by Lee Piper
“Fuck. Yes, keep doing that,” I pant.
He does. Another hand slides up my stomach to cup my breast. His large palm molds flesh that’s oh so sensitive to his touch. I gasp when he teases my nipple, alternating between flicks, tweaks, and pinches. This, combined with the systematic thrust of his fingers and his mouth gorging on my clit, is too much. Every ministration pushes me closer, sends me higher, and a void of darkness forms. Builds. Peaks. Crashes.
Oblivion.
“Zeke.” The throaty cry is ripped from my soul.
“There she is,” he growls against oversensitive skin. “There’s my fuckin’ siren.”
The vibration of his deep voice between my thighs lengthens the orgasm, my pussy contracting around his fingers as I come, and come, and come.
“Can feel you choking me. Fucking love watching you fall apart.”
When the shudders finally subside, I flop forward, resting my sweaty forehead against the padded headboard. “Oh my God. I can’t even…. That was….” I don’t bother trying to finish my sentences, just resort to shaking my head in disbelief.
“Not finished with you yet.”
“What?” I half mumble, half exclaim, too dazed to pick a tone and stick with it.
The deliberate opening of my pussy lips is the only warning I get before that devil of a tongue delves deep within me.
“Sweet Eros, you’re killing me.”
“Only way to die.”
Zeke’s tongue laps, swirls, and dives inside. “Fuck, you taste good.” His thumb works my clit, circling it with just enough pressure to make my vision blur and equilibrium shift. His other hand roams further back, taking my release with it. In a methodical sweep of his finger, he rubs the juices over my asshole.
Everything stops.
Sensing my unease, Zeke redoubles his efforts on my swollen clit. Pleasure builds and anxiety slowly fades as I yield to his worshipful mouth. My body grows soft, pliant, ready for his ownership. I crave it. I need him to claim every inch of me, for there to be no patch of skin left without his brand. It’s the only way I’ll know I’m alive.
“Take me,” I whisper. “I’m yours anyway.”
With a rumbling growl, he presses against my puckered hole.
My moan is loud.
His groan is louder.
A finger pushes inside.
I’ve never felt so full, so bursting with sensation. “Zeke, I can’t—”
“You can, and you will.” He sucks on my clit.
It moves deeper.
My body is a live wire, ready to set the world aflame. “Fuck, I’m going to—”
Deeper. He bites my clit.
“Zeke.” The second orgasm takes me by surprise, its intensity blinding. A barrel wave bowls into me, knocks me over, and ruins any chance of survival. But it’s okay. I don’t want air; breathing is inconsequential. All I want is Zeke. My oxygen.
Movement.
Rustling.
Then a rhythmic heartbeat.
Strong arms wrap around me, cocooning my still trembling body. I’m guessing that somewhere between the earth-shattering orgasm and now, Zeke repositioned us so I’m resting under the blanket and against his chest. His naked chest. Blinking, I push myself onto a shaky elbow, my eyes wanting to take in every inch of tanned skin.
Muscles. So many muscles. Every ridge and groove is carefully honed perfection. Zeke’s so much bigger without a T-shirt. His upper body is enhanced, amplified, like it’s in high definition. I trace an index finger along the center of his chest, marveling when it twitches under my touch. I circle his belly button and smile when downy hair slows my progress the closer I get to his boxer briefs.
I stop, my gaze darting to his. “You’re hard.”
“I had my mouth on your cunt and my finger in your ass. Of course, I’m hard.”
“Want me to….” I slide under the elastic band, my teeth biting into my bottom lip at the thought of touching him again.
He grips my wrist, stopping any further progress. “No.”
“No?”
“No.”
I retract my hand and sit up, uncaring when the sheet falls to my waist. “But why not?”
Zeke moves toward me, his lips clamping down on my nipple. His tongue flicks the erect bud before he hollows his cheeks, releasing it with a pop. “That was for you.” His gaze never wavers from mine as he lies down again, one hand resting behind his head.
And then it hits me.
My voice is soft, reverent. “We’re really doing this, aren’t we?”
Zeke swallows. “It’s already done.” He guides me back to his chest, and I nuzzle against a broad shoulder. When he exhales, wisps of hair tickle my face, but I ignore them.
Despite the warmth, despite knowing in my very bones that this is where I’m meant to be, there’s a niggling uncertainty teasing my subconscious. And I don’t know what gives away my thoughts, but Zeke shifts his large frame until we’re facing each other. He tips my chin until our eyes meet. “It’s already done, little siren.”
Nodding, I trace the contours of his jaw before kissing full lips, breathing in his addictive scent. And as I do, I keep my eyes tightly shut, coveting the darkness I can see.
My footsteps on the concrete come to an abrupt stop. I glance left then right, as though the movement will somehow cause my car to miraculously reappear in Zeke’s garage. It doesn’t. The empty space where my Honda used to be remains the same—vacant and mocking.
“What have you done?” I murmur to an absent Zeke. Like yesterday, this morning I awoke in an empty bed. Not that I expected a cooked breakfast served the moment I opened my eyes or anything, but waking up alone is becoming less and less enjoyable after falling asleep in Zeke’s arms. My fingers even crept across the Egyptian cotton and caressed the crinkles, evidence that last night hadn’t been a dream. But doing so didn’t make the sheets any less cold, or my mood any less sullen as I went about my morning ritual.
So I showered and dressed in record time, wanting to see Mom, needing to get my mind off Zeke and a future more uncertain than not. Besides, it’s too long since I’ve visited her, and even through Jeanette promised me she’s fine, I need to know for myself.
After rummaging through my overnight bag, I found yet another small hessian sack tucked away in a hidden pocket with a collection of my favorite crystals—the ones I always carry with me. Once I filled the material with a piece of green jade, I raced to the garage.
To find it almost empty.
“Shit.” I glance around the space. Tiered shelving lines three walls, packed full of carefully labeled equipment organized according to size. Zeke’s Challenger is parked where it always is, looking cleaner than any car has a right to be. To its left is the space where Drake’s car once stood, and left of that is where my car’s meant to be.
Planting fists on my hips, I scowl.
The far door opens, interrupting my staring match with an oil stain, and through it saunters Zeke. Sweaty Zeke. Shirtless and sweaty Zeke. It’s beyond difficult remembering why I’m pissed when beads of sweat trickle down his abs and disappear into the elastic band of his sweatpants. I want to be one of those droplets. I want to glide across his skin, each rise and fall of his sculpted muscles a roadmap to the holy land.
But I’m nothing if not committed. I even cross my arms and tap my foot, doing everything I can to convey my annoyance. However, the beat of my toe is irregular at best, a sure sign I’m affected by his presence. Fingers crossed he doesn’t notice.
He smirks.
He does, of course he does. A music producer of his caliber misses nothing. Not tuning, not pitch, and definitely not rhythm.
After staring pointedly at my foot, my arms, and my breasts pushed up and together because of said arms, he drawls, “Problem?”
I take a deep breath, hold it, ignore my pebbling nipples, then exhale. “Where’s my car?”
Zeke mirrors my stance, the tendons snaking their way along muscled forearms, evid
ence of an intense workout. “At the shop.”
“Why?”
He steps forward, his sweat-soaked skin mere millimeters from my aching breasts. Reaching out, he wraps a fist with my hair and tugs, forcing my head back. “Because it needed to be fixed.”
Breathless, I murmur, “Look, I’ll admit there were a few issues, but that’s no reason to—”
“A few?” he interrupts, narrowing his gaze. Leaning down, Zeke skims his nose along the length of my neck and inhales. “That piece of shit was going to kill someone.”
I shiver. “You’re exaggerating. I can’t afford a service. We’ve been through this.”
He nips the sensitive spot below my ear. “I don’t exaggerate, and you’re not paying.” Before I can pull back and give him an epic glare, Zeke continues. “I’ve got a friend who’s a mechanic. He owes me a favor, so I’m cashing in on it.”
I grip his biceps. They’re huge. “I don’t want you calling in a favor for me. You might need it someday.” I sigh as he nibbles the base of my throat. “I’ll figure out how to pay for it myself.” I swallow. “Somehow.”
“No, you won’t.” He slips a hand to the small of my back and pulls my hips forward, rubbing me against his hardening cock.
My moan is soft as I arch my back. “Yes, I will.”
“No woman of mine is going to pay for—”
I push away, my eyes shooting fire. “Did we go back in time or something? Is this the turn of the twentieth century and someone forgot to tell me?” Hell yes, I’m insulted he thinks I can’t take care of myself. “I can and I will pay….” My tirade stops when his words finally sink in.
“Wait.” Searching his face, I find nothing but brutal honesty staring back at me. I pause, licking my bottom lip. “Your woman? You… You really mean that?”
He blinks, as though surprised. Whether by my words or his, I’m not sure. However, the longer we gaze at each other, the more heat builds between us. It’s intense, borderline oppressive, intensified by his broad chest and my lithe frame. Neither of us shift to alleviate the stifling temperature; we’re content to burn from the outside in.
Eyes clash.
Breaths catch.
Tension mounts.
Eventually Zeke steps forward, clamping both hands on my hips. His deep voice is a rumble, a warning I have no intention of heeding. “What’s with you wanting me to repeat everything?” He lowers his head, his mouth hovering above mine. “Told you last night, we’re doing this. Fuck, it’s already done. Was done the moment you stepped into my studio.”
My heart drums a rapid beat inside my ribcage. For some reason, hearing him say it in a place as unromantic as a garage, without the lingering smell of sex, makes it real. It takes the postcoital ecstasy that often shadows logic and rationality out of the equation. And for the first time since falling asleep all those hours ago, the tension surrounding me, the voice whispering in my ear about potential heartbreak, quietens.
Wrapping my arms around his neck, I push onto the balls of my feet, closing the gap between us. “I like hearing you say it,” I murmur, my lips brushing his.
“Then I’ll keep fucking saying it.”
His mouth claims mine. The kiss is hot, hard, and possessive—everything I’ve come to expect from a man like Zeke. It’s only when my lips are bruised and I’m gasping for air that he breaks away.
“Get your ass in my car. I’m driving you to see your mom.”
“Wouldn’t have to if I had my Honda.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “I know.”
I have the sudden urge to dart my tongue out and lick him. So, I do.
He groans, grinding against me. “Jesus.”
“You need to put on some clothes,” I murmur, my index finger skimming the length of his arm. “You’ll give the residents a coronary if you rock up like this, and no one sees my man without a shirt on but me.”
His expression darkens and those full lips lock on mine once more. In an unexpected move, Zeke lifts me by the ass and places me on the hood of his car. “Wait here.” Kiss. “Don’t move.” Lick. “Swear to God, woman. If you’re not here when I get back….” Bite.
I moan into his mouth. It’s the only response I’ve got.
Zeke must take it as an affirmative because he releases my bottom lip from between his teeth, gives me a final warning glare, and disappears inside.
Shaking my head, I look at my hands and mutter, “Oh, Wil. You’ve given your heart to the devil and there’s no getting it back. Not from him.”
For the next short while, I ponder whether I’m making the biggest mistake of my life. Whether trusting my heart to a man like Zeke is naivety wrapped in stupidity. After all, how on earth can he reciprocate my feelings when he doesn’t want to fall in love? Yeah, our chemistry is the stuff of legend, but is it enough? Is a relationship without love possible? Is it something I’m willing to commit to?
I don’t know.
What I do know is that it’s unhealthy. Mom always said she’d rather be alone and happy than in a relationship and miserable, which is why she never married. And there’s no denying giving the most integral part of myself without any hope of it being returned is foolishness at its best. As an intelligent woman, I get this, I do. And yet….
Closing my eyes, I sigh.
In my mind, an image of Zeke forms. He’s angry, powerful, a force of nature no one can tame. Tendrils of excitement unfurl in my stomach. The fact that he could emotionally hurt me, that he could tear my heart from my body without a moment’s hesitation, is all part of the appeal. It’s the storm chaser in me, the one who skirts danger to remind herself she’s alive. And if there’s one truth I’ve come to realize, it’s this: the wind is wilder, the clouds are fiercer, and my soul is fearless when I’m with Zeke.
The slamming of the garage door jolts me from my thoughts. Zeke prowls toward me, now fully dressed, droplets of moisture from the shower still beaded in his dark hair. When he steps between my open legs, I trace the path of one of them with my eyes. It reaches the hollow of his neck. Leaning forward, I put my mouth to it and suck. “Delicious.”
Zeke yanks my hair, snapping my head back. Pleasure zaps my skin, heightened by the hunger in his expression. “You need to stop. Otherwise I’ll bury myself inside you. Right. Fucking. Now.” Rubbing his hard cock against my entrance, he bites my earlobe.
Tearing at his fitted black shirt, I groan. Thoughts of being spread open on the hood of his Challenger and impaled over and over again fill my brain. But then other pictures appear. Mom staring out the window of the nursing home, her vacant eyes gazing past the old gnarled tree as she sits, waiting. Always waiting.
So that’s a no to sexy times.
My palms press against Zeke’s broad chest and I give him a gentle shove. “We should go.”
He exhales. With a final nip, he readjusts himself and steps back, helping me from the car. We settle ourselves in the vehicle, the engine roars to life, and we careen down the street.
Strangely, the journey to Bayview doesn’t take nearly as long as it normally does. Maybe it’s Zeke’s hand clasping my inner thigh, maybe it’s the heavy rock music blasting from the speakers, or maybe it’s the cool breeze blowing tendrils of hair about my face. Dunno. Half of me doesn’t want the car ride to end, while the other half is desperate to reach our destination—indecision at its best.
After carefully navigating the driveway and avoiding cracks that seem wider than four days ago, Zeke pulls into a parking space.
Sighing, I take in the ramshackle nursing home. “This place sucks. Don’t get me wrong, I love Jeanette and the staff that work here, but damn.” The palms of my hands press into my eyes as I try to block out the sight. “It’s no place to live.”
Zeke is silent.
After removing my hands, I take a fortifying breath and force myself to stare at the building. I try to look at it objectively, anything to stop the guilt from bubbling up inside. My gaze narrows as I do a quick inventory
of what improvements could be made. New paint, a new roof, new windows, new doors, new… everything. Hell, the place should be knocked down and rebuilt from the ground up.
Slumping back in my seat, I mumble, “I promised myself I’d move Mom the second my first royalty check clears. Since the house isn’t selling, it’s the only way I can get her out of here. I swore I’d buy her a place near the ocean, somewhere she could sit on a balcony and watch the waves roll in. She loves the ocean.”
“Like you.”
Our eyes meet. “Yeah.”
Zeke sees me, really sees me. Not just the guitarist, the daughter, the modern-day hippy, but the woman who feeds off untamed climatic energy to survive. Sometimes it’s difficult understanding our chemistry, and there’s no denying we’re different in so many ways. But it is there, and it’s stronger than either of us.
It’s everything.
I lick my lips, knowing my heart doesn’t belong to me anymore. So it’s no surprise when I take a moment to gather my thoughts. “She’d always take me to the beach when I was younger. Thought I was the descendent of Poseidon because I’d dive under the water and never want to come up for air.” My laughter is soft. “It used to freak her out so bad.”
Glancing down at my hands, I continue. “We never had any money. There’s only so many hours a day a single mom can work, but I didn’t feel like I missed out, you know?” Our gazes clash. “Home was always full of warm hugs and laughter, everything I could ever wish for.” My smile is sad. “I just wish I could get it back for her. Maybe then she’d remember.” Blinking away tears, I stare unseeing out the window.
Silence.
“Finishing the album ahead of schedule is your best bet,” Zeke rumbles.
A sharp pain lances my stomach. “I know. But the thought makes me feel so hollow.”
“You don’t want to play music?” He appears shocked, as though the thought never occurred to him before.
I shake my head. “No, it’s not that. I love playing guitar, always have.”
Zeke is quiet. I’m quiet. And the car fills with tension.
