Page 78 of Mane Brew

“Why couldn’t you?”

“Because you made it for me.” He hooks his fingers in my waistband, tugging my pants down my legs with deliberate slowness. “Because you were angry and creative and absolutely devastating, and I couldn’t bear to destroy the evidence.”

I lift my hips to help him, and then I’m bare except for the thin cotton of my underwear. His eyes trace my body with an intensity that makes me squirm.

“You’re staring.”

“I’m memorizing.” He presses a kiss to my hip. My navel. The edge of my underwear. “For the records.”

“Rhodes—”

“I want to remember every inch of you.” Another kiss, lower. “Every freckle.” His teeth catch the cotton, tugging it down. “Every sound you make.”

And then his mouth is on me, and I stop being capable of coherent speech.

He’s methodical here too. Thorough. Patient. Learning exactly what makes me gasp, what makes me arch off the bed, what makes my magic flare so bright the lamp shatters. His tongue traces patterns that reduce me to incoherence while his hands grip my thighs, holding me open, keeping me exactly where he wants me.

“Please—Rhodes—I need⁠—”

He adds two fingers, curling them with precision that shouldn’t be possible on a first attempt, and pleasure coils tight in my belly.

“That’s it.” Rough and wrecked. “Let go for me.”

I shatter with his name on my lips, my magic surging wild around us, sparks dancing across the ceiling while my body pulses with release.

He works me through it, gentling his touch as the aftershocks fade. When I finally manage to open my eyes, he’s watching me with an expression I’ve never seen before. Awed. Hungry. Utterly, desperately in love.

“Get up here.” I drag him up my body, tasting myself on his lips when I kiss him. “I want you inside me.”

His groan vibrates through both of us. “Zeph⁠—”

“Now. Please.” I reach between us, finding him hard and straining against his remaining clothes. “I’ve waited four years. I’m done waiting.”

He strips efficiently—no wasted movement, no unnecessary delay. Just Rhodes, finally bare, finally mine, positioning himself between my thighs.

“Are you sure?” The question costs him, I can tell. His arms tremble with the effort of holding back.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

He pushes in slowly, and I gasp at the stretch, the fullness, the perfect rightness of finally having him where I’ve wanted him for years. His forehead drops to mine, his breath ragged, his whole body trembling with restraint.

“Move.” I dig my nails into his shoulders. “Rhodes, please⁠—”

He does.

The first thrust punches the air from my lungs. The second makes me cry out. By the third, I’m meeting him stroke for stroke, our bodies finding a rhythm that builds and builds and builds.

He fucks like he does everything else—thorough, focused, determined to achieve optimal results. His hand finds where we’re joined, thumb circling, and I feel another orgasm building, faster than should be possible.

“I can feel your magic.” Hoarse. Barely a whisper. “Around me. In me. It’s⁠—”

“I know.” My brewing power is going wild, transforming the air between us into electricity, into life. “I can’t—I can’t stop it⁠—”

“Don’t stop.” He drives deeper, harder. “Don’t ever stop.”

The second orgasm hits like a wave, crashing through me with enough force to make my magic flare wild. And this time—this time⁠—

His mouth finds my shoulder.