Wild, Wounded Hearts

by Wild, Wounded Hearts (epub)

  He just stared at her for a moment. “What was that like for you?” he asked suddenly.

  “What was what like for me?”

  He shrugged, and she realized he was very uncomfortable with the topic, but trying to broach it anyway.

  “What was it like for you to see me with all those girls when I was younger, or hear Sadie and Esme tell stories about me?”

  She stared at him blankly. “I don’t get what you mean. What was it like?”

  “Yeah. Did you think I was a dick to women? A player?”

  She gasped. “A dick? Jesus, I was eight, nine, ten years old? Of course I didn’t think you were a dick. You were always sweet to me, why would I think badly of you for being attractive to women?”

  He tightened his large, entwined fingers. She sensed he didn’t understand what she was trying to say, but didn’t know how to continue with the subject. Feeling for him, she rushed to take the lead.

  “Z, I existed in a different world than you or Esme or Sadie or Jude,” she said, referring to her much older sisters and Z’s younger brother of two years. All four of them were within a couple grades of each other growing up, while Ursa had been years behind them. The outlier. “If you’re asking if I was jealous of all your girls, the answer is no. I was so far out of your realm, I never even considered myself as viable competition.” I just sat there on the sideline, watching the drama of Z Beckett’s exciting, tempestuous life unfold, fascinated…filled with longing to join you on the stage, but too young, and too sickly, to every consider myself anything but a tiny, insignificant bystander.

  “You weren’t invisible to me, Ursa,” he said gruffly, averting his stare. She started, wondering if he’d somehow read her thoughts.

  “I was,” she stated firmly. He blinked and looked over at her. “In the way we’re talking about. Sexually. I was invisible to you. Which is how it should have been, at that time in our lives, Z. Isn’t that just stating the obvious?”

  “I guess,” he said, moving restlessly in his chair. “It’s just that none of this feels simple or obvious.”

  She sighed. He glanced over at her uneasily, their stares holding.

  “Just because it’s complicated doesn’t mean it’s wrong,” she said.

  He didn’t look convinced, so she scrambled for a fresh angle on the topic. He obviously wanted to tell her something important, coming to her hotel after they’d mutually agreed to quash what was happening between them.

  “So, you were saying that you’ve been…off sex, and that’s why you think what happened between us happened?”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “I mean, I was telling myself that. Trying to convince myself. I couldn’t figure out why I’d been having all these inappropriate thoughts about you—”

  “Different,” she interrupted. His eyes flashed over to her. “Different thoughts about me.”

  “Different. Outrageous. Disturbing. Whatever, those thoughts kept popping up, and I couldn’t seem to control it,” he said, his mouth slanting in what she recognized as anger at himself. “I told myself it was because I’d been avoiding sex, and I was lacking self control. I’ve been going cold turkey because I don’t need the drama, what with getting a lot of custom bike work, buying the business…trying to keep sober.”

  “I understand.” Unfortunately, she did. She understood all too well, Ursa acknowledged to herself, guilt creeping into her awareness. She’d been giving him plenty of grief and drama recently. “I shouldn’t have been pushing you. It was wrong of me. I’m sorry, Z. Here I was, lecturing you about associating with those criminals in Reno, and I’ve been giving you more stress and drama than those jerks in that bar probably have been.”

  “You’re not really in the ballpark of Frankie Saccardi when it comes to stress,” he muttered grimly.

  “Who’s that?”

  “Never mind, that’s not the point.”

  “It’s not?”

  “No,” he said, frustration edging his tone. “The point is, I was just lying to myself about things happening because I’m sex-starved. That was just a…a—”

  “Convenient excuse for why you’re having those disturbing thoughts about me?”

  He gave her a lancing glance. “Damn it, Ursa, I’m trying to work through this.”

  “I know,” she assured regretfully. “I know this isn’t easy for you. I appreciate you trying and not just leaving things the way they were when I left your office. I don’t think I would have gotten a minute of sleep tonight, thinking about it all.”

  “Really?” he asked, sitting up straighter, his gaze on her going sharp.

  “Yeah. I kept replaying in my head you calling what was going on between us indecent.”

  She saw his muscular throat convulse as he swallowed. “That was wrong of me. Nothing about you could ever be indecent,” he said gruffly.

  “Nothing about you could ever be indecent either. Not when it comes to us.”

  The way he was avoiding her stare made her more anxious. Was he thinking about what he’d done to her in his office? About the spanking? Her nervous thoughts solidified into reality when he suddenly stood.

  “I should go,” he said. “I just wanted to…you know.” He waved vaguely in her direction. “I didn’t want to leave things the way I did.”

  She stood, too, searching his stoic features. “I appreciate that. I do.”

  He didn’t move.

  “I should apolo—”

  “Don’t say you’re sorry,” she said sharply, anticipating him. He met her stare. Somehow, she just knew he was about to apologize for spanking her. “I wanted it to happen, Z.”

  The silence strained tight as they just stared at each other for what must have been two seconds, but felt like an eternity to Ursa.

  “So things are okay?” she wondered shakily. “Between us?”

  “Yeah. Course.” He started toward the door. She experienced a feeling of panic at the vision of his retreating wide, leather-covered back, but knew there was nothing else she could say or do. She’d already begged enough on this ill-advised trip. Z whipped open the hotel room door, and glanced back at her.

  “When will I see you next?” she attempted brightly. “Will you come back home for the fourth this year?” The Fourth of July was a big holiday in Tahoe Shores. The Becketts and the Easterbrooks traditionally spent it on the beach, swimming, barbecuing, and watching the fireworks go off over the black mirror of Lake Tahoe.

  He shrugged. “I’ve got quite a few big projects in the pipeline. Lots of bikes to design and build this summer.”

  “That’s great,” Ursa said.

  Z frowned. “Maybe I’ll go home for Labor Day.”

  She nodded, willing her smile to stay in place. “Well… ”

  “Yeah. I’ll see you, baby—” She stiffened at the same moment that he stopped himself from saying it: baby girl. His mouth snapped shut. She didn’t want to hear him utter his pet name for her. Not at that moment, she didn’t. He must have realized the same thing. For years, the name had reminded them both that he’d been there when she’d made her entrance into the world. It signified their unique bond, and Z’s fondness for her.

  Since they’d slept together, the innocent endearment had taken on a sharp, illicit quality.

  “I’ll see you, Ursa.”

  She just nodded. She couldn’t reply. Her heart had stuck in her throat. He opened the door. Cool night air rippled around her, penetrating her thin robe and nightgown and causing her to shiver. He walked out. She lost sight of him as he turned down the sidewalk.

  She started to close the door, fighting back tears.

  Suddenly, a hand slapped against the door just inches from the door jam. She saw the familiar black leather sleeve. She swung back the door. Z stood there, an unbearable, desolate expression on his face.


  “Z—”

  “Damn it, Ursa. Can I…Will you… ”

  It killed her, to see his uncertainty, the gnawing hunger for her that he seemed to hate, even if he couldn’t stop it.

  “Yes,” she said.

  Chapter Twelve

  He stepped across the threshold, his big, intimidating, wonderful presence penetrating her space. She welcomed him wholeheartedly. His arms went around her, and she stepped into him. It felt like returning to paradise after being sent to purgatory. She looked up and saw his mouth open, like he was going to say something, like he was going to try and explain the unexplainable.

  “Shhh,” she soothed. She put her hands beneath his jacket, spreading her fingers on his chest. She went up on her tiptoes, sliding the front of her body against his. He opened his hands on her hips and pulled her even tighter against him. His mouth covered hers, his kiss tense, demanding, and so hungry. When his tongue parted her lips, she felt herself spinning… swimming in sheer pleasure. She tangled her fingers into his thick, short hair and tilted her head, taking her fill of his taste. Their tongues mated wildly, the friction mounting.

  His hands tightened on her hips, and distantly, she realized her feet had flown off the floor. His mouth left her for a moment. She moaned at the loss of his uncompromising kiss.

  The door slammed, the abrupt sound making her start. She heard the click of the lock, and they were moving across the room, Z’s hands spread beneath her buttocks. She felt the back of her knees hit the mattress, and let go of him, bouncing down on the bed. He stood over her. He swiftly removed his jacket, his stare on her unwavering.

  Hot.

  His jacket, and then his T-shirt dropped to the floor. She put out her arms for him, finding his absence intolerable. But he didn’t come. He just bent at the waist, and untied her robe. He parted the fabric, and then reached for the hem of her short nightgown, his expression rigid. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was angry at her. Maybe he was, a little. Not at her, necessarily, but at this thing between them that he couldn’t entirely control. But she recognized what she primarily read in his eyes.

  It was pure, slashing lust.

  He roughly jerked her gown up to her waist. Without uttering a word, he pulled her panties off her legs in one fluid movement. He parted her legs, before dropping to his knees between them. She felt his hands slide beneath her thighs. He pulled her until she slid across the mattress toward him, halting when her sex was at the edge of the bed.

  His dark head lowered between her legs.

  She cried out, sounding frantic at the sensation of his lips pressing against her labia. Her fingernails scraped his scalp. Then his tongue parted her, finding her clitoris. He laved it firmly.

  She screamed and shook.

  Z had been right. It was indecent, this thing between them. It was indecently good.

  She clamped her eyelids tight. Her hips shifted restlessly against an onslaught of pleasure. Oh God. She didn’t know what to do with it. It swamped her from every direction.

  Suddenly, the focused channel of delicious pleasure pouring into her body ceased. She felt a hand press against her opened mouth. She opened her eyes in dazed surprise. Z stared down at her, his mouth glossy with her juices, his expression a little wild.

  “Jesus, Ursa, you’re screaming bloody murder. Someone will think I’m killing you in here.”

  “You are,” she sputtered.

  A flicker of doubt crossed his features. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”

  “Only because you stopped,” she insisted, her hips shifting restlessly. She needed the returned pressure of his decadent, illicit kiss now. She burned. “Oh God. I didn’t know it could feel like that.”

  His mouth hardened. A spark of lust lit up his eyes. His ruthless expression, combined with the vision of his slick lips, made arousal pinch at her sex. Mindlessly, she shoved her hand between her legs and rubbed herself, wincing. “Help me, Z.”

  “I’m on my way, baby girl,” he growled. “But you can’t scream like that. I’m not kidding. The police are going to show up.”

  “I can’t help it,” she defended desperately. She hadn’t even realized she’d been screaming. Talk about being mindless with pleasure.

  He lunged from his kneeling position, his hand going over her head. He dropped a pillow on her belly.

  “Then scream into that,” he said. He waited, his mouth slanting with impatience. She grabbed at the pillow when she realized what he’d meant. His hands tightened on her squirming hips, making it impossible for her to move or escape from the most distilled pleasure she’d ever experienced.

  He lifted her hips to his descending head. His mouth opened on her outer sex, creating a seal with his lips. He sucked gently, the tip of his tongue penetrating her sex lips and stabbing at her clit in a precise, eye-crossing rhythm.

  Ursa shoved the soft pillow against her mouth and bit down. She screamed. It felt like he’d cracked her open and savored some naked, quivering kernel of herself that she hadn’t even known existed.

  She probably only withstood a minute or two of this newly discovered form of mind-blowing ecstasy, before she detonated like a grenade against him. He absorbed the explosion, eating up her pleasure, sipping from her until she collapsed weakly onto the mattress.

  Dimly, she became aware of him standing and bending to remove his boots. He jerked off his jeans and underwear hastily. Naked now, he placed his knees on either side of her hips. His cock protruded starkly from his body, the shaft thick and long, the swollen, plum-like head bobbing slightly in the air from his hurried movements. She lifted her head from the mattress to see him better. Her panting abruptly ceased.

  He put his hands beneath her armpits and slid her up the bed like she weighed about ten pounds. The top of her head pushed against a pillow. She felt too limp, still, from her powerful orgasm, to lift her head onto it.

  Z crawled over her, placing one hand next to her ear to support himself. He reached between his legs with his other hand, fisting his erection.

  “Who in the hell would have thought that Ursa Esterbrook was such a screamer?”

  She saw his small, grim smile. His entire arm moved as he tensely fisted the length of his cock.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, mesmerized by the vision of him jacking himself.

  “Don’t be. I’m not. Spread your thighs.”

  As soon as she followed his instruction, he parted her even wider with one hand. The he pressed his cock to her entrance and flexed his hips. A growl vibrated his throat as he penetrated her. Ursa held her breath as he slid, inch by inch, into her channel, stretching her. Filling her. He submerged himself to the hilt, and then flexed his hips again firmly, pushing his testicles against her outer sex. He grunted.

  “I told myself it couldn’t have possibly felt so good,” he said. He withdrew a few inches and pumped high into her again, groaning harshly this time. “God, I was wrong. It feels even better than I remembered.”

  He began pumping firmly. Ursa cried out and grasped at his hips, lending her strength to his strokes. He was somehow so precise in his movements, his strong thrusts into her body clearly giving him intense pleasure, but also feeding her own rising frenzy. Inexperienced as Ursa was with sex, she instinctively understood that he knew he was creating this teeth-gnashing friction inside her. Without breaking his fluid, forceful rhythm, he reached down and peeled back the sleeve of her rumpled robe and nightgown off her shoulder. He exposed a breast, cradling it in his palm and running his thumb over the sensitive crest.

  “Such sweet, pretty nipples,” he rasped.

  She cried out in spiking arousal, tightening around him and thrusting her hips. His clamped teeth flashed white against his swarthy skin and dark goatee. He took her harder. Faster. Little cries of pleasure popped out of her throat. Her body shifted upward on the mattress due to the strength of hi
s possession. He put one hand on her shoulder, fixing her in place, and began to pump again at a new angle.

  She felt beads of sweat pop out on her chest and upper lip, but she gloried in the burn.

  Above her, he was a concentrated, raging storm. He was magnificent to see: a primal male staking his claim, powerful muscles straining, his face tight with determined gratification, eyes focused and gleaming as he stared down at her. She felt pummeled by pleasure. Overwhelmed. A wild, desperate keening penetrated her awareness. His tightly clenched, white teeth flashed again, and she realized it was she who was screaming.

  Behind the bed, someone slapped angrily on the other side of the wall. They were disturbing the guest in the hotel room next door. She gasped and stopped screaming abruptly, freshly amazed by her inability to control herself.

  She patted the mattress, blindly seeking the pillow she’d screamed into earlier.

  “Leave it,” Z grated out, clearly understanding her intent to muffle her pleasure. His hips continued to that fluid, hard pump. “Ignore them. If you use the pillow, I won’t be able to see you.”

  She stared up at him, mouth hanging open, her body jumping slightly every time he crashed into her. His gaze lowered to her exposed breast. For a moment, he watched it jostle tensely each time he thrust. Then he was molding the flesh against his greedy hand again, his expression growing even grimmer.

  He placed his other hand on the headboard, bracing himself, his arm, shoulder and chest muscles bulging. His strokes grew so forceful, the headboard began to bounce and clack against the wall. Ursa screamed again, but bit her lip to stop the full impact of the wail. The person next door started pounding on the wall again, this time more irritably.

  She dazedly was aware of Z cursing, and then he was withdrawing from her body.

  “Z!” she cried out. His absence was like a harsh slap to the face.

  “I know, hold on, baby girl,” he muttered tensely. He pulled her a foot away from the headboard toward the center of the bed, and urged her onto her side. He boldly lifted one of her legs into the air. On his knees now, he straddled the leg that remained on the mattress. His movements were so precise, so forceful, it took Ursa a moment to understand his intent. He pressed his cock—damp and flagrantly erect now—against her entrance. Holding onto her suspended leg, he thrust.