Ryan woke and for the first time it wasn't to the aggressive blare of a digital alarm, but to a slow, consuming heat.
The heavy silk sheets of Zara's king-sized bed were pushed down to his knees. The penthouse bedroom was bathed in the pale, slate-grey light of early morning filtering through the sheer curtains.
He didn't open his eyes immediately. He lay flat on his back, his healing ribs protesting the slight shift in his posture, and let his sensory awareness map the room.
A warm, wet friction dragged along the length of his shaft.
Ryan inhaled sharply through his nose, his abdominal muscles locking tight.
The slow, agonizingly slick pull reversed, sliding down to the base before sinking back over the heavy, throbbing ridge.
He opened his eyes.
Zara was kneeling between his spread legs. Her silver hair cascaded over her shoulders in a wild, unbrushed curtain, hiding her face as she worked.
She wasn't rushing.
