Page 76 of Claimed By the Boss
I don’t ask her to come with me.
We walk down the corridor together in silence and step into my bedroom. The space is dim, lit only by the faint glow of the city and the first weak traces of gray beginning to push against the night sky outside the window. Neither of us turns on a light. There’s no need for it.
I close the door behind us. Celine stands near the foot of the bed, looking small in the oversized sweater she must have pulled on when I called her earlier. I cross to her slowly and reach for the hem. She lifts her arms without hesitation and lets me draw them over her head.
Underneath, she’s wearing a thin tank top. I peel that away too, careful with the fabric, then slide her pants down her legs. She steps out of them and kicks them aside. My hands move over her bare skin, not with hunger but with the need to feel that she’s solid and real and here with me.
She reaches for my shirt next, her fingers steady as she works the remaining buttons open. She pushes it off my shoulders and down my arms, then rests her palms flat against my chest for a moment, as if checking my heartbeat.
I unfasten my pants and let them drop. We stand there together, skin to skin, breathing in the quiet dark.
I guide her onto the bed. The sheets are cool against our bodies as we settle in the center. I pull her close, chest to chest, andwrap my arms around her. For a long minute, we simply hold each other. Her face is pressed into my neck. I feel the slight tremor in her breathing and stroke one hand slowly down her back.
“I’m right here,” I whisper against her hair. “I’ve got you.”
She makes a small sound and presses closer. My hand continues its slow path along her spine, then over the curve of her hip. I kiss her forehead, then her temple, then the corner of her mouth.
When she tilts her head up, I kiss her properly, gentle and unhurried. There’s no rush in it. Just the quiet need to feel connected, to remind ourselves that we are both still here, while Lena is somewhere we cannot reach.
I roll her gently onto her back and move over her, supporting my weight on my forearms. I kiss down the side of her neck, slow and deliberate, tasting the salt of her skin. My mouth moves lower, brushing over her collarbone and then to her breasts.
I take one nipple between my lips, sucking softly, circling it with my tongue until she sighs and arches beneath me. My hand cups the other breast, thumb brushing tenderly across the peak.
“Zane,” she breathes, her fingers threading through my hair.
I continue downward, kissing along her stomach, taking my time. When I settle between her thighs, I look up at her face. Her eyes are dark and vulnerable in the low light. I press a soft kiss to the inside of her thigh, then another higher up, before I finally taste her.
She lets out a quiet, shaky moan. I lick her slowly, reverently, exploring every fold with my tongue. Two of my fingers slideinside her, moving in gentle rhythm as I focus on her clit with steady, patient strokes.
Her hips lift toward my mouth, and her breathing grows uneven. I stay with her, listening to every small sound she makes, feeling every tremble in her legs. I don’t rush her. I want her to feel cared for, anchored, safe in this one small thing when everything else feels uncertain.
Her hips begin to move in small, helpless circles against my mouth. I keep the rhythm steady, savoring every quiet gasp and broken sigh she gives me.
When her thighs start trembling around my head, I slide a third finger inside her and curl it gently, pressing against that spot that always makes her lose control.
“Zane… please,” she whispers, her voice raw with emotion. “I need you closer.”
I give her one last slow lick before I move up her body. She reaches for me immediately, pulling me down until our chests are pressed together. I settle between her thighs and line myself up. The head of my cock nudges against her entrance, hot and slick from my mouth.
I look into her eyes in the faint gray light. “I’m here,” I say softly. “Right here with you.”
She nods, her fingers digging into my shoulders. I push inside her slowly, inch by inch, until I’m buried to the hilt.
We both let out long, shaky breaths at the feeling. I stay there, not moving, just feeling her around me, letting her feel my weight and warmth. Her legs wrap around my waist, holding me close.
I start to move, deep and unhurried rolls of my hips. There’s nothing frantic about this. It’s slow, deliberate, every thrust meant to remind her that I am solid and present. She meets each movement, her hands sliding over my back, clutching at me like she’s afraid I might disappear.
“You’re not alone in this,” I murmur against her temple, my voice low and rough. “Not for one second.”
A soft sob escapes her. I kiss it away, then kiss her deeper, swallowing every quiet sound she makes as I move inside her. The pleasure builds gradually, thick and heavy between us. I keep one arm braced beside her head while the other hand cradles the back of her neck, keeping her face close to mine so I can watch every flicker of emotion cross her features.
Her breathing grows faster, more ragged. “Don’t stop,” she whispers against my mouth. “Please don’t stop.”
“I won’t,” I promise, thrusting a little deeper, a little firmer. “I’ve got you, Celine. Let go.”
She comes with a quiet, broken cry, her walls pulsing tightly around me as her whole body trembles beneath mine.
The feeling of her falling apart while holding on to me so desperately undoes the last of my control. I bury my face in her neck and follow her over the edge, coming deep inside her with a low, guttural groan. I keep moving through it, slow and gentle, drawing every last wave of pleasure from both of us until we’re both spent and breathing hard.
