My hips arch up into his hand and Zayden chuckles.
“Fuck me,” I say, wanting him to feel good, too, feeling self-conscious that I'm the only one writhing like an idiot.
“I am,” he whispers against my ear, and then he picks up the pace, slamming his knuckles into me and sending sharp thrills into the base of my spine where all that energy's stored. I gasp and wrap my arms around his neck, trying to ride this out, to wait for him to undo his pants and push inside of me with his cock.
But he doesn't, watching me with half-lidded eyes as I find my pleasure with his hand.
I think his face in that moment is the hottest thing I've ever seen in my life.
When I come, I can't help it, I tilt my head back and let out the loudest, deepest, most embarrassing sound of my entire life, shuddering and bucking against Zayden as I come hard and fast around his fingers.
He waits there as I gasp and struggle for breath, his left arm circling my waist and holding me close, the sound of his beating heart thundering in my ears. Then Zay steps back and I watch with a heavy-lidded languorous expression as he strips off his gloves and tosses them in the trash can. His eyes look almost emerald when they take me in, sitting with my butt half in the sink and my legs spread wide. From the bulge in his jeans, I can tell he wants to keep going, but he holds back, reaching out his hand for mine and helping me up.
“Do you think your aunt's floundering under all those kids yet?” he asks me, and I smile, glancing over my shoulder one more time to look in the mirror. My piercing, it looks amazing—and so does the expression on my face. I have this womanly sense of satisfaction curling my lips that I've never seen before.
It looks nice. Really nice actually.
I turn back to Zayden and wrinkle my nose.
“I think she was floundering before she ever got started.”
He laughs and then pauses when a fist slams into the wall next to us, gritting his teeth as he curls his hands into fists.
“That motherfucker better be out of there by the time my brother gets back, or I swear to God …” I grin and reach up to take Zayden's face between my hands, pressing a quick kiss to his lips that shuts him up almost instantly before he grins back at me. Then I reach down and take his hand, leading him outside and over to his sister-in-law's minivan.
I don't look at his beat up old Geo because I really, really don't want to think about him driving back to Las Vegas in it.
Monica looks like she's halfway to the grave when we get home that night, already waiting on the porch with her coat on by the time we get out of the van. When she sees the piercing in my eyebrow, hers shoot up to her hairline.
“They're all asleep,” she says and then breezes past us to get back to the sleek black sexiness of her car, zooming into the night without so much as a wave good-bye.
“Stupid bitch,” I snap and Zay laughs, lifting up his hand for a high five. I smack him palm to palm and feel my toes curl when he wraps his fingers around mine and brings them to his lips for a kiss.
“Exactly. Fuck her,” Zayden says, pulling me inside to the quiet, easy sounds of Sadie's breathing. The other kids must be upstairs because I don't see them. From my spot near the front door, I have a clear shot at the back and can see the dogs waiting eagerly at the glass.
I head over there to let them in, suddenly nervous about what's going to happen. Zayden and I just did it—twice. Are we going to go upstairs and do it again? Are we going to sleep in the same bed for the rest of his time here? Can I handle that?
I bend down and pick up Dodger, dislodging a few small twigs that are wrapped in the thin fluff of white hair around his head and neck. It's literally like, all of the hair he has and he manages to get stuff stuck in it. Figures.
“Want some leftover casserole?” Zayden asks as he spins his way into the kitchen and grabs a hold of his iPod. It's covered in a questionable sticky substance no doubt left by one of the children, but he doesn't care, just wipes it off on his shirt and picks a song, turning it to a low volume so he won't wake Sadie.
I groan.
“No,” I say as I skip over and look for something that could be considered a compromise. “I hate Tove Lo,” I say and Zayden drops his jaw like I've just insulted the Virgin Mary or something. “And I really hate that “Talking Body” song.”
“Seriously? I think it's adorable,” he says as he grooves to it in his too cute black and red Converse with the little skeletons on the sides. Yet another pair of knee-high wins in my book. Paired with the skinny jeans and the silly video game shirt, well, it's just precious. He's this naughty mixture of bad and nerdy with all those tats and piercings. I could stare at this guy for hours and not get bored.