Zane (Inked Brotherhood Book 3) (14 page)

I can hardly believe it myself. But one thought keeps echoing in my mind: he wants to try. With me. It makes me want to smile and cry at the same time.

“I won’t touch your back,” I whisper, thinking furiously. “I promise.”

It’s the combination of things that triggers the attacks, I realize. Now it makes sense. Like in the park. It wasn’t just the water. It was the combination of being thrown into the water and being held there that freaked him out. And this… the combination of pleasure and the memory of how he got the scars.

Hence his rules. Not holding him down, not recreating the circumstances of an event that scarred him worse than the burns on his back. I can do that.

For Zane.

He nods once, his mouth pressed in a flat line. I can’t imagine what it cost him to tell me all this, open his heart until it’s raw and bleeding.

“But I need to see your face when we’re together,” I say and hate myself for asking more from him. Still, I have to do it. “I need to see you. It’s important to me.”

“Okay,” he mutters and lets his head fall back. He scrunches his eyes shut, and he grits his teeth. “Fuck.”

“I should go.” I don’t want to, especially not now, when he looks so defeated. “But I want something first.”

His eyes snap open. He stares straight at the windshield, then blinks. “What?”

“What do you think?”

His mouth tightens, then twitches. He’s struggling—with his memories, maybe? “Dakota…”

I love the sound of my name on his lips. Breathy. Sexy.

“What do you think I want?”

He frowns. He shoots me a sideways glance, and his gaze heats up. “My ink on you?” He’s hardening as I watch, the crotch of his jeans stretching tight over his erection.

“Yeah.” I take a pen from my bag and give it to him. “All the drawings you’ve made on me have been washed away.”

He licks his lips and takes the pen, his gaze a bit unfocused. He reaches down to adjust himself inside his jeans, and I suddenly feel too hot. God, he’s so sexy I can’t stand it.

“You don’t have any of my ink left on you,” Zane mutters and shifts closer to me, so close there’s a line of heat between our bodies. “That’s fucking unacceptable.”

His gaze rakes my body like a solid caress, stopping on the swell of my breasts, then my skirt and down my legs. I want his hands, his mouth on me, his cock in me, but I just hold my breath when he turns in the seat to face me and trails his fingertips up and down my bare arm.

His face is a study in light and shadow, broad cheekbones, the slight curve of his nose, the straight dark brows over the hooded eyes, the elegant curve of his mouth. His chest rises and falls, stretching the thin fabric of his T-shirt over his sculpted pecs.

He strokes his hand down the inside of my elbow, making me shiver, all the way to my wrist and across my palm. He tangles his fingers with mine and draws my hand to his lap, on his thigh.

The pen glides over my skin, drawing straight and wiggly lines, and I wonder what bird he’ll draw this time. It tickles a little, but his other hand distracts me, his thumb rubbing up and down my wrist, sending electric shocks to my core. My eyes fall shut, and I swallow down a moan.

Soon—too soon—he stops, and I open my eyes. He’s looking right at me, the pen and the drawing forgotten, his eyes dark pools of desire. His hand travels up my arm once more, and he tugs me toward him.

My first reaction would be to lift my arms to place around his neck, but I stop myself in the last second. Unsure of what to do, I let him maneuver my body. He nudges and pushes me, until I turn my back to him, then he pulls me between his legs so that I lean against his chest. His hardness is thick and hot in the small of my back, the feel of it sending bolts of heat down my belly.

I know why he likes this position—why he prefers my back to him. Like this, there’s no way I can throw my arms around him and touch his scars. No way can I trigger a flashback.

And yet…
“Zane, I can’t—”

“I know,” he mutters. “You need to see me. It’s in your folder now.”

What folder?
I want to ask, but his breath brushes my neck, and he shifts, one hand circling my waist, then moving to the front, lifting my skirt.

A tremor goes through me, and my head drops back against his shoulder. I’ve dreamed of him touching me again, and even though I can’t see his face, I might go against my own rules and let him do what he wills with me.

One hand presses between my legs, and I splay them, giving in, helpless with need. Fingers tangle in my hair and tug my head sideways. Lips press against my neck, teeth graze my skin, and I shudder.

It’s not Collin.
I just have to remember that, trust the knowledge. Besides, Zane’s scent fills my senses, and Collin never held me like this—like he can’t let go.

“Dakota,” Zane whispers, and his lips move up my neck to my jaw. His teeth sink into my earlobe, tugging on my silver hoops, and I gasp, throbbing with need.

Then he pulls away, and his other hand, still tangled in my hair, gently turns my head toward him.

Our eyes meet, and he grins. My heart does a weird little flip in my chest. Then it flips again when his gaze zeroes in on my mouth, and he licks his lips.

I want him to kiss me so badly.

As if he can hear me, he bends his head and puts his mouth on mine. My breath catches when his lips press to mine, warm and soft, his stubble a rough counterpoint. I can’t help leaning into the kiss, but he jerks back, and I blink dazedly.

He’s staring at me, but I’m not sure he’s seeing me. His hand in my lap twitches, and the one in my hair tightens until I whimper.

“Zane,” I murmur, not sure he can hear me. My heart is hammering. Damn, I never thought the reason he doesn’t kiss girls might be serious—another trigger? “Look at me. You know me.”

I lift my hands and place them over his, stroking his knuckles.

“Dakota,” he breathes, his gaze sharpening again, thank God. I don’t like this place he seems to go to when he’s lost in a painful memory.

I shift, intent on twisting around, but his hold on me turns to steel, and he closes the distance again, fastening his mouth to mine. His tongue coaxes my lips open and thrusts inside, stroking me, making me moan. It’s pierced, and the barbell feels delicious, rubbing on every nerve.

He tastes smoky, musky and bittersweet, and… Oh God, Zane is kissing me, really kissing me, with tongue and teeth and all, like he’s dying of hunger, and I’m his favorite flavor of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream. And all the while, his hand is in my hair, keeping my head still, keeping me where he wants me.

Keeping the kiss under his control.

It’s scorching hot and unbearably sweet at the same time. He’s going on instinct, and our teeth clash, out tongues chase each other, and I wonder if he’s ever really kissed anyone before.

As if knowing my thoughts, he chooses that moment to distract me, slipping his hand from my lap under my skirt into my panties.

Into me.

He swallows my moan as his fingers slide in and out. His thumb drags over my clit, and I arch my back as I come undone. I cry out in his mouth, shaking with pleasure, and he’s still kissing me. It’s like he can’t get enough of it now he started—or is afraid to end it.

My mind is fuzzy, and my body is still trembling. Zane’s eyes are closed, and he’s kissing me like he can’t stop, his tongue licking the roof of my mouth, sending bolts of fresh heat through me. His body shakes at my back, his cock digging into my spine, rock-hard and hot.

I want him to come, too. I push back, and he lifts his hand, pressing it into my belly, clutching me to him. I squirm and rub my backside on his hard-on.

His mouth goes slack on mine, and I feel his cock jerk where it’s pressed on my spine. He groans and shudders, and I feel every tremor going through him.

Our mouths finally part. His dark eyes are hazy, and I tense, not sure what he’s seeing now. But then a side of his mouth tips up in a faint smile. I know he sees me, especially when he whispers my name and wraps both arms around my middle, holding me close.

***

I stumble into Tessa’s apartment in a daze. I was hoping she’d be in bed by now, but she’s sitting on the sofa, flipping through a book.

She throws the book on the sofa when I enter and gives me a long look. “Hey… Whoa, what did I miss?”

“What?” I realize I’m grinning and turn to close the door, hoping to hide it. “Nothing.”

“Oh, shut up, and come tell me everything,” Tess says, seemingly unaware of the contradiction.

“Nothing to tell.” I inch toward my bedroom. I need time to process what happened tonight, and it’s not like I know Tessa so well, even if I’m hogging her guest bedroom.

“If you were with Zane, I’m not letting you sleep unless you tell me.” She gets up and pulls a bottle from a cupboard. She brandishes it at me. “Truth serum.”

Oh God, it’s Limoncello, an Italian lemon liqueur. I love that stuff. Mom always has it at home. “Not playing fair.”

She sighs. “Humor me. Look, Ash told me he found Zane in a drunken stupor on Sunday and had to force him to eat and drink. So pardon me if I want to know if he’s doing better now.”

Drunken stupor?
My feet take me to the sofa—where only a few nights ago he made me come so hard I saw stars and then left like a man possessed by demons—and I sink into the soft leather. When Tessa pours me a shot glass of the sweet liqueur, I take it without protest.

Was he drunk because of his sister? Or because of the flashback he had with me?

“Well, today he looked okay,” I say, sipping, feeling the lemony goodness slide down my throat, warming me. “How is his sister?”

“Nobody knows.” Tessa pours herself a glass and sits down next to me. “Zane won’t tell us about her. Ash tried to get him to talk but couldn’t get anything out of him.”

Shit.
I raise the glass to my lips, when Tessa makes a grab for my wrist. The liqueur sloshes over my fingers, and I yelp. “What the hell?”

“He drew on you again.”

“Yeah.” I’d forgotten about it, caught in all that came next. My body tightens at the memory. “He likes doing that. It relaxes him.”

“Are you frigging kidding me?” Tessa’s nails dig into my palm, and I flinch. “Are we talking about Zane? The same guy who never glances at the same girl twice? Who never gives his phone number and never kisses? And he just draws stuff on you to relax every other day?”

I jerk my hand out of her grip. “What do you want?”

She shakes her blond head and sprawls back on the sofa. Her short blue dress shimmers like her eyes. “I want to protect him from more pain.”

“I won’t hurt him, Tessa.”

“He’s getting attached to you. He never gets attached to girls he sleeps with.” Her eyes narrow. “He did sleep with you, didn’t he? I saw the hickey he left on you the other day. Hickeys and drawings. Damn.”

I put the shot glass on the table and lick the sweet, sticky liquid from my fingers. “He kissed me,” I whisper.

“The hell he did.” Tessa snorts and swallows the rest of her liqueur. She toys with the small glass.

I rub the drawing on my hand. It’s another bird, as I thought it would be. Looks like a dove, but it has a skull etched behind its head, like the moth tattoo on my back. Inked lines circle my fingers like rings, and I turn my hand over.

Oh shit.

“He wouldn’t kiss anyone,” Tessa is muttering, but when I finally look up, I see her eyes are wide. “Oh God, he did, didn’t he? He kissed you.”

I nod, my thoughts chasing each other. Uncertain, I stretch out my arm, showing her my palm. “Tessa, is this…?” I bite my lip again, as my heart does a dance in my chest, stomping on my ribs. “Tell me.”

She gasps, then laughs, and finally covers her mouth with her hand. “It is,” she says, the words muffled. “I’ll be damned. It’s Zane’s phone number.”

Zane

What scares you?

I’m trying to scream, but I can’t. I’m kneeling on a bed, and someone is behind me, a hand pressed over my mouth. My back hurts. It hurts so bad. The pain tears through me like a claw. Black edges my vision.

“Don’t make a sound,” a voice says, and another shadow approaches from the side. He climbs on the bed with me, and the hand leaves my mouth. Still the scream won’t leave my throat. It’s as if it died inside me.

He grabs my chin, pulls my mouth open and stuffs a bunched-up piece of cloth in it. I choke on it and start to cough. It makes my whole body scream with pain. It’s as if I’m being torn apart.

The other man lights a cigarette and sucks in the smoke. Then he reaches behind my neck and stubs it into my skin.

I scream and scream into the gag, tears blurring my vision, and finally, mercifully, everything bleeds into darkness.

No.

I come awake with a jolt, my stomach churning, bile rising in my throat. Falling out of bed, I scramble into the bathroom and lift the lid of the toilet just in time before I puke my guts out.

Holy fucking shit. Goddamn triggers.

Finally, I pull back and wipe my mouth on my arm, slide back and lean against the cold wall.
Fuck…

Against my better judgment, I reach up and touch the burn scars on my back. I swear they hurt like a bitch, although I know for a fact they are old. Very old. Pretty sure I was a kid when I got them.

The dream haunts me, and I try not to think about it too much. I know that dreams aren’t exact memories. I’ve had this one before, and it’s never exactly the same. Though this time it was clearer. More real. The pain still courses through me, enough that I reach back to rub the scars again.

I need to get out of this pit. This dream was the last thing I needed, and I know what triggered it.

Kissing. There’s a damn good reason I don’t kiss, and now I’ve broken yet another rule, and I’m paying for it. I should have seen it coming.

Kissing Dakota.

I drop my head back as the memory of her body under my hands rushes back. The taste of her lips, the sweet smell of her arousal, the tremors going through her slender body… The sounds she made while I fucked her mouth with my tongue…