Page 27 of January Bell

My boobs are small. They’re nothing to write home about. In fact, I’ve had more than one boyfriend complain. But hey, when you like to work out and your body just decides that burning calories is way more fun than storing them, tiny tits are what you end up with.

But by the way Zan is looking at them, he doesn’t seem disappointed at all. He looks hungrier than I felt when we were finally eating. He looks like he could devour me, starting at my tits and never stop.

I shiver, and somehow his pupils manage to dilate further. His cock vibrating even harder now.

I’m not wearing underwear, something I’ve been all too aware of this entire time. Because, well, being in heat and being constantly wet down there means thinking a whole lot about the fact that I decided not to wear underwear to sleep when I was wasted on margaritas at Ellison’s.

But now, now I’m grateful for it.

I stand up slowly, and though I’m no dancer, I’m pretty sure there’s nothing even close to elegant about the way I’m moving.

I’m hyper-aware of the way Zan watches me slowly tug the shorts down, revealing my sex to him. I make a show of slowly bending over to pull them the rest of the way off, stepping carefully out of the disgusting, formerly favorite pair of pajama shorts before kicking them off to the side.

He steps closer behind me, his breath ragged. Or maybe it’s mine. His huge hands at my hips as he closes the distance between our bodies and turns me around.

I moan in spite of myself because oh my god, it feels so fucking good to have this huge, vibrating cock against my back.

It’s not where I want it, not exactly, I want it deep inside me. Pulsing. While I writhe on top of him. Until we’re both coming so hard that we see stars.

“If you’re trying to tease me, Lily⁠—”

He grinds against me just enough to make me even wetter, fluid starting to drip down my inner thigh, my entire world spinning, hinged on what he’ll do next.

“It’s working.”

He runs the hand holding the water up my chest until the tips of his thumb and forefinger brush my hard nipple, water gently trickling out.

The contrast between his hard, scaly thumbs and the warm wash of water makes me moan again, and I take a shaky breath, trying to regain control of myself, of him, of this moment, and very unsure if I’m going to be able to.

“You like that, don’t you?” he says.

He must have leaned over me, his big body fully flushed against mine, his head dipped, his silver hair draping over my shoulder. I feel the warmth of his breath on the goosebumps across my shoulder, and I groan as the tips of his fangs brush against the sensitive skin between my shoulder and my neck.

“You smell so fucking good, Lily.” He growls. “You’re going to smell so fucking good for me when I make you come. Isn’t that what you want?”

“Yes,” I manage, even though I didn’t want to. “It’s all I can think about.” I shudder. “I want you so much.” A moan escapes me. “I need you.”

“I know you do, my little human,” he says, and it’s smug, controlled, like a fucking slap to the face. Because suddenly I’m the one that’s out of control and he’s the one in charge, and I don’t like that at all.

I start to pull away, but he tugs again, this time he pinching my nipple hard, and I groan as pleasure ripples through me. Somehow, he’s already brought me to the start of an orgasm. I can feel the need going through me.

“You are so fucking wet for me, aren’t you? You’re so ready to take my big cock deep inside you and milk it until it comes.”

“I want that,” I say again, wanton, burning for him.

He drops the shower head and it immediately turns off, and I arch my back, trying to find some kind of relief. But he’s too tall and my legs are too short, and all I manage to do is increase the vibration on my lower back, too far away from where I want it.

“Oh, my sweet Lily. I know that you want it, but until you beg, you’re not going to get anything, because I need to know that it’s you that wants it. And not just the heat. Because I know you well enough now to know that if I take you right here, if I shove my cock into you, deep home where it should be⁠—”

I moan, completely out of my mind, arching against him with all my might. And still he holds me, nipple clamped between his fingers, his other hand clutching my hip bone so tight there’s nowhere else for me to go.

“If I do that, Lily, I’ll lose you. Until you’re ready to beg for my cock, for this, for me. Not to sate your heat, that’s not gonna happen,” he says with a dark chuckle.

“Fuck you, Zan,” I say, turning, picking up the hose—shower head, whatever. I can’t even think of words right now other than “fuck you, Zan.”

“See,” he says, arching an eyebrow as he lets me go, just watching me, naked, undisguised desire in his eyes. “There’s my little fighter.”

“You don’t have to admit that I’m right. We both know it."

I glare at him, now fully understanding what it means to stare daggers. If I could actually produce daggers from eyeballs, I would. Gross though that would be, he deserves it.

“We both know it’ll be the best sex that you’ve ever had. And the next time you say ‘fuck you, Zan,’ I’ll make you remember that.”

He says it matter-of-fact, and I’m furious with him, furious with myself, because he was playing with me, and this whole time I thought I was the one in control, that I had controlled my heat, my body, and I hadn’t. He had. And I hate that I’m still turned on.

And maybe not even in spite of it.

Maybe because of it.