Paint Me Claimed - Book 2

12 | Dreams do come true

Zemira

Crack.

First, the vase smashed.

Following the broken path was the metal-mesh pen stand that fell from the table.

As my Leo-starved body attacked him into submission, things toppled, broke and created a symphony.

I devoured his lips, pushing him against the wall, the table and whatnot.

I wanted him under me. Over me. Around me. There wasn't much I wanted at that moment than to replay his words - of what he called me.

I was his girlfriend. I wasn't a partner in a ruse. Neither a fake fiancée-friends forever.

I was something else.

"Zem, baby..." Leo breathed over the side of my neck, running his hand through my messed-up bun. His calloused fingers ran in parallel on both sides of my jaw, distancing me to focus. "Darling..."

"Shut up..."

I didn't need words. I needed him. I wanted him...inside of me.

My fingers ripped open his shirt buttons.

Soft taps emanated when those broken buttons fell on the wooden floor.

My hand roamed over his chest, running behind his neck and into the soft locks that were once trimmed to perfection.

Kissing him was quenching me. I was thirsty for so long, unable to feel him and drink him up. Today, I found what I was looking for. Acceptance.

I was kissing my fucking boyfriend.

"Baby...listen..." Leo whispered and panted.

"What..." I said as I placed my hand over the tent formed over his jeans.

I knew he needed me as much as I wanted him. Maybe, even more. Yet, for some strange reason, he was holding back.

"What is it?" I said, dipping my head into the crook of his neck.

His musky scent swaddled me.

I needed him so badly that the idea of hurting him softly, dragging my teeth over the soft flesh of his neck and the earlobe pooled heat between my legs. I needed Leo.

I ran my hand over his pant, trying hard to tug off the wretched jeans button that seemed to be welded shut.

"Open it, Leo." 

I breathed heavily, running my hand through the wisps dancing over my face and clipping them behind.

I wasn't the woman who was making love to the man I loved. I was a woman on the prowl. I was hunting for peace, sanity and bodily satisfaction.

Leo moved off the table where I had somehow managed to make him sit. Pulling me closer, he dipped his lips at the crook of my neck, trailing goosebumps over my skin.

It felt like a matchstick taunting the striking surface of the matchbox. He was taunting me, willing to set me ablaze, yet holding back.

"Baby, look at me," he said.

"I'll do that later."

I ran my hand through the jeans' waistline and in. If the button was relentless, so was I. It was me against the metal.

Then I felt it. His warm erection, ready to take me.

"Zem. No. Not like this..."

With his one command, I straightened.