Page 71 of Dominate

Zane meets every thrust. He tilts his pelvis upward, taking every inch I offer. Sweat beads on his forehead. Moisture gathers in the hollow of his throat, gleaming in the ambient light.

I lean down and bury my face in the curve of his neck. I inhale his scent. I drag my open mouth across his pulse point, feeling the frantic, racing beat of his heart against my lips.

“I love you,” I breathe the confession directly against his throat.

Zane shudders. A violent tremor wracks his massive frame. He unlocks his hands from mine but keeps me close. His nails bite into my shoulder blades.

“I love you.” His voice breaks. “No matter what happens⁠—”

“Shh.” I kiss him silently. I taste the salt of sweat and the overwhelming emotion on his lips. “We’ll still have this. We’ll always have this.”

He kisses me back with a desperate, unyielding force.

The heat inside the cramped studio apartment turns oppressive. The friction builds a raging, inescapable fire in my blood. I slide my hands under his lower back, lifting his hips completely off the mattress to improve the angle. I drive myself deeper, hitting that devastating spot inside him with pinpoint accuracy.

“Yes.” He snarls the word against my mouth. “Right there.”

The climax builds slowly.

It doesn’t hit with the sudden, violent crash of our previous encounters. It rises like a massive wave drawing water away from the shoreline. The tension winds tighter and tighter inside my gut. My vision blurs around the edges.

Zane reaches between our sweat-slicked bodies. He wraps his large hand around his own thick, leaking erection. He strokes himself in perfect time with my thrusts. Every time I pull out, his hand slides down. Every time I drive deep, his grip tightens.

It’s almost too much.

I watch his face. I watch the Ironside champion completely unravel. His jaw goes slack. His eyes roll back. The muscles in his broad chest lock tight.

When the wave finally crests, we shatter together.

Zane cries out. A loud, wordless roar of pure release tears out of his lungs. He comes hard, thick ropes of white fluid spilling over his fist and splattering across his own stomach. He clenches around me.

The feeling drags me straight over the edge.

I let out a harsh, guttural shout. I bury myself deep, grinding my hips flush against his. I empty into him. Spasm after spasm rocks my body, draining every ounce of tension from my muscles.

He catches me as my arms give out. I settle against him, too tired to do more than press my mouth to his shoulder. We lie there, completely wrecked, breathing heavily.

Afterward, we lie in the dark.

I pull out carefully, wincing at the sensitivity. I roll onto my side, dragging the quilted comforter over our cooling bodies. I pull Zane flush against my chest. His back presses into my stomach. My arm wraps securely around his waist.

Our legs remain intertwined beneath the sheets. Our hearts still pound a frantic, echoing rhythm against our ribs.

The ticking of the ceiling fan blade fills the void. The orange glow of the streetlamp casts long, distorted shadows across the peeling paint of the baseboards. The silence feels heavy, but it lacks the suffocating dread of the previous weeks.

We named the truth. We dragged the secret out into the open air.

“Get some sleep.” I press a soft, lingering kiss to his bare shoulder.

“Can’t,” he murmurs the single word, his voice raspy and devoid of energy.

“Try anyway.” I tighten my grip on his waist, pulling him a fraction of an inch closer. “Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

Zane lets out a deep, shuddering exhale. His wide shoulders finally relax, the last remnants of the Ironside armor falling away into the dark room. He shifts his weight, settling his head against the flat pillow.

He closes his eyes. He focuses on my heartbeat thudding steadily against his back.

Tomorrow, war.