Zane (Inked Brotherhood Book 3) (16 page)

I want to know, and I dread knowing. If my own fear, and its cause is anything to go by, I won’t like what I’ll hear.

But she says nothing for a while, and I focus on reaching my place and parking the truck. I go around to open her door, and she climbs down. I want to carry her upstairs. Loved the way she clung to me before.

She looks up at me and shivers, and the hell with it, she doesn’t seem opposed to being carried. I lift her again, her slight weight sweet in my arms, and go up.

“Not afraid I’ll drop you?” I mutter as we reach the apartment door and have to put her down for a moment to unlock and open.

“You won’t drop me.”

She sounds so certain when she says it, and I just gather her up in my arms again and walk inside.

I wish I was as sure of it myself.

I walk blindly into my room and lower her on the mattress. At least the sheets are clean, I think. I changed them yesterday. The room is a mess, but in the dimness you can hardly see it.

Turning on the lamp on the bedside table, I sit down next to her and work on her boots, unlacing them and pulling them off. She wiggles her toes, and through the stretch fabric of her black tights, I can see that her toenails are painted black.

I run my hand up her leg, from her ankle to her knee. I want to unwrap her like a Christmas present.

“About the pool and the water,” she says, and I freeze, my hand resting on her thigh.

“You don’t have to tell me.” Because if she does, then maybe I’ll have to tell her about me, too, tell her more than I already have.

She shrugs and leans back on my pillows, crossing her legs at the ankle. “I fell into a pool once.”

I wait for more, but she just stares at her hands, folded in her lap, her eyes dark, so I rub my eyes and scoot beside her, until our shoulders touch. “Okay.”

“No, it’s not.” Her voice wavers. “I didn’t really fall, you know. I was pushed.”

I still don’t get what the big deal is, so I force myself to nod. We’re pressed against each other, ’cuz my bed isn’t a double, and there isn’t much space, so I lift my arm and place it over her shoulders.

She burrows into me, warm and soft, and I close my eyes.

“My boyfriend pushed me.”

My eyes snap open. “What?”

“My boyfriend at the time. It was three years ago.”

“Holy shit, give a guy a heart attack, will you?”

She laughs, but the crystal chimes and bells are dulled. “Sorry.” She rubs her hand over my chest, and it scorches my skin through the T-shirt. “He’s the reason I need to see your face when you touch me. I’ve had…” She slumps against me. “Nightmares with his face, leaning over me as he pushes me off the edge.”

“Motherfucker.” My arm tightens around her, crushing her to me. “Did he hurt you before? When you were with him?”

“No, he was okay.”

I don’t get it. Why is she so traumatized, if that’s all there was to it? Breaking her trust, yeah, that’s bad, but to make you scared of water… I open my mouth to ask, but she lifts her hand and traces my mouth with her fingertips.

My breath hitches. Nobody has touched me like this before, ever, and as her fingers trail up to my cheek and then skim over my eyebrow, I just wanna close my eyes and sink into her touch.

Sensation whispers over my mouth, and I jerk. Her eyes are hooded as she kisses me again, her tongue slipping between my lips, licking and stroking mine. My dick begins to harden, and I reach down to accommodate the growing bulge in my jeans. She lowers her hand, putting it atop mine, and then she’s pressing up against me, all soft curves and silky skin, still kissing me, until I’m fully hard and half-crazed with want.

I break the kiss, looking down where both our hands are cupping my hard-on, and I’m panting like hell. I want to sink inside her. Need her so fucking bad.

She sits up and straddles my legs. I tense, because she’s trapping me, and I need to be the one in control of this, to hold her down and call the shots—but she starts undressing.

Holy shit, is that distracting. Can’t remember what I was thinking. I haven’t seen her naked yet, and my dick is so happy about what’s about to come it’s leaking steadily in my briefs.

She lifts off her blouse, and I just grip her hips, my mouth going dry at the sight of her breasts, snug in a yellow and orange bra that pushes them up, as if to spill them into my waiting hands.

Shit.

She wiggles, pushing down her tights, and I have to tear my eyes off her breasts to see. A small, thin scar on her stomach catches my eye—and then she slides the black material down her smooth, satiny thighs, her knees, and off, letting the tights fall to the side of the bed. Her panties are yellow, too, and they hook my gaze and hold it as I remember what is underneath them.

Dakota reaches up behind her back to unclasp her bra, and I reach up at the same time, taking it off and dropping it.

Replacing it with my hands. Fucking hell, she’s beautiful. Her small breasts are so perfect, graced with small, pink nipples that point forward, as if inviting me.

So I bend forward and take one between my teeth. She moans when I tug on it and steadies herself with her hands on my arms. I suck and tease the tight bud, then switch to the other one, and she rolls her hips, rubbing on my clothed erection.

How can this simple thing feel so damn good?

I inhale her sweet scent and reach down, between her legs, stroking her over the cotton of her panties, making her pant and moan. When my fingers slip underneath the fabric, caressing along her seam, opening her up, she splays her legs wider, giving me access.

Bending forward, I circle her clit with my thumb and dip a finger inside her. She’s wet, and I’m ten seconds away from coming. No time to change positions. Maybe this can work. I’m still twitchy about being underneath her, cornered and hemmed in, but she’s light and hot, and it’s Dakota, for fuck’s sake.

Not a threat. I’m the one in control here.
Get that, brain?

“Zane.” Her breathless whisper snaps me out of my inner battle. “Need you.” She pushes at her skirt, her panties, and I stop her.

“Leave them on. That’s damn hot.”

Can’t keep my eyes off her as I fumble in the drawer of the bedside table for the condoms. Like an exotic dancer, with her wild dark hair and wide eyes, her pretty tits and that skirt fanning her shapely legs.

Smoking hot.

I lift the foil to my teeth, to tear it open, but she takes it from my hands. I frown and reach for it—gotta have control over this, gotta be in charge—but the sight of her small, white teeth biting into the foil makes my cock jump, and I stare as she rips it open, pulls the condom out and winks at me.

This chick’s gonna be the death of me.

She reaches for my fly, and I unzip for her, pushing my pants down and freeing my dick. I gasp as it juts out, slapping my stomach, smearing precum on my skin.

Her eyes darken more, and she licks her lips as she places the condom on the tip and rolls it down. I shudder as it enfolds my piercings, jostling them, teasing me with a tiny bit of pain.

Christ, I’m so damn close.

As she starts lowering herself, I push her soaked panties to the side, exposing her. I jerk my hips up, and to hell with control. I sink into her tight heat with a heartfelt groan.

Goddammit. Fuck. Hot damn.
My hands are back on her hips, and I’m gripping her so hard I must be leaving bruises, but I can’t help myself.
Whoa.

If I’m in hell, then this is a glimpse of fucking heaven, and I let myself fly.

Dakota

All air leaves my lungs as he sinks inside me, stretching me to the point of pain. And I want more. I want him inside me all the way.

His strong hands hold me up easily, lowering me slowly, ever so slowly on top of his cock. Delicious friction makes me pant. His piercings, I realize, the small metal balls stroking me deep inside.

He pushes in deeper, and the pressure in my core ratchets up so fast I cry out. It’s like a wildfire is spilling in my veins, setting me on fire. Another push, and I’m hovering on the razor-sharp edge of pain-pleasure. Too big. Too much. He’s too much.

Then he rolls his hips, sliding out a little, sliding back inside, and suddenly it’s perfect. He’s just what I need. Pleasure wins out, and I whimper as it blazes through me in a hot wave.

He bends his head, licking my nipple, then the other. He sucks on it, and small explosions start inside me. I can’t think.

After a moment, he draws back. His eyes are thin slits as he watches me, a focused expression on his face. Ropey muscles shift in his arms as he lifts and lowers me again, his breath coming out in a hiss. A vein thrums in his jaw. I put my hands on his chest, a safe place, then decide to lift his T-shirt and touch his bare skin.

Heat shoots through me at the sight of his hard chest, the defined six pack and, oh God, his small pierced nipples. I tug on one, and he groans, his head falling back, his cock flexing inside me.

I gasp and steady myself with my other hand on his chest, because I feel as if the world is tilting. God, pleasure spreads through me, spears me like a blade, and I can’t remember anything like it ever before. Can’t remember moaning like that, moving as if I can’t stop if my life depended on it, chasing my orgasm—and I can feel it starting deep inside me, so deep I know I’ll scream when it hits.

Oh shit.

He’s lifting and lowering me faster now, but he falters when I tweak his piercing again. He’s panting harshly, and I move my hand to the other small nipple. I hit the ball at the end of the bar, making it vibrate, and Zane chokes on a cry, his cock swelling and jerking inside me.

I do scream then, as I come, and the world goes white.

Zane grunts and slams me down harder, triggering more pleasure, and then he tenses, his hips lifting me up. He curses, teeth gritted, and lets out a loud groan as he rocks into me. I can feel him come, his cock pulsing inside me, and I clench again.

Wow.
Can someone die of pleasure?

Zane rocks his hips a few more times, his face scrunched up, and then sprawls back onto the pillows, gulping air into his lungs. My hand is still on his chest, and I flick his piercing once more, just to hear him moan.

It’s strangled, and his cock twitches inside me. I gasp.

“Damn, girl.” Zane mutters and slaps my hand away from his nipple. A crooked grin lifts one side of his mouth, though, and his face looks more peaceful than it has in a while. “You trying to kill me?”

“I could ask you the same,” I breathe.

He slides his hands up my ribcage, then around my back and pulls me to him. “Stay,” he whispers, and I begin to nod, because it’s turning into yet another ritual between us, when he clarifies. “Stay here, until you find a place.”

My heart hammers in my chest. I want to ask him if he’s sure, if he’s thought this through, but instead I snap my mouth shut. Am I crazy? This is what I want.

He holds me close, and I lie on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, my hands resting on his shoulders, and I smile. I feel content. I feel happy. So happy I can’t even remember what scared me so much earlier tonight.

***

I’m in Zane’s bed. He’s propped up on his elbow, his hand stroking my back, and I can feel his body heat, so close. Close, but not quite touching. It lulls me to sleep, and I drift off, feeling safe and strangely at ease.

Next time I open my eyes, the sky is lightening outside the window, and I’m alone in bed. I roll onto my back, checking, just in case I missed a six-foot-tall guy lying next to me.

Nope. Zane isn’t here. I wonder if he even slept in the bed with me…

Good God, I’m in his bed!

The thought hits me like a snowball out of hell, and I sit up, suddenly wide awake. Frigging hell, I’ve slept in Zane’s bed, at his side—after some of the hottest sex of my life. Zane Madden, who doesn’t kiss and doesn’t bring chicks home, has done plenty of both with me.

And he asked me to stay.

This last thought is sweet and makes me close my eyes and smile. There’s a warm feeling in my chest, in my mind, when I think about him. Bad boy, melt-your-panties hot Zane wants me to stay. The combination of scorching sex, bad attitude and his softer, troubled side are driving me to my knees.

I’m still naked. My clothes are strewn on the floor, my skirt and blouse where I dropped them last night before crawling into bed. I grab my clothes and pull them on, but when I look for my underwear, I don’t see it anywhere.

Frowning, I glance around one more time. Nope, can’t see my panties or my bra.

However, I’m in Zane’s bedroom, and I just have to snoop around a little. I walk to the shelves by the window and trail my fingers over the few books stacked there. They are big, coffee table books. Tattoo Design, Drawing, Art over the Centuries, The Art of Dreaming.

Dreaming?
I pull it out carefully. It’s a small book, a paperback, unlike the others. ‘What Dreams Mean’ the front cover declares, and I thumb through the pages. Symbolism of dreams. Recurrent dreams. Nightmares and the subconscious. Dreams and memories.

This chapter has a bookmark clip. ‘Is it just a dream or a real memory?’ the chapter starts, and I frown.

I remember hands on me, he said. Does he dream about them, too, I wonder?

Suddenly ashamed for going through his stuff, I put the book back. I’m about to turn around and go look for Zane, when a couple of photos taped to the wall catch my attention.

They’re actually print-outs on glossy paper, the image kind of grainy. One of them is a group photo taken at a party. It takes me a moment to recognize Zane in it. Younger, his hair falling in his eyes, a bright green, an arm around a boy scowling at the camera. I think I recognize those pale wolf’s eyes: Asher. Best friends forever, huh?

The blond girl next to him has to be Tessa, and she’s not looking at the camera at all. She’s staring at a broad-shouldered boy with a drink in his hand and a grin on his handsome face. Dylan. He’s leaning on the shoulder of a blond, slender boy, who must be Rafe.

Tyler is missing and so is Audrey. I wonder why.