her, and choosing to touch him.
But only for now.
She rose up, and the slick squeeze of her cunt chased that single, hopeless thought away. Then she sank down again, her tits bouncing as she used him, her brows drawn together like she needed this as desperately as he did. She was spellbinding, she was fucking him so good he couldn’t think straight, and when she gasped, “God, Zaf,” that warm, velvet voice stroked him like a touch. He’d heard her say his name a thousand times, but not like this. Never like this. He drank in the sight of her spread open by his cock, saw her plump clit peeking out and rubbed it gently with his thumb. Then he sucked in a breath as her cunt spasmed around him, gripping him so tight he almost lost it.
“Fuck,” he managed, once he could speak again. “Perfect. You’re so perfect.”
Her breath caught, and she looked down at him with wide eyes. “I—”
“Sweetheart. Don’t argue with me right now.”
Her surprise softened into laughter. Then he stroked her again and her giggle cracked right down the middle, her eyes glazing over with lust. “Don’t come,” she gasped, as if she could feel the tension building at the base of his spine. “Oh my God, not yet, don’t come, don’t stop.”
He gritted his teeth and took a deep breath and tried to obey. Then she leaned forward and kissed him, her breasts rubbing his chest, her weight anchoring him, and all he could think was Mine. Something deep inside him cracked beneath a tidal wave of lust, something that had once been called control. Zaf wrapped his arms around her and found he couldn’t let go. He felt almost feral, trapping her against him, trapping himself inside her, and when she moaned into his mouth, a shaking, shuddering sound, the hunger, the possession, the desperation got worse. His hips twisted as he fucked deeper inside her, and she rocked against him, her hands tugging at his hair.
“Baby,” she panted, and this time it wasn’t fake. Nothing right now was fake. The vulnerability in her voice, the shameless need, was so real it almost hurt—and it was all for him. “Baby, please, I need more.”
Anything. He’d give her anything. Especially when it was this damn good.
He repeated his hard upward thrusts and held her in place so she could do nothing but take it. Again, again, again, and then she screamed and tightened so impossibly around him, he didn’t have a hope in hell of holding back. His orgasm tore down his spine and through his aching balls, his come releasing in hot, almost-painful spurts.
All he saw was Dani, all he tasted was her kiss, and all he felt was her body shaking for him as his world spun off its axis.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Zaf’s dick had Jedi-mind-tricked him.
That was the only explanation. Because now that he’d actually slept with Danika Brown, it seemed painfully fucking obvious that sex was not the magic pill to cure him of his attachment to her. As a matter of fact, without the months-old fog of lust clouding his brain, he saw quite clearly that his feelings for her were honestly out of control.
And those feelings couldn’t be described as friendship. Friendship was there, sure, but so was something else, something dangerous, a bloodred poppy of affection trying to bloom in his chest. He absolutely adored this woman—and he’d just agreed to be her no-strings friend with benefits for the next three weeks. Clearly, he had the intelligence of a rock—a small pebble, a little chip of fucking gravel—because on what planet did intimacy ever cure anyone of affection?