Dirty For Me (Motor City Royals) (11 page)

She groaned, her gaze on his as she arched her back, lifting her pelvis against his, seeking more friction, more pressure. And he gave it to her, rocking more insistently, then circling to vary the movement.

There was no fear now on her face and, though her breathing was fast and getting faster, it wasn’t because she was afraid, not if that heat between her legs was anything to go by.

It made it him feel good to take away her fear, turn it into something else. Made him feel satisfied that he could make a difference to her.

But he was getting kind of sick of her clothes and the fact that her virginal dress was still on and still covering up all that beautiful skin.

So he moved, gripping her hips and rolling over onto his back, taking her with him so she was sitting astride him. She blinked, her pouty mouth opening slightly as she found her position changed. Then she smiled as if this was far more to her liking.

“This doesn’t mean you’re in charge, pretty girl,” he said, so she understood. “I’m still gonna win this fight.” Then he sat up and tugged off the belt around her waist, before putting a hand around her back and finding the tab of her dress zipper, pulling it down.

“Really?” Her eyes gleamed. “I beg to differ.” And she put her hand straight down over his cock where it pressed against the denim of his jeans. Then the delicious little bitch squeezed, sending white hot streaks of fire licking up his spine.

“Jesus Christ,” he growled. “You wanna play dirty? Then let’s play dirty.” Taking hold of the hem of her dress, he pulled it roughly up and over her head.

She gave a gasp as he did so, her face pink and flushed as he tossed the white silk away, leaving her sitting in his lap in nothing but a pair of white, lacy panties. Then he dealt with those too, simply ripping the fabric at both sides of her hips and pulling away the remaining scrap of material.

She was a delicious damn sight, sitting in his lap completely naked but for her sexy red shoes. Her legs were spread wide around his hips, revealing the neat thatch of gold curls between her thighs, and her nipples were tight and hard. The pink flush in her cheeks went all the way down her throat to her breasts and she almost fucking glowed, like someone had turned a light on inside her.

“That’s not fair,” she said huskily. “I want you naked.”

“Too bad.” He put his hands on her hips, her skin soft and smooth and hot beneath his palms. “I don’t play fair.” And he gripped her tight as he flexed again, stroking the hard ridge of his aching cock against that hot pussy of hers.

She shuddered, gasping as he held her down, grinding her against him. “Zee . . . God . . .”

“Fuck, you’re desperate aren’t you?” he murmured, his own voice starting to get hoarse. “Naked and pleading for me already. I haven’t even got my cock inside you and already you’ve got my jeans all wet.” He put his hand down between her thighs, sliding his fingers through her damp curls and tugging gently. “Shall I make you come, baby? Like this? Right now?”

She shuddered and when he twisted his hand, applying pressure to her clit with his thumb, she shuddered again. “Sure,” she panted, all throaty and husky. “You can do that. And then I’ll make you come in your jeans like a teenage boy.”

He laughed, because fuck if that didn’t sound just like the kind of challenge he particularly enjoyed. “You can try, pretty girl. You can try.” Then he stroked her clit with his thumb, moving his hips, grinding the thick ridge of his dick against her tender flesh.

But she didn’t just sit there and take it. Her hand came down, her fingers running over the denim, stroking the length of his cock, squeezing him, her eyes full of dark fire.

And he felt the grip of pleasure begin to wind tight because he hadn’t fully understood quite how badly it was affecting him, the sight of her naked with her legs spread and his hand between them. The slick gleam of her wet flesh, the evidence of her arousal soaking his jeans. The bounce of her tits as she moved on him. The pressure of her hand on him, squeezing him. The sweet, musky scent of her making his mouth water and his cock even harder than it already was.

He tried to ignore it, tried to concentrate on driving her insane first because he’d be fucked if he was going to lose this one.

But then she one-upped him, leaning back on her hands and he could see every glorious of inch of her, giving him the most fucking fantastic view of her wet pussy. She ground down on him, panting and gasping as the climax hit her. And dear Jesus Christ, she was rubbing him in exactly the right way, and he groaned because the friction was too intense, too insistent.

And in the end he had to grab her hips and move her, growling as the orgasm snuck up on him and exploded in his head like a firework.

Making him come in his jeans like a fucking teenage boy, just as she’d promised.

A
s Tamara’s heartbeat gradually slowed, she flicked Zee a glance from underneath her lashes.

He was leaning back on his elbows, that impressive chest of his stretching tight the cotton of his T-shirt, his head tipped back, his eyes closed. God, he was a beautiful sight, the lines of his face still drawn tight with pleasure.

She’d made him do that. She’d made him lose control.

The triumph of it nearly stole her breath, made her feel so powerful.

And that was a damn sight better than the horrible, helpless feeling that had stolen up on her when he’d pinned her to the floor. Bringing back those terrible memories of Will when he’d had one of his episodes. He hadn’t had them often, but often enough for her to feel terrified around him whenever her parents went out.

It should never have happened of course. She’d adored her older brother and the change that had come over him had terrified her. The mood swings, the mutterings. Speaking to people who weren’t there. The sudden, random outbursts of violence.

She’d tried to tell her parents that something was wrong with him, but they hadn’t wanted to know. They’d pretended everything was normal, that everything was fine. As though if they pretended hard enough, everything would be.

As if he’d heard the thought aloud, Zee’s eyes opened, sharp silver barbs slicing straight through her. Her breath caught, afraid suddenly of what he might see. She looked away to lessen the feeling of exposure, conscious that she was sitting on his lap naked while he was fully dressed. It didn’t matter what she’d made him do, she somehow felt vulnerable.

She shifted off him, unable to stop from wincing as she slid onto the floor, the flesh between her legs tender.

Then warm fingers curled around her calf and held on. “Hey.”

She went still, taking a moment to compose herself before meeting his gaze. “What?”

“Are you okay?” His slashing dark brows drew down. “Sore?”

A hot wash of embarrassment moved through her. “It’s nothing.”

He let her go and in one fluid movement he was on his feet, bending down and scooping her up in his arms before she had a chance to protest.

“Zee.” She put a hand against his chest. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Where’s the bathroom?” He seemed able to carry her with no effort whatsoever. “I don’t know about you, but I need to freshen up.”

“It’s the down the hall over there. And I can walk, you know.”

He ignored her, carrying her while crossing the lounge area to the doorway that led to the hall and her bedroom and bathroom.

Okay, fine. If he was going to insist, she wasn’t going to protest. In fact, it was nice just to relax into his arms, enjoy the sensation of being carried. She hadn’t been held like this since she was a child and God help her but there was something she liked about the helplessness of it. Of having strong arms around her and a warm chest to lean against.

It made her feel safe, which was a strange thing to think about a stranger like Zee. A man who by his own admission had just beaten the hell out of someone tonight. But she went with it for a while because it had been a long time since she’d felt like this and she didn’t want to let go of the sensation just yet.

He carried her into her small, white-tiled bathroom, setting her down on top of the vanity unit while he went over to the bath and turned on the taps, beginning to run the water.

Tamara stared dumbly at him. “A bath? Seriously?” It was pretty much the last thing she expected from him.

“Yeah.” He came back over to where she was sitting and before she could move, he gently pushed apart her thighs, glancing down between them. “You look sore too. Some warm water might help.”

Oh, great. Cheeks burning, she closed her legs firmly. “Okay, thanks for that.”

His gray gaze lifted, meeting hers. “You’re embarrassed? After that?”

“You’re still a stranger, don’t forget. I don’t actually know you.”

He was silent a moment, studying her. “Who hurt you, Tamara?”

She had to look away. “That was not an invitation.”

“You didn’t like me holding you down.”

“Yeah, and I told you why.” Her fingers were clutching onto the edge of the vanity. With a conscious effort, she straightened them. “This is just sex, Zee. We don’t have to get to know each other or anything.”

Strong fingers took her chin in an irresistible grip, tipping her head back, and she found herself staring into his eyes once more. “Sure it’s just sex. But when some bad shit starts to affect that sex, I wanna know what’s happening. So tell me. Who hurt you?”

Her father’s voice rang in her head, hard and sure. It had been eight years, but she remembered every word of that conversation. And she’d done what he’d asked, she’d never told a soul. So she couldn’t tell Zee. Could she?

Oh God, it would. And besides, Zee was only temporary. She’d never see him again after all this was over.

“My older brother,” she said at last, her voice thickening helplessly on the last word. “He would lose it occasionally, yell at me, that kind of thing. But there were a couple of times when he . . . held me against a wall and tried to choke me.” It felt weird to finally say it out loud to someone else and even now, eight years later, the words sat heavy on her tongue. Like a betrayal of some sort.

Zee studied her a long moment. “You said he was sick?”

The illness her parents denied was happening, even though their son was changing right in front of them. Becoming moody and withdrawn, prone to violent rages, talking to things that weren’t there. Because her parents had always denied the problem, he’d never been diagnosed, but Tamara had her suspicions.

“I think he probably had schizophrenia, though we never knew for sure.”

Zee’s thumb stroked absently along her jaw and she couldn’t stop the shiver that went through her. “Why not?”

Again that weird feeling of betrayal twisted inside her. “Mom and Dad didn’t think there was a problem. Diet and exercise. That’s what they thought would make him better.” God, where had that bitterness come from? Even she could hear the note of it in her voice.

Zee’s gaze was uncomfortably sharp. “So what happened to him?”

She should have anticipated the question, should have prepared. But all the preparation in the world didn’t stop the sliver of pure ice that drove under her skin.

Jerking her chin from his grip, she said, “Oh look, the bath is ready.”

He didn’t move, looking at her. “Tamara—”

“Do you see me asking you why you like beating the shit out of people? Why you live in a crappy part of town and work in a garage? Or wanting to know all about your crappy childhood?” The words tumbled out of her, the bitterness tainting all of them, and she had to force herself to shut up before any more of them came out.

Avoiding him and his gaze, she slid off the vanity and brushed past him, going over to the bath and turning the water off. “I’m sorry,” she said after a moment, knowing she needed to say something. “That was uncalled for.”

There was silence behind her, then he expelled a long breath. “Shit, you got nothing to apologize for. I shouldn’t have asked. We’re not here to tell each other our life stories.”

No, they weren’t. Even if she’d wanted to, her secrets were ones she couldn’t tell anyone else anyway.

But as he said the words, something shifted inside of her. Almost like . . . regret.

She shook away the feeling, kicking off the only thing she was wearing—her shoes—and stepping into the bath. He was right, the water was warm and soothing, her muscles beginning to loosen as the warmth seeped into them.

She didn’t look at him, but she could hear the sounds of clothing coming off, the heavy sound of boots hitting the floor. Then there was heat at her back, the slide of bare skin along hers, the water of the bath rising massively as he got in behind her. One muscled arm curled around her waist as he brought her back against him, his thighs on either side of hers, her spine to his chest. She could feel his cock pressing against her butt, already semihard, but he made no move to do anything but hold her.

The position felt too intimate and she tensed, suddenly uncertain about where this was going.

Then he said, “For the record, it’s not the beating the shit out of people I like, but the chance to let off steam in a controlled environment. I live in Royal ’cause I ran away from home when I was seventeen—my mom died when I was a kid and my dad was an asshole—and that’s where I washed up. That’s where I met Gideon and the others, and they’re the ones that make it home for me. And in a couple of months I won’t be working in a garage at all, but running my own gym.”

The quiet, measured way he said it made her feel ashamed of herself and her assumptions. Assumptions she hadn’t even realized she’d made until they’d all come spilling out.

She swallowed, her throat tight.

“But,” he added, one long-fingered hand running down her side and along her thigh. “You’re right about one thing. I did have a crappy childhood. I haven’t seen my dad for ten years.”

She should say something more, maybe apologize again. But she was too afraid to open her mouth in case that bitterness was still there. And she didn’t want to hear it again, or examine why it might be, so instead she focused on the arm around her waist, studying the flames and the tail feathers of the phoenix inked onto his skin.

“A phoenix,” she said, tracing the lines with a finger. He felt smooth and hot beneath her touch. “Rising from the ashes?”

A pause.

“Yeah.”

There was no inflection in his voice, yet she heard the undercurrent in it anyway. The bird on his skin wasn’t the only thing rising from the ashes. He was too.

“What about the quote on your back?”

“Just something I like. Nothing special.”

A lie; she could hear it in his voice. Curiosity shifted inside her, unexpected and unwelcome, but she didn’t push. There were boundaries here that she had to stick to and since she’d been pretty clear of hers, she had to respect his as well.

“Rachel inked me up,” he said unexpectedly. “She’s got a great studio in Royal. Did you see her sleeve? That’s hers too.”

Tamara remembered the deep red of the roses on Rachel’s arm. They’d been pretty. “How did you get to meet them? Your friends I mean.” Since he’d offered the information, maybe she could ask. “Though you don’t have to say if you don’t want to.”

He was silent a moment. “I hung around the Royal outreach center ’cause there was a guy who taught fighting. Met Gideon and Zoe and Rachel there, plus another guy you didn’t get to meet. Levi, he’s currently doing time, but he’ll be out pretty soon.” Zee paused. “Gideon gave me a job, helped me find a place to stay. And the others . . . None of us got family, or at least, none we wanna have anything to do with, so we made our own.”

No wonder she’d felt like she was interrupting something the night Zee had first taken her to the garage. She kind of had. They’d been having a family get-together and she definitely wasn’t part of it.

Envy shifted inside her, and a grief for what she’d lost. Her own family had once felt like a family and not a prison, but that had been before Will had gotten sick, before everything had changed.

“So, you have to let off steam often?” she asked in a graceless change of subject. “I mean you seem to do a lot of fights.”

He shifted, the water swirling around them. “I thought we weren’t going to talk about this.”

“You don’t have to answer.”

There was a pause. “Sometimes.” Then he asked, “Why investments?”

Tamara sighed. Well, she kind of owed him an answer since he’d given her one. “Would you believe it’s my way of letting off steam?”

“No.”

“Damn. Okay, it’s my father’s company and I’m following in his footsteps.”

“Why? You like investing shit?”

She almost grinned at that—at least until she realized she didn’t have a good explanation, not one that wouldn’t involve the truth. “It’s not so much that as what’s expected. My parents want me to have a great career and it’s a pretty great company to have a career in.”

His hand firmed on her stomach. “Yeah, but that’s not what I asked. I asked whether you liked it or not.”

The question needled her. “Sure. Same as you like fixing engines.”

“That much, huh?”

She didn’t know what to say to that, so she settled for silence, her fingers moving idly to trace his tattoo. She felt him pressed against her back, hard and ready. But he didn’t speak or make any demands, just kept holding her, one hand splayed possessively on her stomach while the other stroked her thigh.

There was a lingering tension in the air, but it began to dissipate and, after a while, she turned around in his arms, because her apology had been inadequate and she wanted to give him something more than that.

She wanted to give, period.

So far it had all been about her and what she wanted. She hadn’t even thought about him.

Perhaps she needed to.

He met her gaze, gray eyes unreadable, and that was kind of intimidating. The fact that she didn’t know him and despite their sexual encounters, she didn’t even know what he liked about the sex, beyond him telling her what to do. And that made her feel ashamed too, that she hadn’t even bothered to ask him.

So she forced herself to hold his gaze and say, “What would you like?”