Line's We Shouldn't Cross

Chapter2: PleasuringHerself

Maya's POV

The heavy thud of Zeke’s combat boots against the polished mahogany floor signalled to everyone that he was back before he could even get close to the table. Victor looked up from his wine, a brow arched in silent inquiry, while Elena smoothed the lace of her napkin. The air in the room seemed to thicken, displaced by the sheer mass of Zeke’s presence. He adjusted the cuff of his charcoal shirt, the fabric straining against the hard cordage of his forearms.

Everything settled? Victor asked, his voice echoing in the high-ceilinged hall.

Zeke pulled his chair back, the wood scraping harshly against the floor. He didn't sit immediately, standing like a monument to cold efficiency.

Just a junior officer, Zeke replied. His voice carried the gravel of a man who spent his days shouting over mortar fire. He had some questions about the logistics for the next deployment. It couldn’t wait.

Elena smiled,You’re always so dedicated, Zeke. Even on our anniversary eve.

The military doesn’t keep a calendar for celebrations, Zeke said. He finally sat, his knee brushing against mine under the table.

The contact sent a jolt of electricity straight to my gut. I felt my pulse thrumming in my throat, a frantic bird trapped in a cage of ribs. I stared at my plate, the roasted lamb turning to ash in my mouth. Zeke was too close. The scent of him,leather, cold mountain air, and a faint hint of gunpowder, clung to my senses like a physical weight. Every time he shifted, the friction of his trousers against my thigh made my skin crawl with a desperate, unearned heat.

I took a sip of wine, the liquid sliding down a throat that felt constricted. My hand trembled slightly, the crystal stem of the glass clinking against my teeth.

Are you alright, Maya? Elena’s voice cut through the fog in my head. You look a little flushed.

The room is just a bit warm, I lied. My voice sounded thin, alien to my own ears.

I glanced at Zeke. He wasn't looking at me but turned his head slightly upon mom's question.

“You ok little cat Maya" he said sarcastically with a little smile, He seems oblivious to effect his presence had on me.

He had to know what his proximity was doing to me. The way he’d come back from that call, eyes darker than the midnight sky, radiated a predatory energy that made my core ache with a sudden, sharp dampness. I couldn't sit here anymore. I couldn't pretend to care about the vintage of the wine or the upcoming festivities.

Excuse me for a moment, I said, pushing my chair back with more force than intended. I need to freshen up.

I didn't wait for a response. I hurried out of the room, the click of my heels rhythmic and frantic on the stone tiles of the hallway. I climbed the stairs two at a time, my breath hitching in my chest. By the time I reached my bedroom and slammed the door shut, I was gasping.

I leaned my back against the heavy oak door, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my chest. The darkness of the room was a mercy, lit only by the pale moonlight filtering through the sheer curtains. I could still feel the phantom pressure of Zeke’s leg against mine. My breath came in shallow, jagged bursts as I reached behind me to find the zipper of my silk dress. The fabric slid down my shoulders, pooling at my feet in a puddle of emerald shimmer. I stood there in nothing but my lace thong, the cool air of the room doing nothing to quench the fire licking at my insides.

I climbed onto the bed, the silk sheets cool against my heated skin. I closed my eyes and Zeke was there, etched onto the back of my eyelids. I saw his hands, large, scarred, and capable of such violence; and imagined them on me. My hand drifted down, my fingers trembling as they brushed over my stomach, dancing lower until they found the damp silk of my underwear.

Zeke, I whispered into the empty room.

The sound of his name was a spark to dry tinder. I hooked my fingers into the waistband of my thong and tugged it down, tossing it aside. My legs fell open, the air hitting my wetness and making me shiver. I reached down, my middle finger finding the swollen nub of my c**t. It was hard, throbbing with a life of its own. I began to circle it, the friction creating a slick, shrieking sound that filled the quiet space.

I arched my back, my n*****s brushing against the silk sheets, aching for a touch that wasn't my own. I imagined Zeke’s mouth there, his rough tongue swirling around the sensitive peaks until I screamed. My movements became more frantic. I slid two fingers inside myself, my p***y gripping them tight, the walls of my v****a twitching and milking the intrusion. I was so wet, the sound of the air being pushed out of my body by my own digits sounded like a rhythmic squelch.

Zeke... please, I moaned, my head thrashing against the pillow.

I pictured him standing over me, still in that charcoal shirt, his eyes devoid of anything but hunger. I imagined him ripping his belt off, the leather snapping in the air. I increased the pace, my thumb working my c**t in a blurring rhythm while my fingers thrust deep inside, hitting my cervix with a dull thud that sent ripples of pleasure through my entire frame. I was a mess of sweat and desperation. My internal muscles clamped down hard, a sudden, violent contraction that made my toes curl.

The orgasm hit me like a physical blow. My hips bucked off the bed, a high, thin keen escaping my lips as the waves of release crashed over me. I felt the hot spurt of my own juices coating my hand, the smell of my own arousal thick in the air. I lay there for a long moment, my chest heaving, the aftershocks vibrating through my limbs.

I forced myself to move. I couldn't stay here forever. I used the discarded lace to wipe the slickness from my thighs, the scent of s*x clinging to my skin. I stood on shaky legs and moved to the vanity, splashing cold water on my face. My eyes were blown wide, my pupils swallowing the iris. My hair was a wild nest of tangles. I grabbed a brush, smoothing the strands back with trembling hands, and tugged my dress back on. The zipper hissed as I pulled it up, the silk feeling heavy and restrictive now.

When I walked back into the dining room, the conversation died instantly.

Victor looked at me, his eyes narrowing slightly. Everything alright, Maya? You were gone for a while.

I sat back down, my movements stiff. Fine. Just a headache.

I looked at Zeke. He was watching me. His gaze wasn't on my face; it was lower. I realized with a jolt of horror that my dress was twisted, the neckline sitting lower than it had before. A stray damp curl of hair clung to my neck, and I knew my skin was still flushed a deep, tell-tale pink.

Zeke’s eyes traveled slowly from my messy hair down to the swell of my breasts, then back up to meet my gaze. There was something dark and knowing in his expression, a silent acknowledgment that stripped me bare.

The junior officer called again, Zeke said, his voice lower now, vibrating with a subterranean threat.

Victor leaned in, curious. Oh? More trouble at the base?

No, Zeke said, his eyes never leaving mine. He reached for his wine glass, his large hand dwarfing the crystal. He just wanted to confirm that the target had been located.

Is it someone we know? Elena asked, trying to bridge the sudden tension.

Zeke took a slow sip of the dark red liquid, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. He set the glass down with a precise, chilling click.

Someone close, Zeke said. Someone who thinks they can hide their tracks…