"That's it," he urges me on, and I sense him tensing too. His thrusts take on a wilder, less controlled speed, as he nears his edge too. "Come for me, Clove."
I can't help it. I cry out faintly, just at the same time that another deafening roar sounds from the screen, thankfully drowning me out, as my orgasm sweeps through me. My body shakes against Zayne, and he pins me against him, keeps thrusting into me, holding my hips down against his, as my pussy tightens convulsively. I keep my eyes open, but all I can see are kaleidoscope colors, the world seeming to fade away in the rush of electricity flooding my veins.
He comes soon after me, with a soft growl against my neck, and we both gasp again as his hot cum rushes deep into my pussy. He sinks back into the seat, but I keep going, keep rocking against him in a slow, steady motion, milking every last drop from him until we both collapse, panting, our legs slick with sweat, hearts pounding in our ears.
The movie plays on, as boring as ever, and almost on cue, one of the characters cracks a lifeless, dull joke. We both laugh, breathless, hearts racing, amazed at what we just got away with.
Now one of the other theater goers does turn around to glare in our direction, but I'm already sliding off Zayne's lap, pulling my skirt down, savoring the hot burn in my pussy, the tight sensation, almost painful, yet a good kind of sore, where his cock was buried a moment ago.
"Fuck, that was hot," he whispers into my hair, and I turn to catch him in a deep, slow kiss. I can taste sex in that kiss, in the air between us. When we break apart, we rest our foreheads against each other's, and he cups his hands around my face on either side, as though shutting out the rest of the world. There's nobody but us, nobody who matters besides the two of us.
"Clove … "
"Zayne." I catch myself smiling like an idiot. I can't help it. He always makes me this way. Giddy, almost insane with pleasure.
"Do you want to get out of here?" His eyes glint with mischief.
I let my hand trail down his neck, along his arms, until I'm gripping his wrists with both hands, his hands still cupping my face. "Fuck yes."
We leave the theater, hands clasped, giggling like teenagers at yet another horribly cheesy line of dialogue. One of the old men sitting near the exit door hisses at us to "shush," but that only sets us off into another bout of loud laughter, especially once the theater doors swing shut behind us and we're safe in the lobby hallway.
"I cannot believe we just did that," I gasp between laughs.
Zayne pulls me against him and plants a long, slow kiss on my lips. "You are fucking amazing. Have I told you that yet?"
"You might have mentioned it." My eyes sparkle.
He lifts a single eyebrow, smirking. "If I have," he says, "then I haven't mentioned it nearly often enough. Because you are. Genuinely."
I swallow around a sudden lump of emotion in my throat. "You are too," I murmur, though it doesn't feel like enough, doesn't explain what I feel for him, not really.
That's okay. We have time to say it. All the time in the world.
We emerge from the theater into the night, streetlights bright around us. That's always a surreal experience in New York, the way that even late at night, on busy streets like this, it still looks like broad daylight. We wander along the street hand-in-hand, appreciating the storefronts we pass along our stroll. Zayne suggests ice cream, so we pop into a small shop for cones, which we enjoy as we continue our walk. Then we trade licks of one another's cones, and burst into laughter again as we fail at holding the cones steady, and smear ice cream on each other's noses.
Zayne cups my cheek, turns my face to his, and licks the ice cream straight off my nose without hesitation. I laugh and pull away, blushing. But whereas that would normally embarrass me on a date with any other guy, with Zayne it feels normal. Natural. I don't care what anyone else who sees us might think about us, because we're the only two whose opinions matter.
I can't remember the last time I felt like that around someone. Maybe never.
"Where next?" he asks when we deposit our ice cream soaked napkins into the trash can.
"The park?" I suggest with a shrug. It's still early enough that Central Park is full of activity, lights brightening paths, and couples strolling through in every direction, hands clasped.
"Maybe we can find a dark corner to sneak off into," he agrees with a wink, and there's that blush again. Damn him. My face is going to catch on fire if he makes me blush anymore.
We head into the park, and breathe in the cool evening air, scented with flowers and freshly cut grass and the faint whiff of waffle cone trucks packing up for the night. We stick to a path with some pedestrian traffic, some couples, dog walkers, and us, meandering slowly through Central Park. Still, something gives me the chills, makes the hair at the nape of my neck stand up and a faint shiver run through me.
Zayne senses it and pulls me closer to his side. "Cold?"
I shake my head. "It's nothing." I let my head fall back and gaze at the stars above to distract myself from this odd chill. "So, tell me about yourself. What's the real Zayne like, what makes him tick?"
He laughs. "I think you already know that." His grip tightens around me, protective and possessive all at once. "You learned how to push my buttons far too quickly, Clove."
I grin. "Maybe. But I don't know all of them. I mean, what about your family, for instance? Are you guys close? Who are they?"
"They're great. My dad's an auto mechanic, my mom stayed at home with me until I was in high school, then went to work as a secretary in a law firm. They've been together since they were in college."
"They sound nice."
"They're probably the other reason I hadn't dated much before. I'm picky, because … " He hesitates, and now it's my turn to squeeze my arm around him tighter, reassuring. "I want what they have. A real partner. Someone who matches me. You don't find that just anywhere."
I can feel a smile spreading across my face as I lean my head against his shoulder. "Oh trust me, I know."
"When I dated my ex, I think it was just … I was lonely and sick of waiting for the right person. I thought I could make this girl into the right partner since she cared about me. So I thought. But she didn't really care about me-not the real me. She just wanted to be with a guy, any guy, and she just projected who she wanted me to be on me."
I can feel myself nodding in sympathy. I'd dated guys like that. Not for long, but I knew all too well how it felt to have someone date you because they wanted to change you, not because they truly appreciated you for who you were.
"But the best relationships are the ones where you can be yourself. Because that's who the other person wants. The real you."
"I couldn't agree more." I tilt my head back to catch his eye and feel another flash of gratitude. Even given everything that's gone wrong, all the drama we've been through, I don't regret meeting Zayne. Or, well, not meeting him-finally seeing him for the first time. This feels like a beginning. The start of something real. And as far as I can tell, he feels that too.
He leans in, and when we kiss this time, it's slow, both of us savoring the moment. Our lips touch, part, and close again as we sink into one another. I could kiss him forever. His lips are so soft, his cheeks a tad scratchy with stubble, his hands strong yet gentle as he traces them up my back to pull my body against his.
I lose track of time, of everything else, while we kiss.
Until that faint tickle starts up at the back of my neck again. An uneasy sensation, like we're being watched.
I pull back and can't help stealing a glance around us. But like always, it's just the two of us on this path, a few other people walking past, lost in their own conversations. Nearby, a woman is holding a leash while her dog pees. Up the road, another woman chats on a cell phone, oblivious.
Why do I feel like someone's watching us? Like we're being followed?
It has to be residual weird feelings from all of the problems we've been dealing with. The website, the hacked phones, the creepy messages from men who now have my phone number. That's all. I'm just jumpy after dealing with all of that.
Still, Zayne notices the way I'm feeling, and leans in to kiss my cheek once more softly. "Are you okay?" he asks, brow knit in concern. "Maybe we should head home."
"Yeah, maybe … " I shake my head, feeling stupid. I'm ruining the mood for no reason. I heave a sigh and cast a glance up the path, at the spot where a path leads off to the public restrooms. That's what I need. Just a moment to collect myself, splash some water on my face, pull it together. "Can you give me a minute? I'm just going to run to the bathroom, then we can head back to the apartment."