Ruth’s chicken fajitas were amazing.
The wine Zach served up was excellent.
The girls were on great form, and they even humoured me and let me dress them up in identical outfits so insanely cute I actually clapped when I saw them.
The atmosphere around the table was warm and the conversation slapstick.
Norm was so excited to see me that it was the biggest ego boost ever, even if I suspect his affection for me is largely due to the treats I sneak him at work.
And it all felt… amazing.
Like, seriously amazing. Comfortable. Easy. Silly. And right.
Now the girls are in bed, and Zach’s leading me upstairs by the hand, and I have actual butterflies in my tummy. Because spending the night in his bed with him feels illicit and naughty and grownup and permanent and a lot of things, and I cannot fucking wait.
I’ve never actually been in his bedroom. Isn’t that weird? The girls have always dragged me straight to their rooms. I’ve never been upstairs with him. But the way he’s looking back at me right now, with love and hope and hunger all over his gorgeous face, has my pussy clenching and my heart hammering and those butterflies cavorting through my core.
He pushes the door open. Bloody hell, his bedroom is gorgeous. It’s more masculine than I expected, but I can instantly tell it’s been professionally done, just like the rest of the house. The walls are lined in a gorgeous dove-grey linen, and every detail is perfect. Like the immaculate double piping in the same fabric around the edge of every door frame and skirting board.
There are two large windows with dark grey blinds lowered and scatter cushions on their deep sills. Two doors on the facing wall lead, I assume, to the bathroom and Zach’s dressing room.
And then there’s the bed.
Huge, with flawless white linen and four posts stretching upwards in a dark lacquered wood. I’m ashamed, but not really, to say my first thought is how helpful they’ll be for bondage purposes.
I can see myself doing serious time with my gorgeous boyfriend in this epic bed.
Zach places my overnight bag on the floor while I stare at the bed. Now I’m here, in his actual room that he shared with his wife, my sexy thoughts of him tying me to the posts are being replaced with far less sexy thoughts that he used to sleep—figuratively and literally—with her in this bed.
I wasn’t expecting that knowledge to hit quite so hard.
‘It’s a beautiful room,’ I say, suddenly self-conscious, as I drag my gaze from the bed and back around the room. I give him a bright smile.
He bites his lip as he studies my face. There’s no point in hoping he can’t read my mind, because he always seems to be able to. It’s seriously annoying, if sometimes convenient.
‘I got the whole thing completely redecorated after Claire died,’ he says matter-of-factly. ‘She deteriorated so quickly that there wasn’t much they could do for her in hospital, so this became her sick room for a couple of weeks. I found it so fucking depressing sleeping in here after she’d gone that I had the whole thing redone.’
I stare at him, speechless with sorrow. ‘Did she… die in here?’ I manage to ask.
He shakes his head. ‘No. She went to a hospice in the end, because we just weren’t adequately set up, but she didn’t even last a week in there.’
‘I’m so sorry, baby,’ I tell him, cupping his face in my hands. I stand on tiptoes so I can press a kiss to his mouth.
‘Thank you,’ he whispers. ‘The bed’s new, so you don’t have to worry about that. I think it would be weird for everybody if it wasn’t.’
‘Amen to that,’ I say forcefully, and he laughs.
‘Still,’ I say, ‘is it weird having me here?’
‘Nope.’ He gazes deeply into my eyes. ‘It’s really, really good. And I’m ready to make some new memories, if you are.’
God, the way he says that, in a low, intense rumble, is so fucking hot I can’t even.
‘I’d like to make many, many memories,’ I say.
He laughs again. ‘That’s my girl.’
‘Memories where we make each other come. A lot. And you fuck me really, really hard.’
‘Keep talking.’ He tugs my hair over my shoulders and begins to kiss my neck.
A thought suddenly occurs to me. An unwelcome one. ‘Is it okay to have sex while the girls are asleep, though?’
‘If it wasn’t, no one would ever have more than one child,’ he points out with flawless logic. ‘Just try not to scream the house down.’
‘Remember how quiet I can be?’ I whisper. ‘Like on your desk? I can be such a good girl.’
‘Fuck yes,’ he groans against my skin. ‘Good point.’ He releases me and backs away, collapsing onto the low white sofa across from the foot of the bed and folding his arms across his chest.
‘Be a good girl, now, Madeleine, and lose the clothes.’
I stare at him. I wasn’t quite expecting this—I kind of thought since we were in his home he’d keep the sex to, you know, vanilla-under-the-covers stuff. But maybe not. And this is better.
He smirks in a smug, powerful way, and I swear I almost spurt right here and now. ‘Don’t make me come over there.’
Game. Fucking. On.
I stand there in front of him and pull my sweater over my head. Then my t-shirt. I’m wearing navy lace underwear, and it’s seriously cute. And sexy. I hope he can see through the lace that my nipples are already hard, because I can certainly feel them.
Off come my leggings. My socks. I put my hand on my hip and smile seductively at him while tossing my hair. ‘Like what you see?’
‘Very much.’ His tone is quiet. He’s audibly fighting for control.
He’s also fighting an erection and, for what it’s worth, it’s Erection One, Zach Nil. That bulge is promising.
‘Shall I lose the lingerie?’ I ask.
‘Bra off,’ he barks. ‘Sit on the edge of the bed. Legs open.’
I practically purr with delight as I peel the bra off and expose my aroused boobs to him. God, I hope he stops looking and starts touching soon. My bare bottom hits the cool cotton of his duvet cover, and I scoot back and spread my legs like a good girl. This bed is seriously high. My feet are dangling as I sit, and somehow that detail makes me feel smaller. More vulnerable.
More like a plaything for this delicious man.
He gives me a smile that’s filthy and victorious all at once. ‘I really fucking like having you on my bed, sweetheart. Pull the thong aside and show me what I’ve got to look forward to.’
I really love when he treats me like this. It makes my clit and my nipples tingle in the most divine way. ‘You have everything to look forward to,’ I tell him as I pull aside the damp fabric and show him my pussy.
‘Fuuuck.’ He grits the word out. ‘How wet are you? Show me.’
I swipe a finger through my slick folds and hold it up. ‘I’m so wet. I need you, baby. I need you to make it feel all better.’
‘Jesus Christ,’ he huffs, getting up from the sofa and prowling towards me. He comes to stand between my knees, and I look up at him in need and adoration.
‘Zach,’ I whisper.
‘I know,’ he says. He cups my boobs exquisitely gently and strums his thumbs lightly over my nipples, igniting a fire that spreads instantly to my core. ‘You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,’ he says, his unflinching gaze holding mine.
‘You too,’ I tell him. ‘I need you naked and so deep inside me I can’t think of anything else.’
He gives me a pained smile. ‘You’ll get that shortly.’
The pressure of his thumbs increases, and I moan and arch into him.
‘Lie back,’ he mutters. ‘Touch your tits.’
And then he’s on his knees in front of me, peeling my thong down my legs and laying them over his shoulders, and thank God in heaven, he licks me long and hard from clit to entrance and back again. I do as he says and touch my boobs, rolling my nipples around, and it’s fucking heavenly.
‘I love you, Mads,’ he says as he uses two fingers to hold my pussy wide open for him, and then he goes to town on me. He slides two fingers inside me. Three. I flinch and stretch and clench and almost have an early petite mort as he begins to finger-fuck me, slowly but viciously, his fingers twisting inside me as he licks my clit with lavish, decadent swirls of his tongue.
‘I love you,’ I try to say, but it’s a croaky, breathy little whimper. Still, I know he heard because he licks me even harder.
Who knew those three words would be more of a turn-on than good girl or suck my dick or take my cock?
Not me, that’s for sure.
But when Zach French buries that dark head of his between your legs and licks you and finger-fucks you and tells you he loves you? Trust me, it’s a combination so intoxicating that my heart and lungs are clenching as much as my pussy. I’m so aroused, so emotional already, that I’m not even sure I’ll survive this insane chemical reaction.
Because this man and his magic body parts are everything, and I’m in his home, his safe space, and he’s ravishing me on his bed, and it feels intimate and raw, like he’s unpeeling every layer of armour I’ve ever donned and exposing the very essence of me.
He sees me.
And he loves me.
Honestly? I’m not sure there’s anything better than that.
I lie there and take the unholy pleasure he’s unleashing on my body. It feels so good. He’s so good. There’s no teasing tonight. Just licking and finger fucking and me rubbing my nipples, and the waves build quickly, intensely, just the way I love it, washing over my body in a way that consumes me. Zach’s making hungry noises at the back of his throat as he eats me, and they add to the perfect storm of sensory overwhelm he’s cooked up for me.
As I come, his tongue is rougher and more taut and more everything than I could have thought possible, and his fingers fill me up so well. So well that—God—I enter another dimension where all that exists is white-hot pleasure.
I sob his name over and over, and as my sobs and my shudders gentle, so do his tongue and his fingers until he’s sliding the latter out of me and raining kisses over my pelvic bone and down my inner thighs while he tells me breathlessly how perfect I am. How beautiful.
I lie there, too spent to move but certainly not too spent to eye-fuck him as he pulls off his clothes with fast, feverish movements, finally exposing that gorgeous dick of his in all its hard, angry glory.
‘Big fat cock,’ I slur dreamily as I eye it with interest.
He gives a pained chuckle as he fists it. ‘So you’ve told several people.’
‘Only two.’ I hold up two fingers. ‘That witch and you.’ Actually, also Belle, but I won’t tell Zach that. I summon the strength to slither up the bed on my back in an ungainly, wormlike movement. ‘Put it inside me right now.’
He puts a knee on the bed. ‘Hands and knees.’
I raise an eyebrow. ‘Make me.’
‘Seriously, you don’t want me to make you,’ he says, climbing up.
I sigh with happiness as he crawls between my legs.
‘Over you go,’ he says, wedging an arm around me and flipping me unceremoniously onto my stomach before giving me a resounding slap on the arse.
‘Ouch,’ I complain.
‘That would be more convincing if you weren’t wiggling that little arse of yours straight at my dick,’ he says.
He lowers his entire weight on top of me, and I practically pass out from the perfection of having his warm, firm body pinning me to the bed, his arm still wrapped around me. His aforementioned big fat cock is making its presence known, so I open my thighs enough to wedge it between them.
God, it feels amazing. I could lie here forever if we didn’t both need him to be inside me so badly. But he’s already on it. He pulls back and yanks me up under my hips so my bum’s in the air, my head and shoulders still flat against the bed.
And then he’s kicking my legs wider, moving between them, and smearing my arousal all over my sensitised pussy with his fingers before he lines his cock up with my entrance and pushes in with a single hard, glorious drive, digging his fingertips into my hips to hold me in place.
That’s unnecessary, of course. Because I am not going anywhere.
We both moan as he hits the deepest part of me, and I wiggle my bottom in the air, grinding against him, because holy shit is being railed from behind by this man the most epic feeling on the planet. Literally.
I’m so full of him it’s uncomfortable and overwhelming and perfect in equal measure. But it’s not enough. I need him to move inside me. I need to feel that totally incomparable drag of flesh upon flesh when there’s no room to spare because my boyfriend’s cock is so hard and huge.
God, I’m a lucky bitch.
‘Fuck me,’ I moan, and he kind of laugh-groans in a she’s a piece of work but also I know where she’s coming from way.
And then he starts to pump me. Hooooly fuck is it incredible. He pulls out slowly and rams back in so hard that my lungs literally empty, and I love this so much.
I love that I’m crouching over and spread wide for Zach, that he’s now pushing me further into the mattress with one strong hand between my shoulders as he fucks me hard and rhythmically.
I love that I’m powerless to do anything but claw desperately at the bedding and try to take this relentless pounding without, as he put it, screaming the house down.
I love that I feel so wild and free and filled with passion for this man who has entrusted me with his heart, and with his daughters’ hearts, and that he’s as good at showing me the depths of his own passion with his throbbing dick as he is with his beautiful words and thoughtful deeds.
And most of all, I love that I’m making him happy. That little old me has the power, miraculously enough, to shine some light on the darkness he’s endured.
As this raw, carnal fucking has our consciousness soaring higher and higher, as our moans grow louder, as he rams home in parts of me I swear I’ve never felt before, I revel in this new dimension of what I previously thought was the purest form of pleasure.
While being brought to orgasm by a hot, competent man is pretty fucking amazing, being brought to orgasm by a hot, competent man you’re hopelessly in love with, and who seems to be hopelessly in love with you, is a high like nothing I’ve ever experienced.
He makes me come so hard with his magical dick and magical words. Words of praise. Words of love. And not just come—he makes me cry, too. Turns out Maddy Two-Point-Oh, aka Loved Up Maddy, is incapable of coming without bursting into tears at how miraculously perfect it is to experience this type of intimacy with Zach.
We collapse together onto our stomachs, him on top of me, still inside me, kissing my neck and my cheek as he attempts to dry my eyes with his fingertips.
‘I thought maybe once I started sleeping over, we’d have sex like an old married couple,’ I say. ‘Like, missionary with the lights out. But, uh, judging from that performance, I’d say I was wrong.’
He chuckles behind me, and the vibrations of laughter from his body are glorious. ‘Not a chance, sweetheart,’ he whispers in my ear. ‘We’re only getting started. I swear to God I’m going to find a way to get you to utter that immortal word in this bed one day.’
‘What word is that?’ I wonder aloud.
He puts his lips to my ear. ‘Spreadsheet.’