Zane (Inked Brotherhood Book 3)

by Jo Raven

  “I want to ink an arrow here,” he strokes the inside of my thigh, making me dizzy with want. “Pointing to your sweet pussy with the words ‘eat me.’” He gives me a lazy grin, and I can feel myself clenching just from his voice.

  “That’s from Alice,” I gasp as he leans in and blows, making me clench harder. “Alice in Wonderland.”

  “I’ll show you wonderland,” he mutters.

  Pulling my legs over his shoulders, he buries his face between my legs and gives a long, deep lick. His pierced tongue strokes me like a living flame, the barbell dragging along my seam. He plays with my clit, licking and sucking, until I explode in pleasure, delicious spasms shaking me from head to toe.

  Holy shit.

  He gives me one last, lingering lick that makes me moan helplessly and pulls back. He’s breathing hard, and the lazy grin is back, the one that says he’s enjoying himself and is ready to up the stakes.

  Letting my legs down, he stands up, towering over me. Even in my brain’s short-circuited state, I feel my mouth going dry.

  Christ, the boy is a god. Must be. Those abs are just divine. Muscles ripple across his chest as he reaches for his fly to undo his shorts. He pushes them down, and whoa. He’s rock hard, and although I’ve seen him once before, somehow his cock looks larger this time as he leans over me.

  His hands trap mine against the table top. The controlled power in those corded arms and muscled chest takes my breath away.

  “Today we do this my way,” he says and releases me to take out a condom and pull it on.

  I want to tell him I’m back on the pill—because I want him to come inside me, I want to feel him one hundred percent. But I can’t speak, too enthralled by his voice, his handsome face, his powerful body. His cock.

  Besides, it sounds fair. Anything sounds fair right now, just as long as he doesn’t stop.

  And he doesn’t. He presses himself between my legs, stroking me with his thumb until I think I’ll come again, and then he replaces his thumb with his hard-on, pushing into me all the way.

  I arch off the table, struggling to swallow a moan and failing. He feels so good. His hands are back on mine, trapping them on either side of my head, and he starts to move, long, steady strokes that make my senses spin.

  Wrapping my legs around his slim hips, I lift myself, and the angle changes, catapulting me into such pleasure I want to weep. My body is moving of its own volition, lifting and grinding against him.

  So much pleasure. I need… need to hold on to him, kiss him. I struggle to free my hands, but he doesn’t let go. He seems to sense my need, though, and bends his head, finding my lips.

  “It’s me,” he whispers, before he plunges his tongue into my mouth. It occurs to me then that we aren’t doing it his way, not really. We’re face-to-face, and he’s kissing the hell out of me. Yet he’s holding me down. He’s in charge. It’s a compromise, I realize, and I bet he knows it, too.

  It makes me want to smile, but then he moves again, thrusting deep inside me, bringing on a new onslaught of pleasure that makes my toes curl.

  Oh God, dammit. I can’t… can’t remember what I was thinking.

  He licks at my lips, thrusts faster, fastens his mouth back on mine and does something with his hips that sends me tumbling head over heels into a world-shattering orgasm. He stops my cries with his mouth as my body bows off the table. I come again, seizing around his length, my whole body going off like a firework.

  Holy crap, Batman. Holy shit. This is unreal, this… I’ve read about girls having orgasms like this, where your mind goes boom, and your body shakes, and it’s like a rollercoaster going off the rails, but I always figured it was just fiction. Aftershocks rush through me, and I writhe as he plunges into me again. He bites on my lower lip, and I feel my eyes roll up in my head.

  He releases my lips and bows his head, his arms trembling. A great shudder runs through his frame, and his eyes scrunch shut as he drives into me hard and deep and stills for a long moment.

  “Fuck,” he hisses, then, “Dakota, I’m…” His mouth falls open, and he comes hard, his cock jerking inside me, triggering more aftershocks.

  Hot damn.

  I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from moaning as he thrusts again, once, twice, his face twisting with pleasure. He buries his face in my neck, breathing heavily, his hips still moving. He sinks his teeth lightly in the juncture between my neck and shoulder, and damn if I don’t I clench around him again so that we both groan.

  “Goddamn.” He’s still sprawled over me, still pulsing inside me, his hands still on mine, his lips pressed to my neck. “Holy fucking shit.”

  I feel him grin on my skin. The world is perfect right now. His hold on me relaxes, and I lift my arms, lacing them around his neck.

  Oh shit, I have the time to think right before he jerks back, pulling out of me, and takes a stumbling step away. His eyes are wide.

  “Fuck,” he whispers. “Fuck.”

  I want to beat myself upside the head for my carelessness. I promised him. No touching his back during sex. I promised I wouldn’t, and I just did.

  “Zane…”

  He shakes his head, pulls up his shorts and strides out of the kitchen.

  What have I done?

  Part III

  Zane

  I can live with most of my memories. Some are okay, and some are real fucking bad, and I have learned to accept them.

  Not this one. I can’t deal with this one.

  I’ve tried. I’ve jacked off while touching the scars on my back, telling myself I’ll get used to it. I’ve taught myself to connect pain and pleasure by pulling on the piercings in my nipples and in my dick as I come.

  Doesn’t work. It’s different when I do it. I trust myself. I don’t trust others. Not when the memories tell me to never let anyone touch me ever again.

  That house. That foster house with the creaking boards. ‘Play with me, little boy…’

  Pain and fear. Fear that makes my heart jolt in my chest like an animal trying to break free of its cage. Fear that turns my knees to water and muddles my thoughts.

  Oh God, I just want to forget.

  Chapter Eleven

  Zane

  Goddammit all to hell.

  I lean against the living room wall and try to get my shit together. Hard to do when I think I feel rough hands on my back, when I think I smell burnt flesh, when all I want to do is curl up and howl.

  Fuck this shit. I’m not a kid anymore. Have to get over this. Working on it. Hell, I’ve done things with Dakota I never tried before, things I was sure would send me into la-la-land or rocking in a corner, but I’m okay. I was okay, until she touched my back.

  Jesus fucking Christ. I wipe a hand over my mouth and suck in a deep breath. What am I doing? Having her here, having her stay. Am I out of my damn mind?

  I hear soft footsteps, and I straighten, put on my poker face. My chest constricts as she walks out of the kitchen, barefoot, her hair messy, her eyes a bit wide. I scared her again. And I will keep on scaring her if she insists on sticking around.

  Maybe after a few days with me she’ll change her mind and go. And I have no right to feel that sting inside when I think about it. She should go, find a sane person to be with.

  “Zane?” She’s staring at me, her small hands clutching the hem of her blouse.

  Guilt presses on my chest like a stone. Against my better judgment, I reach for her, draw her close. “Sorry.”

  “I’m the one who’s sorry,” she whispers, placing her hands on my chest, and her lashes seem wet.

  Shit. “You shouldn’t be. I’m the one who’s not normal.”

  “I like you as you are,” she says, and some of the pressure lifts from my chest.

  I nod, but can’t speak, my throat closing up. Why isn’t she running for the hills? How come she’s not scared of me?

  “Let me show you your bedroom,” I say.

  “My bedroom?” A flash of disappointment goes through her ga
ze.

  We can’t sleep together. If she’s not scared now, she will be then.

  I pull her along and open the door. “Here.”

  It’s clean and empty, just the narrow bed, the closet and the shelves nailed to the wall. Just as Erin left it, and I feel a pang, remembering how good it was to have someone nearby who didn’t judge me and wasn’t scared of me.

  Then again, I rarely saw Erin when she lived here, and besides, I shouldn’t be thinking of this. Dakota will be gone in a few days. She’ll find a roommate, and move out again, and I’ll have to decide what to do. Maybe I should move, too, find a studio to live in on my own.

  The thought is like a kick in the guts. I lean on the doorjamb, watching without really seeing Dakota walk around the bedroom. I know I’m not easy to be around. But I don’t want to be alone forever. I’ve wished to be alone so many times in the past, when people only gave me pain, but I’m afraid that if I’m left alone, I won’t make it out of the tunnel sane.

  Or even alive.

  ***

  It’s late when I come home from work. I open the door to the apartment to find the lights on and a heavenly spicy smell in the air. I stand stock-still, key still in hand, warmth coursing through my veins, spreading in my limbs. A smile tugs at my lips as I hear a voice singing from the direction of the kitchen.

  My feet carry me there, and I linger at the kitchen door, looking inside. Dakota is stirring something on the stove, humming and shaking her head. She’s wearing headphones, I realize, and she taps her hand on the counter to a beat only she can hear.

  I could get used to coming home to this, I think, and shit, this isn’t a good line of thinking.

  She’s dressed… Oh fuck, she’s dressed in one of my muscle shirts—sleeveless, and so big it’s slipping off her shoulders. It’s long enough to cover her ass, but as I zero in, I can see no panty outline.

  She’s naked underneath. Following my rule.

  Naked. Underneath my clothes. My T-shirt wrapped around her curves, her breasts, her ass, all around her silky skin.

  Holy shitballs. My cock hardens so fast I gasp and have to steady myself on the doorframe. I’m dizzy from all the blood rushing south.

  Mine. She’s mine.

  Fucking crazy.

  I round the table and reach for her. She’s singing again, her voice low and clear like a crystal bell. She’s shaking her hips to the rhythm, and her heart-shaped little ass is like a flashing beacon.

  Grinning, I slap it.

  She screams and jumps a foot off the ground, knocking into the counter. I grab her before she falls.

  “Hey,” I say, pulling her to me. Can’t keep the stupid grin off my face.

  “Jesus! You scared the crap out of me.” She pulls the earbuds out and glares.

  “Zane. Just Zane.” I wink and am rewarded with her laughter, light and pure like water trickling over rocks and moss.

  She’s still panting, but she comes to me willingly. She starts lifting her hands, to put them around my neck, but stops, uncertainty flashing across her face.

  My jaw clenches. That uncertainty is my fault. “It’s okay,” I say. “Right now it’s okay.”

  I tug on her hands, loop them around my neck and slip my arms around her waist, sighing in pleasure when her slight body presses along mine. Nothing so chaste and simple should have the right to feel so damn good.

  Her mouth is so close, a sweet bow, that I lean in and lick it. “God, you taste good.” She tastes of strawberries, and I wonder if she was eating ice cream before I came in. “So good.” I press my lips to her, and she opens them, letting me in.

  Our tongues twine together, and I groan, dragging her closer, until she’s pressed to my hard-on. God, kissing is awesome. I’ve been missing out all this time.

  Then again, I also managed to keep the memories at bay, and now… Christ, don’t wanna think about sleeping tonight, if the previous nights are anything to go by. Fucking nightmares.

  She pulls back, breathless, her lips red and puffy, and I swipe my tongue over them, unable to keep away.

  Giggling, she puts a hand on my chest, pushing me off. “Slow down. I’m cooking. The food is going to burn.”

  “Let it burn.” I attack her mouth again, and she gives in, kissing me back, scattering my thoughts, burying my memories. We kiss and kiss, and as she rubs against me, I know I have to stop, or I’ll come on the spot. “Fuck.”

  She laughs again, and my lips twitch in response. “Let me turn off the heat. It’s ready, I think.”

  She twists in my arms and takes off the lid of the pot, grabs a spoon and stirs. The heavenly smell hits me again, and my stomach growls like a rabid wolf.

  Curiosity gets the better of me. I look over her shoulder at the brown mass inside the pot, and I trail my hands down her hips. “What is it?”

  “Dakota special,” she says. “Aren’t you hungry?”

  What, she didn’t hear my stomach growl? “Sure I am.”

  “Then have a seat at the table.”

  I nod, but I’m again distracted by the way her body moves under my palms, the smoothness of her skin and the fact my shirt is riding now high, baring her sexy ass to my eyes.

  “Sit,” she says again, and I groan, letting her go and taking my seat. My hard-on swells, and I try to adjust it inside my pants. It’s hot that she gets all authoritative with me.

  What the fuck, Zane, seriously? I lick my lips and try to figure this out as she brings the dishes to the table, filled with the brown mush that looks weird but smells delicious. She’s not taking control physically. She’s only telling me to sit, so she can serve me food.

  Is it because she’s dressed in my T-shirt, naked underneath, that it’s so sexy that she orders me around? Or because this is a safe place—my kitchen, my pot, my spoon, my table?

  Maybe it feels safe when she tells me what she wants—so I know I’m not hurting her? Could be. Who the hell knows how my fucked-up mind works?

  “Eat before it gets cold,” she says, sitting across from me. The shirt has slipped off one shoulder. I can see her nipples, small tight buds, pressing through the fabric. Her lips close around the spoon.

  I bite my lip as the pressure in my balls becomes unbearable. Jesus.

  What if I grab her and fuck her right now? Right here, in my chair, with her on top, so that I can grip her ass, suck on her breasts and kiss her mouth?

  She winks at me over her spoon, and I close my eyes, trying to get my body under control. Is this a game? Is she testing me, to see how much I can take? She’s playing along—no underwear, no physical pressure—and she seems curious, too, willing to try this.

  I dig into my food, my thoughts spinning, and suddenly come down to earth as the taste explodes in my mouth.

  “Whoa!” I look down at my plate, then up into Dakota’s bright eyes. “What’s this?”

  “Curry. Recipe handed down to me by my Grandma Florida.”

  “Your grandma’s name is Florida?” I swallow and shovel more curry into my mouth. It’s spicy, and my eyes water, but damn, it’s tasty.

  “And Grandpa Washington.”

  I laugh and put my spoon down. “Does your family cover the whole US territory?”

  She shrugs and grins. “We try.”

  “Really?”

  “Well, let’s see. There’s my cousin, Iowa, and Aunt Georgia, then there’s my cousin Nevada… I even have an aunt named Dakota, like me, but she lives out of state.”

  And she goes on, enumerating all those names, and I sit there, quietly laughing, and eating my curry, and it feels… perfect. Easy. Comfortable. Happy.

  That should have set off the alarms in my head. It would have, not so long ago. Because when you start getting comfortable and happy, that’s when life decides to take a turn and bite you in the ass so hard you don’t know what hit you.

  ***

  “You haven’t drawn on me recently,” Dakota says as she puts away the plates.

  It takes me a moment to un
derstand her words, my gaze following her bare pretty legs up to the hem of the T-shirt. I hope she lifts her arms, so it rides up, baring her ass. “Hm?”

  “Ink. On me.” She turns her head and winks. “Tonight.”

  Damn, she’s bossy again, and again it turns me on. Like I need more excitement. Dick the dick is desperately trying to drill a hole through my jeans.

  “I’ll draw on you.” With my cock. All over you. Jesus.

  “Come on.” She pads over to me and lifts my hand from the table. “Let’s go.”

  Frowning, I let her pull me up and into the living room. “What? Where?”

  “Here.” She grabs a pen from the table and sits on the sofa, pulling me down with her. She hands me the pen. “Go on.”

  “Pushy, aren’t we?” I drawl, running my hand over her bare shoulder, and she shivers.

  “I want…” Her voice catches when I pull the shirt completely off her shoulder and rub my mouth on her warm skin.

  “What do you want?”

  “A dragon.”

  I try hard not to flinch. After all, it’s all part of our game. “No.” I think of the deathmoth tattoo on her back, the scar it hides, and I frown. “Why do you want a damn dragon?” Her family loves her, and she doesn’t have nightmares that I know of.

  Or does she? Why did she freak out so badly when she was almost pushed into the pool? What is she hiding?

  She shrugs, her delicate bones shifting under my lips. “Dragons aren’t for good luck. I know what they stand for in your book.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Yes, I do.” Her shoulders tense. “Survivors get a dragon.”

  I freeze and let the pen drop from my hand. “And what did you survive?”

  Her shoulders slump, and she bends forward. I follow her movement, grabbing her around the waist.

  “It doesn’t matter. It’s over. I’m alive, and I’m perfectly fine, and that’s all that counts.”

  I suck in a shaky breath. “Good,” I say and close my eyes for a second.

  Yeah, she’s fine. She doesn’t want to tell me what happened to her, but whatever it is, it’s over and done with. I don’t ask again what it was. Call me a coward. Call me chicken-shit. But I can’t handle more pain right now. She’s like sunshine, happy and bright, and she’s all that’s keeping me afloat.