Violet’s POV
Six months collapse into nothing the moment his mouth finds mine again.
His hands are in my hair and I'm pulling him closer like I've been drowning and he's the first breath I've been allowed.
The kiss is not tender. It's not careful. It's six months of silence translated into teeth and tongue and the absolute certainty that distance was always a lie we told ourselves to survive separation.
"Violet." My name breaks against his lips like a confession.
"Don't talk." I pull him closer, feeling him harden against my hip. "Don't think. Just—"
He kisses me again. Harder. His tongue sliding against mine with desperate hunger that makes the heat pool low in my belly.
"We should go." His forehead presses against mine, both of us breathing hard. "Adison is in the next room."
"Your place." I roll my hips against him, and his groan vibrates through my chest. "Now."
We leave without explaining. Without apology. Move through the city like two people outrunning reason, his grip on my hand the only thing keeping me anchored.
The elevator ride takes forever. He stands behind me, his chest against my back, and I feel the hard length of him pressing against my ass. His hand slides beneath my shirt, palm flat against my stomach, fingers spreading possessively.
"This is crazy." His mouth finds the curve of my neck. Teeth scraping and tongue soothing.
"I don't care." I grind back against him and feel his cock twitch in response.
His apartment door barely closes before restraint dies completely. He lifts me and I wrap my legs around his waist, feeling him thick and rigid between my thighs. My back hits the wall and he rocks against me, the friction sending sparks through every nerve ending I own.
"Six months." He yanks my shirt over my head. "Six goddamn months of pretending I didn't want this."
His mouth closes over my nipple through the lace of my bra, sucking hard enough to make me gasp. I arch into the wet heat while my fingers work his belt. The leather slips free and I'm reaching inside, wrapping my hand around the thick heat of him.
"Christ, Violet." His hips jerk into my grip.
"Off." I tug at his shirt. "I need to feel you."
We strip each other with clumsy urgency, buttons scattering, fabric tearing. His chest is warm and solid when I press against him, and the sensation of skin on skin after six months of nothing makes my eyes sting.
We don't make it to the bedroom.
He carries me to the couch and lays me down, his body covering mine. His mouth traces a path down my throat, between my breasts, across my stomach. When he reaches the lace of my underwear, he looks up at me with dark eyes.
"I thought about this." His fingers hook into the fabric, dragging it down my thighs. "Every night. The way you taste. The sounds you make."
"Show me." My voice comes out wrecked. "Show me you remember."
His mouth finds my center, and I stop breathing.
He devours me like a man starving. Tongue flat against my clit, then circling, then dipping inside me. Two fingers slide in while his mouth works, curling against that spot that makes my vision white out at the edges.
"Zachary—" I fist my hands in his hair, pulling him closer. "God, right there—"
He groans against me, the vibration shooting straight through my core. His fingers pump faster, his tongue relentless, and I'm climbing toward something devastating.
"Come for me." The command rumbles against my sensitive flesh. "Let me feel it."
I shatter with his name on my lips, my thighs clamping around his head, my back arching off the couch. He doesn't stop—keeps licking, keeps stroking, wringing every last tremor from my body until I'm boneless and gasping.
He crawls up my body, his mouth wet and swollen. I taste myself when he kisses me, and the intimacy of it makes something crack open in my chest.
"Tell me you thought about this." He positions himself at my entrance, the thick head of his cock pressing against where I'm slick and swollen. "Tell me distance didn't make you forget."
"Every night." I reach between us and guide him closer. "I touched myself thinking about you every single night."
"Fuck." He pushes inside in one brutal thrust.
The stretch is overwhelming—six months of absence making room for him again. I cry out, and he swallows the sound with his mouth. He's so deep I can feel him in my throat, filling spaces I forgot existed.
"You feel—" His voice breaks. "God, you feel like coming home."
He pulls out slowly, then drives back in. Hard. Deep. Each stroke hitting places that make me see white. I wrap my legs around his waist, changing the angle, and we both moan at the new depth.
This is not a gentle reunion. It's six months of silence made physical.
He fucks me like he's trying to erase the distance. My nails drag down his back, leaving welts he'll feel tomorrow. His teeth find my shoulder, biting down as his pace turns punishing.
"I tried to stop wanting you." His hand fists in my hair, pulling my head back to expose my throat. "Couldn't. God, I couldn't."
"Don't stop." I'm begging now, chasing something just out of reach. "Please don't stop."
His hand slides between us, finding my clit, rubbing in tight circles that match his thrusts. The dual sensation builds until I'm teetering on the edge of something that feels like annihilation.
"Come with me." His rhythm falters, his thrusts turning erratic. "Violet—I need you to—"
I shatter around him with a scream I couldn't contain if I tried. My walls clench around his cock, pulling him deeper, and he follows with a guttural groan, spilling inside me with my name on his lips like a prayer.
We lie tangled together, breathing hard. He's still inside me, softening slowly, and neither of us moves to separate.
"Floor next." His voice is hoarse against my neck. "Then the wall. Then my bed."
"Is that a promise?"
"It's a fucking guarantee."
He keeps his word. He takes me on the floor with my knees pressed to my chest, hitting angles that make me scream.
Against the wall with my legs wrapped around him, his hands gripping my ass hard enough to bruise. In his bed, finally, with agonizing slowness—his cock sliding in and out with deliberate torture until I'm begging for release he won't give me.
"Please." Tears leak from the corners of my eyes. "Zachary, please—"
"Not yet." He pulls out to the tip and holds there, watching me writhe. "I've waited six months. You can wait five more minutes."
When he finally lets me come, I forget my own name.
Afterward, tangled in sheets that smell like him and sweat and surrender, Zachary falls asleep with his arm across my waist. I lie awake listening to his breathing slow into something peaceful. My fingers trace the shape of his shoulder in the darkness, memorizing the muscle and bone I'd convinced myself I didn't need.
The weight of morning already presses against the edges of the room.
Hours pass. Dawn bleeds through his curtains, gray and honest.
"You're awake." His voice is rough with sleep. His hand finds my hip.
"I've been awake."
He shifts onto his side, studying my face like he's looking for something I'm not sure I can give.
"Talk to me." His thumb traces my cheekbone. "You're thinking too loud."