by Jo Raven
“So where to? Back to the bar or home sweet home?”
“Home.” I swallow and look away. “I think I’m done for tonight.”
He gives a soft snort that I don’t know how to interpret and pulls off the curb. “You’re staying at Tessa’s, right?”
“Yeah.”
His scent overlays the scent of the truck—something dark and sharp. Delicious. I steal a glance at him as he drives, at his clean profile, the square cut of his jaw, his beautiful mouth. His inked arms flex as he turns into an avenue, the colorful designs shifting. I see black waves, clouds and blossoms.
My bag is on the seat between us. I grab my phone and send a text to Tessa, to let her know I’m okay and heading home.
“Did something happen?” He changes gears, and I’m entranced by the way his hands move, strong and graceful. “I mean, you ran out of the bar. We were worried.”
“I just needed air. Were you really worried?” Ah yeah, my mouth tends to spew out my thoughts without a filter when I’m around Zane. Crap.
He doesn’t answer my question and doesn’t take his eyes off the road, but he gives me a quick, crooked smile that makes my heart flip over. “I like your skirt. You have beautiful legs.”
I open my mouth and close it, then turn my face away. My cheeks are hot. He makes me feel like he’s the first boy to ever pay me a compliment. Like he’s the first boy I believe. The first I trust.
Ironic, on the heels of what happened at the bar. You’d think my trust would be shaken, that even if Megan is just a friend, I’d be more wary. But his solid presence next to me, the fact he left right after me, looking for me, makes me feel warm all over.
He turns into Tessa’s street and parks outside her building. He kills the engine, and the silence is deafening.
I suck a deep breath. “Thanks for driving me here. And for my bag.”
“No problem. Got your key?”
“Yeah.” I lean over and give him a peck on the cheek, then turn to open the door and get out.
“Dakota?” His voice is strangled, and I turn around to look at him. He’s trailing his hand over his cheek, where I kissed him.
“Yes?”
He lowers his hand and cocks his head to the side, regarding me. Emotions flash through his eyes, too quickly for me to decipher. Then he says, “I’m coming up with you, to make sure you’re fine.”
The short ride in the elevator is… interesting. He’s so close, it’s hard not to touch him as I turn to press the button. I can hear him breathing, and when the doors open, I brush against him to get out.
He follows me and leans beside the door as I unlock it. “Invite me for a drink?” he whispers. He pushes off the wall, his T-shirt stretching tight over his muscular chest and broad shoulders.
“Sure.” I wipe my sweaty palms on my skirt. “Come in.”
It’s not until I close the door and turn to face him that it hits me: Zane Madden is alone with me in the apartment. Holy shit. I mean, sure, we were alone at his apartment twice already, but that felt different. I had gone over to check if he was okay. This time he asked to come in. For a drink.
I turn toward the kitchen. “Let me check what drinks Tessa has—”
“No.” He’s at my back, his hands on my hips. “I had a different drink in mind.”
The front of his body molds against my spine, and his arousal is scorching hot through our clothes. A throb starts between my legs. When his breath warms my nape, I shudder and press back. His hands stroke down my arms, then slip around my waist.
“I want to taste you,” he says in my ear, and oh God, that makes me ache with need.
I’ve wanted him ever since I first saw him, that day at his apartment. I can try to fight it, try to convince myself it isn’t true. It’s no use.
He prods me forward, until I place my hands on the backrest of the leather couch and bend over. “What are you doing?” I whisper, breathless.
He lifts my skirt and runs his hands over my ass, stroking along the thin strip of my lacy thong. “Damn, you’re beautiful.” His voice is hoarse, and a tremor goes through me. “Spread your legs for me.”
I swallow hard, my mouth gone dry. “Zane…”
He nudges them apart with his knee and pushes me down more, so that I’m completely bent over the sofa. Not sure I like where this is going, I start to straighten—when he grabs my thong and pulls it up, so that it rubs over my throbbing seam.
I moan, the sensation going through my veins like lightning.
And before I recover my senses, he pulls my panties down, spreads me open with is fingers, and puts his mouth on me. Fire lashes through me as he licks me in sure, long strokes.
Something hard presses into me—his tongue piercing, my foggy mind informs me—and it sends lightning up my spine. His fingers move over me, touching my clit, pressing, and he never stops. His full lips press against me as his tongue drives deeper, spearing into me.
I cry out, lost to sensation. My legs tremble, my knees buckle, but he manages to catch me and support me. His stubble scratches my inner thighs, and his rough tongue burns me, the velvety softness of his lips a contrast that drives me crazy.
I’m going to come. It’s starting, I feel it deep inside me, the pressure mounting, cresting. As if sensing it, he rubs his fingers harder on my clit, and his tongue thrusts deeper. I clench hard and cry out again, sobbing his name as I come against his mouth. The waves of pleasure roll over me, drowning me. They go on and on as his mouth keeps eating me, tasting me.
He finally pulls back. Panting, I slide down to the floor, and he catches me, lowering me gently until I’m back in his arms, in his lap, held securely.
“You taste amazing,” he says in my ear, and his erection is harder than ever, pressed against my back. “Like strawberries and cream.”
“Oh my God,” I whisper. My body twitches with aftershocks. My eyelids feel heavy. I’ve never come like this before.
He nuzzles my neck. “I want you, Dakota.”
You have me, I want to say, but I just moan instead.
“Need to fuck you,” he says, and his hands move up to my breasts, cupping them. “Right now, right here.”
My body burns at the thought of him entering me. “Oh God, yes.”
He groans and pulls back.
Want to see him, want to watch every detail of his body revealed, but he won’t let me turn, keeping a hand on my shoulder. I hear him toss off his T-shirt, then his zipper opening, and finally the sound of foil being ripped.
Both his hands are now back on my body, stroking up my ribs, massaging my breasts through my blouse, turning my nipples into hard pebbles. My head falls back as the sensations overwhelm me. I’ve never been touched like this before, without seeing the person doing this to me, and although I can picture Zane’s face perfectly in my mind, it’s not the same.
It’s as if my senses have sharpened, throwing every touch into sharp relief. His fingers drag under me, opening me up, and bolts of pleasure shoot through me.
Oh God. “Need you,” I whisper, unable to take this any longer, shaken that I really do need him, like no one ever before. “Please, Zane.”
“Are you ready for me?” he growls in my ear. His broad chest is pressed to my back so that I can feel his muscles shift against me. His fingers push inside me, stroking me, and I’m going to fall apart again soon. Too soon.
“Zane…” I start to twist around, but his other hand grips my hip in a steel vise. His fingers slip out of me.
“Stop,” he grunts. I can hear his ragged breathing at my back.
I freeze. “I want to see you.”
“No.” His breathing is irregular, fast. “Fuck… I need to do this my way. It’s this way or not at all. Do you understand?”
What’s going on? It’s hard to think when his hand moves between my legs again, teasing me. I want to tell him to stop, but my brain is shutting down, giving itself over to pleasure.
“Trust me.” He pants at my back, and som
ething large nudges my throbbing entrance. “It will be good.”
But no matter how much I want him inside me, filling me all the way, no matter how badly I want him to come undone, to lose control—I also need to see him, see his face as he comes, see his body, see if it’s as I imagined it under the clothes.
Get closer.
“Please,” I whisper, my breath catching as the broad head of his erection prods at my entrance again. “Need to see you. Can’t do it otherwise. Please, Zane.”
“Fuck. Fuck!” He shifts behind me, drawing away. I hear the sounds of him standing up. “This won’t work.”
Shit. I twist around. “Why? I’m not asking anything strange. I need to see you.”
He suddenly grabs me around the waist and lifts me in his arms. One minute I’m on the floor, the next I’m thrown over his shoulder, and then I’m dumped on my ass on the sofa. Zane leans over me and slams his hands on the backrest, on either side of my head.
“Why can’t I say no to you?” he growls, his eyes burning black. “I should walk out. I shouldn’t fuck you. I shouldn’t touch you. But I can’t fucking stop.”
I want to ask him why he shouldn’t do all these things to me, but I’m speechless. In the golden light of the lamp, his ripped torso is a work of art—taut muscles, defined pecs, a six-pack to die for and colorful ink everywhere—skulls, spiders, flowers, wings and a huge oriental dragon. His small brown nipples are pierced with silver studs, and I want to touch them, see how sensitive they are.
But then my gaze trails lower, and I lose that train of thought, too. Whoa. His pants are open and riding low on his hips, his briefs pulled down, and his hard-on juts out, big and flushed, pointing up. He’s so much bigger than I thought, and that’s not all. On the fully exposed underside, his cock is pierced with a series of silver studs, like a ladder.
A Jacob’s Ladder. Holy shit.
“Still want me?” he drawls, and my gaze shoots back up to his face. His expression is unreadable, his dark eyes flat.
He needs to ask? He’s gorgeous, and my body aches with need.
I swallow hard and lick my lips. “Why didn’t you want me to turn?”
His eyes harden, but he doesn’t reply. I place a hand on his chest, over his heart. It’s racing under my palm.
He grips my wrist and pulls my hand away. “No touching.”
I blink. I feel as if I’ve stepped into the twilight zone. “What?”
“You won’t touch me.” He leans closer, bringing that impressive erection closer, and my mouth waters. I want to lick it, taste the tiny bead of moisture shimmering on the crown. “But I will touch you everywhere.”
I frown. Is this a game? I’ve touched him before. Hell, I’ve hugged him, and he didn’t complain. So what’s this about?
“Say yes,” he whispers.
“Yes,” I say, because I can’t help it. I can’t stand the thought of not doing it, of not feeling him inside me. Of him leaving. “Yes.”
His eyes close, and he lets out a long breath. A small vein in his jaw ticks rapidly. I wonder for a moment if he thought I’d refuse, if he really doesn’t want to go through with this. If he regrets this already and would rather go—but then he pulls the open condom foil from this pocket and kneels between my legs to pull it on.
Giving me more time to study him—the way his abs contract and ripple as he rolls the condom on his rock-hard erection, over the metal balls of his piercings, the way his beautiful mouth purses in concentration, the way the muscles shift in his strong arms, making his tattoos move and dance. His long lashes cast shadows on his broad cheekbones. With his tall blue crest of hair, he looks dangerous and beautiful, like a fairytale warrior.
Then he straightens and strokes his thumb down my center, making me shiver and shake. “You’re smoking hot,” he breathes, guiding the tip of his hard cock between my folds. With his other hand, he grabs my leg and wraps it around his back as he pushes into me. “Oh fuck.”
A moan rises in my throat as he opens me up, stretches and fills me up like no one else has ever done before. It’s pain and pleasure, the piercings stroking the deepest part of me, and I need to move. I reach for him, to wrap my arms around him, push our bodies flush together.
But he grips my hands and presses them into the backrest as he slides the last inches in. His lips are so close I feel his breath on my mouth, but when I lift my head to kiss him, he turns his face away and snaps his hips.
Pleasure slams into me, the sting of the rejection washed away in burning need. I rock my hips against him, the slide of his hard cock inside me taking my breath away.
A dark grin lifts a side of his mouth, and he thrusts into me again and again. Shadows flash through his uptilted eyes as he moves in and out of me, his hands pushing mine against the leather, holding me in place.
But I need more of him, so I lift my other leg, curling it around his thigh, drawing him deeper.
His movements falter. He groans deep in his throat, his lips parting, and his cock swells bigger inside me.
“Oh fuck,” he gasps and pulls out only to slam back, as deep as possible. He bends his head, his teeth grazing my neck. “Christ, Dakota. Oh shit…”
His breathless moans and curses are so sexy I clench around him, another orgasm starting in my core. I can feel it roll through me. It’s like an explosion in slow motion, blasting through me in soft, then harder waves, making me wrap my legs around him tighter and hold on for the ride. The waves come faster now, cresting, crashing, making my whole body tremble, and I cry out, lost.
I can’t remember sex ever being so good. I moan softly, my mind blown away, my body still quivering with pleasure.
He’s still rock hard inside me, and his eyes gleam, half-closed. He’s panting as harshly as I am, and his arms shake. I can feel the tremor in his hands holding mine against the leather.
“What do you need?” I whisper as he rolls his hips, my voice breaking on another sharp wave of pleasure. “Zane…”
With a grunt, he releases my hands and grabs the backrest so tightly muscles stand out in his arms and chest, and tendons strain in his neck. He draws out, then slams back into me, again, and again. Faster and faster, building up pressure inside me again. Too much. I can’t… He nuzzles my neck, sucks on it, and his chest rubs on my breasts.
Oh shit, this can’t be… I’m going to come again.
The pleasure burns through me, rips me apart. I scream as I break into a million pieces, and this time he breaks with me.
Chapter Seven
Zane
The pleasure ripping through me is off the fucking charts. My world goes white, the only sound the blood rushing in my ears, and she tightens and ripples around my dick, milking it. A shout catches in my throat. A strangled sound I don’t recognize leaves my lips as I come—and for the first time, someone sees me. Dakota looks right at me as I lose all control.
My cock jerks and twitches for what feels like ages, caught in her red-hot heat. My breath hisses out, catching and restarting. Good, so fucking good, so much better than the momentary blanking out I get when I hook up with girls. I curse as another spasm goes through me. It feels as if I have fire in my veins, every part of me burning for her. Burning for more.
Her eyes are wide as I flex my hips again, drawing out the last aftershocks, the last drops of pleasure. Her legs tighten around me, holding me in place, and it’s so good. I allow myself to relax a fraction, enjoy this moment.
And it happens, as I feared. She reaches up, winds her arms around my back, her fingers splaying over the burn scars—and I lose it.
I completely lose my shit. Mindless terror grips me, stealing my breath, freezing my heart in my chest.
Oh shit, no.
“Shit,” I choke out and push her off. I stagger backward, pulling out of her in the process. “Told you not to fucking touch me. Told you… oh fuck.”
Darkness rolls over my eyes, blanking everything for a long moment. Fear engulfs me, dragging me down.
There are hands on me, on my chest, on my back. Searing pain tears me apart. She calls my name, reaching for me, but I stumble back, plowing into the coffee table, upturning it. Vases and ashtrays crash to the floor, and the sound is distant.
Desperately, I pull my pants back up. I need to cover up, protect myself. My sight returns, but it’s distorted and blurry. The walls bend inward, turning gray. Bending over, I rub my eyes to clear them, but nothing happens.
My back hurts. Everything hurts, and fear is crushing my chest. It feels as if my ribs will break from the pressure. Taunting voices whisper in my ear.
‘You can take it, boy. You’re good at this.’
My eyes burn. My heart is slamming against my ribs. Where am I? What’s happening? I need to get out. I grab the next thing I find and hurl it through the suffocating fog. “Leave me alone!”
“Zane!” The hands grab my arms, shake me. My stomach turns, and I gag. I shake the touch off me and trip over something, falling into a side table. A lamp smashes to the floor, and I fall on the shards.
A figure looms over me, and I scramble backward, blinking furiously. The pressure in my chest turns into a sharp sting. The only sound I can hear is someone gasping as if drowning.
It takes me a moment to realize it’s me.
I kick the shards, make it somehow to my feet and locate the door. Time to get the hell out of this nightmare.
Yeah, like that’s ever gonna happen.
I sit in my truck, hands clenched on the wheel, my forehead resting on them. The small cuts on my hands burn. The blurriness takes some time to clear, and the phantom pain in my body lingers.
Dammit. Hasn’t been this bad in a while. Haven’t had this flashback for more than a year, although the damn memory walks my dreams.
It’s an old one, hazy and unclear, but the terror it carries with it is a thousand times worse than the memory of almost drowning. Even now the images, the sensations flash through my head, making it swim, tensing my body, and turning my stomach.
