by Angel Payne
“Hey.” Shay’s sleepy mutter tilted her gaze up. “Good morning—errr, afternoon?”
Zoe laughed. “I guess we were tired.”
He hooked an arm behind his head, angling his gaze a little better at her. “How long have you been awake?”
“Just a couple of minutes.” She curled an impish grin. “Don’t worry. I kept busy.”
That made his gaze narrow before he drawled, “Doing what?”
“Hmmm. Well, smelling you, for one thing.”
“What?” He glared like she’d just admitted to being the mastermind behind Rickrolling. “Smelling me? Why?”
“Ay.” She threw back a mock scowl. “Because I couldn’t before now, all right?”
“I stink.”
“Not as bad as Ryder’s cat.” She rolled her eyes. “He thought I was pining for you. He got really worried, so he lent Fluffy to me.”
“Did he really name his cat Fluffy?”
“He rescued it. And he was drunk.”
During the explanation, Shay took a tentative whiff at his armpit. And grimaced. “Shit. That does it. No more smelling until I’m out of the shower.”
Before Zoe could object, he lurched out of the bed and headed for the bathroom. While the shower started, she got up and lowered the blinds on one side of the room. She wasn’t able to do anything with the other side, since she couldn’t reach high enough to release the linen ropes from last night. In a way, she was glad for that. Gazing at the ropes made her long for the night again already.
She walked over and wrapped a hand around the soft white length, pulling the rope taut while gliding her fingers down until she got to the aperture her wrist had fit through. Simply connecting to the rope like this beaded her nipples, sent demanding pulses to her pussy, and made her excruciatingly aware of her harsh sighs on the air.
She needed Shay again.
Screw waiting on him to finish the shower.
Chapter Nineteen
Shay clenched himself back from bellowing the F-word for the fifth time in as many minutes but succeeded in peeling the last bandage away from his torso without a sound. When he freed the worn gauze, he tossed the bloody mess of it over the shower glass, his muscles protesting the action.
Okay, so giving in to the temptation of screwing Zoe wasn’t the best idea for facilitation of his physical recovery. But damn, the wonders it had performed for his soul.
If it had been real.
Half his mind still expected to wake up on the gurney back at the lab, having dreamt every incredible second after Ghid drove him free from Area 51. But his ears confirmed the thunk as the wadded bandage touched down in the trash can across the bathroom, and his lips felt real as he gave himself a mental high-five for the swoosh. He hadn’t been as lucky with his other attempts. Several bloodied squares littered the floor around the receptacle, a gruesome graveyard in memory of his nightmare.
His nightmare.
If it were only that easy…
Being in Spec Ops ensured he’d seen enough mind-benders over the years to logically pick apart what was going on in the gray matter. Thinking of trauma as a dream made it easier to handle in the short run. They even encouraged the tactic, at least for a limited time, until a guy had the ability to “adequately process” the ordeal. The thing was, Shay had always laughed at all that crap. Adequate processing? Pffft. Separation from missions, and any horrors they’d involved, was as easy for him as turning off a shitty TV show. Out of sight, out of mind.
Out of sight? Fat fucking chance now, when the simple act of washing his balls made him look at half a dozen incision sites inflicted by those science shits. Out of mind? Not when he’d spent days staring at white prison walls and wondering how an act of boyhood innocence had turned him into a freak, sliced and diced like experimental sushi.
He rammed the soap back into the holder. Then let his hand trail down his chest and stomach, stopping to run a finger over the thick black threads they’d used to sew him back together. Some of the incisions were newer than others and stung when he fingered them. The older ones were still sensitive but painless, the skin light pink in its freshly healed state.
He wrenched his hand away. And wondered if this was how Frankenstein felt after the lightning storm passed.
A movement in his peripheral snapped his head up. Shit. This was the moment the dream would end.
No. Worse.
Zoe stood there, doing her best to rein in the shock dropping her mouth and the horror darkening her eyes.
He actually wished for the fucking gurney again. Even that was better than witnessing the revulsion on her face. And the sadness. And the goddamn pity. This was why he’d kept his shirt on last night and why he’d waited to shed his jeans until she was swept away by too much lust to notice the gouges on his thighs.
It was why he spun from her now, driving a fist against the stall wall. “You want to respect the closed door and go out the way you came?”
“Shay—”
“I said get out, Zoe. This time I mean it!”
“And if I don’t? You’ll do what?”
He froze, gut churning. He was furious with her but enraged at himself. Her insolence was unacceptable, but so was his shame. She was right. How could he discipline her if he couldn’t even look at her? But he was stuck in this mental space, unable to get the fuck over it. He’d finally met a woman he burned to be a hero for—and the first who’d never see him that way.
“Go. Away. And take the fucking pity with you.”
There was no backtalk to that. Not a sound from her side of the glass at all. Had the stubborn little thing actually listened to him? Ten more seconds of silence passed before he let out his breath in relief and then grabbed the soap again—
Just as Zoe opened the shower door and stepped in with him.
“Zoe! Fuck!”
“Shut up.”
His brows shot up before he could stop them. “What the—no. Goddamnit, this isn’t—”
“Shut. Up.”
She shoved on his sternum. The push wasn’t hard, but astonishment added a wallop he didn’t anticipate, knocking him against the wall. An incensed growl rushed out of his chest, but the string of profanity waiting on his verbal tarmac never took off—officially grounded by the sweet, wet kiss she pulled him into.
Shit. It was weird yet fucking exciting to be the pursued for once, to feel her needing him with the passion he’d always instigated.
For just a few seconds, he let himself revel in the switch.
Through the next few, he braced himself for the return of her repulsion.
It would come. Any second now. As she stepped back and got her close-up view of his mutilated flesh…
Slowly, Zoe drew her lips away. Carefully, she pushed back by a step. In agony, Shay waited for her gaze to drop—and her disgust to begin.
She might as well have shoved him back another time.
Her eyes did drop. But so did her head. As Shay watched, his lungs hoarding his breath and shock clamping the rest of him, Zoe closed her lips over the first set of his stitches. He gaped at her for several stunned seconds before the indignation and fury crashed in, pulling one of his hands up in preparation to shove her free. He’d take her revulsion over her pity; her honesty over her obligation.
But then she moved her mouth to the second wound.
And never once lifted her lips off his skin.
Her tongue flicked out, trailing fire to his flesh in open oral adoration…
Matched exactly by the twin blue flames of her eyes as she looked back up to him.
“Christ,” he rasped. “Zoe.”
She pressed him to the wall again. He moved willingly this time, letting his hand continue to her, now trailing his thumb along the exquisite line of her cheekbone. She pulled her mouth off his torso for a second to turn and kiss his palm before grabbing his fingers and lowering his hand. After gently worshipping the third set of his stiches, she spoke a supplication into the hollow of his na
vel.
“You’re so beautiful. All of you.”
An incredulous laugh tumbled from him. He couldn’t help it. “I’m so—”
“Ssshhh.”
She rasped that across the tip of his cock.
Her ministrations down his torso already had him half-erect. With the perfect wisp of her kiss, his penis surged to full attention. He stared back down just in time to watch her lowering completely to her knees, already going for his ball sack with her fingers.
“Fuck!”
His precome rose, hot and thick. His beautiful little toy was ready, cleaning the drops from his head before the shower could, her tongue soft and perfect against his head. A groan tumbled from him as she continued on, wrapping her mouth completely around his tip, teasing mercilessly at his throbbing crest. At the same time, she cupped his balls with fearless pressure, somehow knowing he liked being on the receiving end of intensity too.
“Damn.” He choked it out, now petrified to look away, certain that a break in concentration would take him back to the white-walled prison and the gurney. “This has to be a dream.”
Zoe gently shook her head at him before taking more of his length into her mouth—and now her throat too. When his hoarse groan resounded through the bathroom, she deepened her pressure and mewled around him in subbie satisfaction. He still wasn’t convinced this could be reality, but he made a vow—he’d stow the doubts and simply enjoy every new journey into the honeyed heaven of her mouth. If he tumbled back into the nightmare, he would do so with a grin on his face.
It was paradise. She was paradise. With every embrace of her tongue, squeeze of her mouth, and kiss at the back of her throat, she took his dick to realms of pleasure it had never felt before. The cascading water and the rising steam turned the shower into their own tropical grotto, complete with the passion all the tourist guides promised but never delivered. A postcard he’d cherish in the scrapbook of his mind forever…
Which meant he needed to get in the picture with her.
The effort wasn’t hard. His inner caveman had already been roused by the efforts of trying to keep her out of here, a mission of insanity if he’d ever known one. He let the Neanderthal stomp free while lifting his hands to her hair and tunneling them deep. The strands were wet and thick between his fingers, perfect for aiding his control. Zoe’s high sigh of response told him she had a fondness for primeval man too. A veil of serenity seemed to fall over her face, all her sass relinquished to the joy of letting him rule the cave for a while. And Christ, did the look work for her. She was breathtaking, his enticing one-night trinket transformed into one of the best gifts fate had ever given him.
And coming down her throat was going to be his big red bow to finally pull free.
But something happened on the way to unwrapping the present. As Shay began fucking her mouth in earnest, sliding himself in from crown to base in long, commanding stabs, Zoe’s answering moans, harsh with desire, hitched at instincts even deeper than his caveman.
He didn’t want to come without her.
He needed to watch the big red bow open for her too. Needed to see every second of her climax race across her exquisite face, knowing he’d made it happen…letting his tiny dancer spin in the enormity of her submission.
The commitment sealed itself in his spirit, lending his muscles the fortitude to push her free. When Zoe glared up at him, he simply jerked his head, directing her to the tiled ledge inlaid into the shower. “Plant your sweet ass here, baby girl.” He weighted his growl with enough gravel to let her know that denying the order shouldn’t be a fleeting thought in her head.
He pivoted a little as she settled onto the seat. Sweet fuck, she robbed his breath, with the shower light playing over her drenched skin and her hair trailing like exotic black snakes against her erect olive breasts. His dick swelled again simply from gazing at her, and he made no effort to hide that from her wide indigo stare.
“Spread your legs.”
She obeyed without a word, exposing the dark-pink fruit of her pussy. His lungs held on to his breath again, likely jealous of the treat laid before his eyes. Fucking stunning. She was his own slice of sinful fruit from the bacchanal gods, kissed by nectar, fascinating as a flower—waiting to be stabbed open and decimated.
Which meant the dagger had to be perfectly prepared.
He raised a hand. And began stroking himself.
Zoe’s breath audibly hitched. She gazed without blinking, mesmerized by the sluice of the water and his fingers over the length of his dick. Her gaze heated, and she ran her tongue eagerly over her lips.
“No,” Shay ordered. “You only watch now.”
“Yes, Sir.”
He rubbed again, dragging hard at his crown, grunting from the mix of agony and ecstasy. “Like what you’re seeing, baby girl?”
She pulled in a labored breath. “Very much, Sir.”
“You want it to fuck you?”
An adorable little hum spilled out. “Dios. Oh yes, Sir.”
“I don’t have another condom.”
She turned her head up to directly meet his gaze. “It’s all right. I’m tested during my yearly.” A funny wince creased her features. “And there hasn’t been anyone to worry about for that year anyway.”
“A year.” He released a wry laugh. “Longer than that for me.”
Her gaze widened. “What?”
“Afghanistan for a year, and then Cameron Stock and his gang for six months. Take a guess which one killed the sex drive the most.”
She tipped her head to the side as if to agree, though she gave a wry smile while stating, “It’s a major upset to the cosmic balance to think of anything killing your sex drive, amigo.”
Shay chuckled. “Oh, dancer, you have no idea…especially with you looking like the juiciest fruit in the jungle like that.”
He expected a giggle from that. To his surprise, her stare went mushy instead. Really mushy. The thick tears turned her irises mysterious as midnight once again.
Shay dropped between her knees and grabbed her waist, yanking her close and kissing her hard. “Hey…what is it?”
She shook her head, one of those dismissive girl things that normally drove him ballistic, until she whispered words that slammed his chest like thunder and his spirit like lightning. “Every word that comes out of your mouth… It’s like you’ve excavated my mind and pulled out the things I crave to hear.” She lifted a wobbly smile. “The things…I need to hear.”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
She tried to shrug that one off. Shay forced her gaze back to his with a thumb beneath her chin. She flipped his move on him, dipping her head to tenderly kiss the pad of his thumb. “I’d lost hope of being special to someone. Of being…good enough.”
“Christ.” He silenced whatever the hell else she had to say by sealing his mouth over hers again. After releasing her from the kiss, he didn’t let her go from his grip—or his stare. “You’re not good, tiny dancer. You’re fucking perfect.”
More mush. A lot more. Shay didn’t care. Maybe he did have the power of reading her soul, but maybe that was because his already knew it…recognized it as the universe’s answer to his own. But how much of that soul was still his own? How much of him was him, and how much the beast that had been roaming through his blood for twenty years? How much of himself would be left once he found out? And how free would he be to express it? The government was surely hunting for him now. Cameron, missing after the raid, was probably seeking out his ass too—and more than that, if he’d started connecting the dots and figuring shit out.
A lot of questions. A lot of answers he didn’t have. He only had the fulfillment to one unknown, and that was the certainty of here and now. The deliverance that began with the very next kiss he lowered to her, plunging into her with all the desire in his body, the spiraling need in his blood. He could be perfect for her too—at least in assuaging the sexual fever between them.
He groaned as Zoe met him for the q
uest, surging her breasts into his chest, and roping her arms around his neck and her hands in his hair. As their kiss ended, she added a sweet vibration in her throat, erupting off her lips into a decadent whimper. “Ohhhh, Sergeant Bommer…”
Her plea turned his shaft into a goddamn missile, ready to be fired. “You rang, ma’am?” he teased in a sultry drawl.
“No ringing,” she panted. “Just need. Need. Need.”
“Need what, baby girl?”
“Fuck me, Shay. Please. Now.”
By now, he’d guided the tip of his sex to the waiting tunnel of hers—and could even feel the lips of her pussy, eager and hungry, struggling to draw him in. But he held his position, gazing down at her upturned face, and softly told her, “No.”
Zoe’s lips pursed. “Huh?”
Even as she snapped it, he nudged his cock another inch into her. Her confusion was pretty damn cute.
“I said no,” he repeated—while stuffing into her by another inch. “No fucking, Zoe.” He rolled his hips now, letting her feel every last sensation of his bare skin against hers. “Entering. Merging. Uniting.” He smiled a little, exulting in the effect of each word on her lips, her eyes, her cheeks, her chin, even the gorgeous sweep of her neck, moving with her heavy swallow.
“And feeling.”
Her whisper fanned his lips. He answered her with a soft smile.
“Yeah. And feeling.”
“And how does it feel?”
His lips dropped as his jaw clenched. “Like perfection.”
Like home.
He kept the addendum to himself. He had no right to fill her head with fantasies like that. If things weren’t complicated enough before the little come-to-Jesus gig with Ghid last night, they sure as hell were now.
For now, this was what he could give her. Not just his body but his passion. Not just his kisses but his adoration. Not just a fuck but a union.
