Hot for His Hostage (33 page)

Screw waiting on him to finish the shower.

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 A-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, 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 stitches,
she spoke a supplication into the hollow of his navel.

“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 pre-cum 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, 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 secret of that fact to her wide indigo stare.

“Spread your legs.”

She obeyed without a word, exposing the dark pink fruit of her pussy. His lungs held
onto 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, Cameron Stock and his gang for six months. Take a guess which
one limped-over 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 your sex drive and
‘limp’ in the same sentence.”

Shay chuckled. But only a little. “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?”