Wild, Wounded Hearts

by Wild, Wounded Hearts (epub)

  “Aw, Christ.” He withdrew and thrust again. “Ursa.”

  His shout bounced off the forest canopy and vibrated in his brain.

  He looked down at himself fixedly as he penetrated her again and again. Strangely, he felt utterly focused on their tense joining, and completely out of control at once. He’d never experienced anything so intense…so alarmingly hot. He bathed in liquid fire.

  He realized she was pushing back on the tree, bucking in a tight, hard rhythm against him while he rode her. He loved it. And yet, he wanted her all to himself. He couldn’t explain it, except to say he was selfish. He needed to pierce her in those crazed moments…to witness himself owning something as lovely and rare as Ursula Esterbrook.

  He withdrew, wincing at the agony of withdrawing from her snug heat. Trying to steel himself against her cry of surprised protest, he reached around her and grabbed her wrists.

  “Let me take control, baby. Reach down and grab your ankles. It’s okay,” he soothed when he heard her confused whimper. She bent over. “Grab onto the laces of your boots,” he commanded. He watched as she pushed her fingers beneath the laces. “Don’t let go. Understand?”

  Her suspended hair tickled his forearms as she nodded her head.

  He straightened behind her. She was his, now. Ursa Esterbrook. All his.

  He parted her ass cheeks, examining the glistening flower of her sex. He watched as he presented the tip of his cock into the very center of her heat.

  Her groan sounded as rough as his as he slowly pierced her to the balls.

  She moved restlessly. He took her ass in his hands, marveling for a second at how small and lovely she looked in his enveloping grasp. He began to thrust with firm, short strokes, listening to her high-pitched cries entwining with his pounding heartbeat and the staccato, quickening sound of their slapping flesh.

  Sweat stung his eyes. It felt so damn good. He loved looking at his cock sinking into her again and again, her heat paradoxically quenching this furious need perfectly.

  When she started to bounce her bottom despite his tight hold on her, he smacked as ass cheek in a terse reprimand.

  “Stay still, Ursa.”

  He took her with rapid, hard strokes for several minutes, watching himself penetrate her unblinkingly while his body climbed inch by inch toward shattering detonation. He drank it in through all of his senses: this constant proof of his total possession.

  His ears started to ring from sensory overload. Every muscle in his body bulged tight with aching effort. He hated for it to end.

  He couldn’t wait to explode in her. She was so lovely. And for now—for this too brief time—she was his.

  His trigger snapped. He threw back his head and roared like the ferocious animal he undoubtedly was. Several seconds later, he opened his eyes wide, panting for air.

  Why wasn’t it stopping, this racking, almost unbearable pleasure of blasting to pieces at Ursa’s core?

  Please let it never stop.

  But it did, of course. Slowly, the convulsions weakened to shivers, and then those slowed. He blinked several times, and realized he sagged over Ursa. His selfishness struck him then. He’d insisted she take the uncomfortable position, and then pressed his weight into her while she kept it. He withdrew from her, wincing at her soft whimper.

  “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. He straightened and wrapped her in his arms, pulling her back against the length of him.

  “For what?” She sounded dazed, but her voice also sounded hoarse. Sexy. He ran his hand along her hip. So soft.

  Just the opposite of him.

  “I told you I could be rough. I’m not sure what came over me. You were—”

  He faded off, too bewildered to say what she had been to him in those tense moments.

  He saw her look over her shoulder. Their gazes met.

  “You weren’t rough. You were… forceful. I felt so wanted, Z. You made me feel like the center of the universe,” she whispered.

  He exhaled slowly, part of him wanting to analyze what her simple, generous praise meant to him, and the other part wary of that meaning. One thing was certain. He wanted to give her something sweet in return, even if he knew nothing he ever gave Ursa could ever match her kindness. So he just murmured her name and covered her sex with his hand.

  Later, listening to her soft moans, and then her sharp cries, he prayed that somehow she got his message.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ursa felt hyperaware of her body in a way she never had before as she showered and dressed later. She’d never been so conscious of her femininity. It was like she was opening, somehow. Transforming. She took delight in her own body, imagining how Z had touched her here, recalling how his eyes had taken on that edgy gleam when he’d made love to her there. His body was so different than hers, so big, hard, strong, and male. It was a wonder, how his body pleased her so much, and how he seemed to take so much pleasure in hers. . . how they fit together so perfectly.

  Their lovemaking had been mind-blowing before today. But Ursa intuitively understood that she’d blossomed out there in those woods this morning. She would never be the same.

  The aftereffects of her and Z’s lovemaking left her feeling like she existed in some kind of golden cocoon. The delicious memories left her protected, even from the occasional worrisome thoughts, like: It won’t last forever. This will end in a matter of days.

  She would exist in the now. This moment was beautiful and ephemeral. The impermanence of what Z and her were sharing made it all that much more precious to her. If she let her anxieties penetrate the cocoon of elevated sensuality and happiness that surrounded her, it would ruin everything.

  Z stood at the kitchen counter when she entered it a few minutes later, pouring coffee into a cup. He didn’t look around when she came up next to him, just tipped some milk into the cup. She was content to study him for a moment, soaking in how good he looked wearing jeans that showed off his long, strong legs and narrow hips and a dark gray T-shirt that highlighted his broad shoulders, ridged, flat abdomen and bulging biceps.

  She felt ridiculously proud of her first lover.

  He handed her the cup of coffee a second later, noticing her smug smile.

  “What are you grinning at?” he murmured, his lips tilting.

  “Nothing. It’s just a beautiful morning, that’s all,” she said, her smile widening as she glanced out the window at the sunny spring day.

  He made a scoffing sound and turned to face her. Changing his mind, he reclaimed the cup he’d given her and set it on the counter before he pulled her against him. She sighed in contentment at being in his arms.

  “You’re full of crap, Ursula Esterbrook,” he said, his chin resting at the top of her head.

  “You’ve got to let a girl keep a few thoughts private. I’d hate to see you blush at what I was really thinking,” she teased, brushing her cheek against his ribs and hugging his waist.

  When he didn’t reply immediately, she glanced up. “Z? What’s wrong?” she asked, seeing a shadow on his face.

  “I just… ”

  His hesitation made an alarm bell start to ring in her head. “What is it?”

  He exhaled, his hands rising from her hips and butt to her lower back. “It’s what you said, that first time we were together. About not being able to get pregnant.”

  A chill passed through her. “Yeah?”

  He shrugged. “I just realized that I took you at your word completely… and that might have been a little too convenient on my part.”

  “I don’t understand. You should take me at my word. Are you saying you don’t believe me?”

  “No, of course I think that you believe it’s true. I’m just saying, I haven’t really confirmed things with you, made absolutely sure… before I… ”

  He pulled her even closer to him, making her even more aware of
his male body. For a few breathless seconds, as she looked up into his blue eyes, she experienced it all over again: the feeling of him pouring into her, that intense, overwhelming moment she most sensed his incredible power and his vulnerability at once.

  “I’m not just putting a theory out there, Z,” she said, understanding his caution now. “I’ve been told by several doctors that I won’t be able to conceive a child. It’s not a ‘maybe I will’, ‘maybe I won’t’ situation. My hypothalamus was challenged when I was a kid. My ovaries never fully developed, even though everything else did. Mom knows, and Dad did, of course. I told Sadie and Esme when I was seventeen. But other than that, you’re the only other person I’ve told.”

  He seemed to consider that for a moment, his eyes darkening in thought.

  “Z? Does it bother you?”

  He blinked and focused on her face.

  “Bother me? No, of course not. I mean… a little, maybe. I’m not sure, to be honest.”

  She leaned back in his arms. “Do you need to see my medical records? Or is it something else? Have you decided it does turn you off somehow?”

  “No. No, that’s not it. If you’re certain, than I am. I just thought I should double check. And as for turning me off, it’s not even worth commenting on. Whether or not you can or can’t ever have a baby is irrelevant to me,” he said, eyes flashing.

  “I don’t get it. If you believe me, then what’s the problem?”

  He made a scoffing sound. Ursa thought he looked like she was backing him into a corner, but she couldn’t understand why.

  “Z?”

  “I was just thinking about you,” he blurted out.

  “What about me?”

  He ducked his head and faced the counter. She sensed his unrest, his agitation over the topic, but she couldn’t comprehend its origins. He just stared out the window for a few seconds while Ursa stewed in confusion.

  “You’d make a great mom, that’s all,” he finally said.

  “Oh,” she muttered, stunned. Ursa wasn’t sure what else to say to that. She realized Z had turned and was studying her, worry creasing his brow. “I’m just thinking about you, Ursa.”

  Understanding dawned. “You’re wondering if I was upset when they told me I couldn’t have a baby of my own? If I’m depressed over it now?”

  He looked hesitant, but he nodded.

  “No. I’m okay with it all,” she assured him, realizing the source of his anxiety now. Her heart felt like it swelled up in her chest, witnessing his compassion. People really didn’t get Z sometimes. She certainly had misunderstood him just now. He’d been worried it was a sore point for her, a sadness that couldn’t heal.

  “Really?” he asked.

  “Yeah. I’m fine with it. What you have to understand is that when the doctor told me, it was after I’d gone to that specialty clinic and done all those tests. After I’d finally gotten a correct diagnosis and started treatment, and my health started to turn around. I considered myself so lucky. I was thrilled to be getting positive results after all that time, after all those hundreds of hospital visits, and painful tests, and incorrect diagnoses and treatments. When they told me I wouldn’t be able to have kids, I was fifteen years old and starting my sophomore year, Z.”

  “You were just happy to have been given a normal childhood.”

  “Exactly.”

  His expression shifted. He nodded once and gave her an uneven smile. “I can understand that. Thanks for explaining.”

  “You’re welcome. And Z?” she asked when he turned to pick up his coffee.

  “Yeah?”

  “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “It was a nice compliment.” She saw his eyebrows go up in question. “Saying I’d be a good mom. I still might be, you know.”

  “Yeah. I know,” he said quietly, before he cupped her face and leaned down to drop a warm, lingering kiss on her mouth.

  Z took her to the hotel so that she could officially checkout and get her car. Their plan was to meet for lunch at the garage. Ursa didn’t tell Z, but she was hoping he’d let her see some of his latest projects once she got there.

  She spent the morning boutique shopping in Columbia. Afterward, she sat on a bench in the historic downtown and called her mother.

  Ilsa Esterbrook had suffered a stunning loss when her husband died abruptly of an undiagnosed heart condition at fifty-eight. Ursa’s father—Clive Esterbrook—and her mother had been extremely close. When her dad had passed a year and a half ago, each of the Esterbrook girls had grieved in their own way. But each of them was also worried about their mother. There had been times, in the months following Clive’s sudden death, that Ursa had feared for her mother’s emotional and mental stability, her grief had been so intense.

  But at that moment on the phone, Ilsa Esterbrook sounded downright cheerful.

  “Sadie is going to be here this weekend! She just called with the news. The director put off shooting in Vietnam for two weeks. And Mat and Shelly are stopping by for the cookout at Grandpa Joe’s and fireworks, so it’s going to be a real party.”

  “That’s great,” Ursa enthused, catching her mother’s mood. It was good to hear her sounding so happy. They all should really try to visit her more.

  “If only Esme, Jude and Z could be here. But Jude and Esme are too busy with work—what’s new, right? And Stephen still can’t seem to pin down Z on anything,” Ilsa said, referring to Grandpa Joe’s therapist and caregiver, who also was a parent figure to Z and Jude. “I’m worried about Z. He told Grandpa Joe and Stephen that he’s living somewhere in the California foothills, and that he’s been working on bikes…but that’s it. He hasn’t produced an address, and Stephen says he only returns calls occasionally. I hope he hasn’t relapsed or anything.”

  “He hasn’t,” Ursa said before she could stop herself. She couldn’t bear to consider her family thinking the worst of Z, when she knew firsthand how much he prospered.

  “How do you know? Have you seen him?”

  “No…I mean, yes, but not recently. A few weeks ago, I went to a motorcycle race event in Reno with a friend, and ran into him. He seemed great. Sober. Focused. He won his race,” she added brightly, hoping her mother wouldn’t notice her wariness in discussing Z.

  “Oh, well that’s good. I wish you had said something about it earlier. Stephen’s been desperate for a scrap of news.”

  “Z wouldn’t want you all to worry,” Ursa said firmly. “He just needs his space right now. Try to have a little faith in him, Mom.”

  “I have all the faith in him in the world. I know how talented he is…what a hard worker. It’s just that’s he’s going through such a rough time right now. He needs family more than ever. I hate that he’s been separating himself from everyone.”

  “Yeah,” Ursa agreed, guilt starting to creep in about lying to her mom. She’d have to act like she was clueless about Z’s circumstances around her family and friends over the upcoming holiday weekend. She wasn’t looking forward to that.

  If only I could convince Z to go with me to Tahoe for the holiday. It’d make so many people so happy to see him there.

  Me most of all, she admitted to herself with a sinking feeling as she said goodbye to her mother.

  Here she was, after everything she’d promised Z about the parameters of their affair, already dreaming about it continuing past the agreed upon end.

  Even if it was just for a few more days.

  When she entered Z’s garage at the rear of his property later, she wasn’t really sure what to expect. But it wasn’t the large, wide-open garage, or all the complicated looking mechanical equipment. Loud rock music was being piped in from somewhere. The place seemed to be humming with creative energy. Ursa realized it was just as much an artist’s sanctuary as it was a garage. It was a well-lit, exceptionally neat, organized and str
eamlined environment. It totally blew away all her preconceptions about what a mechanic’s garage was.

  Seeing his garage, it started to re-form her ideas of what Z did for a living, as well.

  The first person she came across wasn’t Z. It was another mechanic with longish, dark blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail and a sandy colored goatee working on a badass, stripped-down Honda. She hadn’t realized other mechanics worked here, but she saw several others in the distance.

  “Hi,” Ursa greeted the man when he looked at her with a pair of striking hazel eyes. “I’m looking for Z Beckett?”

  “He’s back in the design lab,” the mechanic said, waving toward the rear of the garage.

  She encountered two other mechanics, one an older man with a full mane of gray hair and a beard, the other a tough-looking, tattooed woman in her twenties or early thirties. They’d been discussing something heatedly concerning a shining black power cruiser perched on a platform. They stopped talking when she approached. They both gave her pointed, interested glances as she passed their workstations, but nodded in a friendly enough fashion.

  Ursa was, once again, aware of how out of place she probably looked here, in Z’s world. She wasn’t wearing her work clothes, like she had been yesterday—her Alice in Wonderland get-up, as Erica had labeled it. But she still probably looked very California-suburban-girl, wearing a bright boho sundress and sandals, her long blonde hair spilling around her shoulders.

  You’ve really got to get over this insecurity about how you fit into Z’s world, she told herself as she passed the mechanics. He’s accepted me into, and that’s the important thing.

  He’s accepted me into it, for now.

  She stifled the last two words irritably.

  She tapped on the door of the partition she found at the back of the garage.

  “Come in.”

  Recognizing Z’s deep voice, her heart gave a little jump. When she opened the door, she saw him perched on a stool, his long legs bent at the knee, his booted feet planted on the floor. He sat before a long table that held three computers and dozens of rolled up and partially opened sketches.