The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 40

Chapter 31-2

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My head falls back weakly against his shoulder, in complete and utter abandon. “I want your hands on me. All over me. Inside me. Please.”-

A long silence follows, then his hand finally moves properly. Not rough or frantic, just deliberate and focused. A gasp escapes me as pleasure unfurls through my body, slow and devastating. Water laps against the edge of the tub as I arch helplessly, every nerve suddenly awake.

His fingers dance over my clit, my parted lips, before they slide slowly into my honeyed channel, just a bit, then a bit farther, then a bit deeper, then withdraw to circle my hard little bud once more. I tremble violently in his arms while he touches me with unbearable patience, every stroke measured as though he’s learning me piece by piece.

It’s perfect. It’s torture. It’s heaven. It’s hell.

I need more.

“Open your legs wider for me,” he murmurs against my hair. “And breathe, Zara.”

I try to. God, I try, but no one has ever touched me like this before. No one has ever paid such careful attention to the tiny sounds I make, the way my breathing changes, the involuntary movement of my hips when I crave more.

Every touch builds slowly, steadily, drawing me further beneath the surface of myself. The pleasure isn’t sharp or frantic. It’s deeper than that; like being pulled into dark water, like surrender. Every stroke sends another wave of heat through me until I feel unraveled, thread by thread. He brushes another kiss against my throat, as his fingers dart in and out of my p***y, stroking me to an edge that I’ve never reached before.

“You’ve spent so long fighting yourself,” he says. “Pretending you don’t need things. Pretending you don’t want them.”

The truth of it stings, because I know that he’s right. I’ve spent years denying hunger, denying loneliness, denying desire.

Denying myself.

His arm tightens around me as though he can feel every wall beginning to crack. “That all ends now, Zara. You can have anything you want – you just have to take it.”

The words strike something deep inside me. Something hidden, something aching, something dark. Relief surges through me so suddenly that I nearly sob, and he holds me steady through it.

“That’s it,” he growls. “Let me have it, give me everything. Show me everything.”

The words should terrify me; instead they feel safe. I stop trying to hide my reactions after that. Stop biting back my feral sounds. Stop fighting every instinctive response. Stop treating my own raging desire like something shameful. Stop tensing against the unbearable vulnerability of being touched so intimately by a man who sees my every trembling response and treats them like something precious.

His fingers never lose their rhythm, and the pressure slowly builds into something impossible now, tight and burning and overwhelming beneath my skin. I can’t stay still, can’t control my body jumping in the

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water My thighs shake uncontrollably around his hand while helpless little sounds burst out of my throat, begging, pleading.

“Please,” I whisper desperately. “I’m so close…”

“What do you need to cum?”

The question nearly undoes me entirely, because no one has ever asked me that during touch before. Need… as though my pleasure matters. As though I matter.

Tears sting unexpectedly behind my eyes, and he somehow knows immediately that I’m close to crying.

His hand slows slightly. “Zara. Tell me what you need.”

The tenderness in his voice destroys the last of my composure. “I need…” My breath catches violently as his fingers curl inside me just enough to send another wave of pleasure through me, making me wild and incoherent. “Please, I need… I don’t know!”

“I do. You need to let yourself have this.” His lips press softly against my temple. “You need to trust me.”

I do. God help me, I do.

The realization feels less like a choice and more like falling, and my body loosens completely against him after that. I give in to the sensations pulling tighter and tighter inside me. The pressure coils unbearably low in my stomach until I can barely breathe around it. My body feels suspended on the edge of something vast, something just beyond the horizon, something inevitable.

One breath. One touch. One word away.

So close, so close. So damn close.

And Locke feels the moment everything changes, I know he does.

“There it is,” he rasps. “Let go and cum. Now.”

The command slides through me like velvet over a blade – and suddenly I can’t hold on anymore. Pleasure crests over me like a wave, taking my breath for a few seconds before I can catch it again. That’s when I cry out as the orgasm tears through me in deep, overwhelming ripples, my entire body convulsing helplessly in his arms while he holds me steady through every trembling aftershock.

His hand never leaves my aching, throbbing p***y while I come apart against him. He keeps stroking me, teasing me, fingering me gently through it, prolonging the painful, sweet pleasure until tears spill freely down my cheeks and I can do nothing except cling weakly to his massive forearm, my nails leaving deep gauges in the muscle, and breathe his name like a prayer.

“Locke…”

“There she is,” he says softly. “As gorgeous as I imagined.”

By the time the pleasure finally begins to ebb, I’m limp against him, trembling from exhaustion and sensation and something dangerously close to emotional ruin. He gathers me closer immediately, both arms wrapping around me beneath the water while I struggle to catch my breath.

And to my shock and surprise, there’s no shame inside me, no distance between us. There’s quiet

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possession and a sense of rightness like in this tub, in this apartment, in these arms, is where I’m meant To be. Where I’ve always meant to have been, and I’m just late getting home.

“You did beautifully,” he says. “You were perfect.”

And somehow those words undo me even more than the earth-shattering orgasm itself.

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