Determined to delight her, Zeke focused on her pussy. He lathered her delicate curls, the same chestnut shade as her hair, and ran his fingers down the length of her slit.
She moaned.
A wondrous sound that told him far more than words ever could.
He washed this part of her well, too long in fact, then concentrated on her precious little clit.
Her breath stalled as he finally stroked it. For seconds, Zeke lavished his attention on her nub, then ran his fingers down her delicate folds to keep her from too much arousal, not wanting her to come immediately.
She groaned.
“Something wrong?” he whispered.
“You’re not rubbing my clit… You keep missing it.”
“Do I?” Giving her no chance to answer, Zeke touched it once more, stroking, manipulating, teasing.
The delay in doing this had accomplished his goal, making her even more sensitive to his carnal touch.
Liz’s jaw tensed as she gritted her teeth. She released her weight into him and rolled her forehead over his shoulder, her body shivering as he continued to stroke her nub. Already primed for her climax, she came within seconds, huffing out her breath.
Those small bursts of air warmed his chest more than the heated water and the room’s toasty temperature. Zeke ached to experience moments like this for the rest of his days. He hoped they’d be long. Right now, an eternity didn’t seem adequate enough. He caressed Liz far more gently than he would have liked, fearful of harming her. His desire was that acute. “Tired?”
She muttered, “Don’t you dare make me lift my arms.”
He chuckled. “I won’t.” He kissed the top of her head and her damp temple. “This time, I want you to lift your legs.”
“Oh, screw that.”
“Come on, be a good girl.”
She didn’t respond.
“Or be bad,” he joked. “In fact, I think I’d like that—”
He didn’t finish, couldn’t as Liz dropped to her knees.
Zeke grabbed her arm to break her fall—if that was what it was—but her skin was slick with water and soap, not allowing him a firm grip. His throat tightened with panic, rasping his voice. “Hey, are you all right?”
She sat back on her heels, the water bubbling around her breasts, and tilted her face to his. “What do you think?”
Zeke couldn’t answer. First, she’d stolen his breath because he thought she’d fallen from dizziness or worse. Now, she cupped his balls in one hand and cradled his cock with the other.
He inhaled sharply.
She murmured, “My turn to wash you.”
She ran her tongue up his length, tracing the prominent veins on his shaft. Zeke felt those licks clear to the top of his head and the tips of his toes. A strangled sound burst from him.
It clearly encouraged her. She swirled her tongue over his crown, pausing to explore the small slit at the top before moving to the bumpy skin on the back.
So many sensations dashed through Zeke, he made noises that sounded more animal than human.
Liz sighed contentedly, then took his full length into her mouth, not stopping until the tip of her nose touched his dark curls.
Zeke gripped her hair, tugging it as he groaned his approval. Every part of his body registered his delight.
She intensified it, fondling his balls, working her mouth up and down his rod, encouraging him to climax. When he resisted, wanting this to go on for days—willing to settle for a few hours—Liz resolved the matter. She stroked his anus, then worked the tip of her forefinger into the tight ring.
Holy mother, goddamned—
Zeke bellowed his delight, his climax explosive.
Far more subdued and fully in charge of his body, Liz accepted his come, drinking it eagerly. When there was no more, she released his cock, pulled her finger from his anus and suckled his right ball.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. “Don’t,” he sputtered, then growled, “I can’t stand it.”
Immediately, she released him. “I know.”
His shoulders trembled with his heaving breaths. In between them, he coughed.
Liz watched as he settled down. “Better?”
“Maybe.” He shuddered and filled his lungs again, then sighed the air out. “Yeah.”
“Sure?”
He was finally. “Uh-huh.”
“Good.” She took his left ball into her mouth.
Crap. “Stop.”
This time she did not, suckling him at her leisure, loving this part of him with her hot mouth and deliciously wet tongue.
He pulled his hair this time, not caring if he tore it out. She was fucking killing him. He cursed and groaned, then bitched some more when he couldn’t drag in adequate air. Breathing was just too fucking hard. His muscles ached from all the tension. He’d locked his knees to the point where bending them again might prove impossible.
Still, Liz continued. Her licks slow and sensuous, her hands roaming up and down his thighs, over his ass, in the furrow between the cheeks.
Jesus. When Zeke thought he might die from too much pleasure, Liz finally finished. She wrapped her arms around his legs and rested her head against his thigh, her embrace as needy as his when he’d caressed her earlier.
A wonderful moment, simply miraculous.
Eventually, they’d ended up in his bed with him on top of her. For Zeke, only the missionary position would do. During the following hours, he’d taken her three more times, remaining inside her sweet, tight cunt as he rested. He needed to see her face, gauge her reactions, assure himself that she continued to be all right.
With each act of love, they’d both grown more weary. However, their attention never strayed. They regarded each other in silence that they interrupted with nothing more than a few gentle smiles. The quiet intimacy not only felt right but comfortable.
Liz finally fell asleep. Zeke couldn’t. Uncertainty continued to eat at him, growing as the minutes ticked by. Given how his belly was now growling, coupled with his increasing hunger, he figured it had to be well past sunrise. Not only time for breakfast, but answers.
As gently as he could, Zeke eased away from Liz. Her hand fell to the mattress. She sighed deeply but didn’t wake up.
He left the bed, repeatedly glancing over to check on her as he grabbed a fresh tee and jeans from one of the nightstands. While he dressed, snatches of his vision returned. Blood clinging to the blade of a knife. A woman’s hand holding—brandishing it?
Zeke padded to the bed. He studied Liz’s hands, trying to match them with the remembered image in his mind. The skin color might be the same, but the nails were wrong. He couldn’t figure it out until he recalled seeing a glimpse of the thumb. The nail was dark. Polished? With what color? A deep red? Black?
His memory refused to give up more details on the matter, while another disturbed him.
Who was the young man dressed in denim, his clothing coated with dust? Did he know the woman with the switchblade? What did they have to do with anything that had already happened or would?
Before Liz had come into his life, Zeke’s visions had never shown him what might happen to someone he loved. He’d had no warning about Gabrielle’s murder or any when Jacob had been wounded that first time. The fucking visions revealed only possible attacks on Zeke, or what would occur to his enemies, people he hated. Now, though…
He’d seen what was supposed to have happened to Jacob last night and had prevented it. Barely. He hadn’t even come close to saving Liz.