by Ella Miles
I push my tongue into Siren’s mouth on autopilot, splitting her lips, allowing me entrance the way I’ve done thousands of times. Our tongues meet in a dance, gliding over each other as we do battle. All the normal things happen. Heat spills between us. Her hands roam over my body. Her nipples pebble. Her moans vibrate in her throat.
All the right things happen to me too. Fire shoots to my belly, my body hardens, and I put everything into the kiss. My erection grows against her belly.
But still…I can’t…
Siren senses it first. She stops the kiss, resting her thumb on my bottom lip as we both try to calm ourselves down. We both know this isn’t going anywhere.
“I don’t want to push you. I just want to help you. I want to know that you’re fighting for us, for yourself, and that you’re being honest with me and telling me what you need. Whatever you need is fine—therapy, time to heal, another doctor’s appointment, going slow, facing your demons, forgiving Palmer or killing her. I don’t know how to help you, Zeke. You have to let me in. Our child has the right to know his or her father, not just the piece of him that’s left.”
I rest my head against her forehead. “How did you get through it so quickly? How can you move on so easily? How are you not reliving every moment Julian was inside you?”
She licks her lips. “You. You were in my head. In some way, I’m afraid of what’s going to happen later. Maybe someday, it’s all going to hit me, and I won’t have done enough work. I won’t have healed. But you will. Your brain didn’t let you cop-out. You have to face what happened to you. Maybe mine won’t let me because it knows you need me first, and once you heal, it will be my turn. But for now, you are the one with a broken heart.”
“My heart isn’t broken,” I sigh, closing my eyes to keep the pain in.
“Tell me,” she whispers in the dark. When I don’t respond, she hands me some boxing gloves.
I put them on wordlessly, still resting my forehead against hers. I hear her reaching for a boxing mitt for me to hit, and she straps them onto her hands.
“Tell me. Let it all out. Give me everything. Lay it all on me. Let me carry some of your burden because I’m strong enough to handle it.”
I swing. I can’t even tell what I’m swinging at, but somehow, she makes sure I hit the pad she’s holding. It makes a soft squishing sound as the two plastics hit and the velcro holding my gloves on stretches.
“Again,” she whispers.
I swing again.
Hit.
It feels good. Not like hitting Enzo, this feels different. Cathartic, in a way. It’s easier to pretend like Siren’s face is Palmer’s. It’s easier to be vulnerable with Siren.
It’s easier to show her my heart is still bleeding from the wound Palmer caused, no matter how much my bruises have lightened and my scars have softened. I’ve never had to heal from a traumatic experience before. Every other time, I just healed. The torture never went deeper than the surface. Once the stitches came out, I was good to go.
But this time, it’s different.
Siren isn’t the only one with nightmares.
I don’t sleep—I see Palmer’s face.
My brain races around the clock, too afraid of where my thoughts will go if I ever stop and let my mind drift in the silence.
I thought I understood darkness. I thought I understood pain. The physical I can handle, but this—this is like flying in the night with no lights. I’m soaring above the tall buildings, weaving through them. I feel alive like never before. I’ve tapped emotions I didn’t know I could feel, but every second of it is a constant fear of crashing into the side of a skyscraper. And when I crash, that’s it—I won’t survive.
I thought watching Siren get hurt was going to be the worst pain I’d ever feel. I thought I was the protector who just hurt when I couldn’t protect others.
But I’ve never been violated like that. Never felt what it was like to have something taken from Siren and me at the same time. Never knew how being touched in such a twisted way can also wreck you down to your very soul.
Hit.
The impact rattles through my entire body, jostling free the toxins in my body, setting free the ghosts who haunt me.
I feel the ghosts raging. I swing, again and again, trying to get them out. It’s a never-ending battle, though, because every time I knock one out, another pops up. The more I swing, the more I hit, the more I let myself feel the physical, the more the internal takes control.
I think about Siren, and that drives me forward. I don’t see her anymore through my haze. I just swing and am confident she won’t let me hit her. She won’t let me hurt our baby. She’s right, it’s time. My body has healed. I just have to get the dark thoughts out of my mind.
I’m not good enough.
I’m not strong enough.
I should have stopped it.
My cock shouldn’t have gotten hard.
I should have fought harder.
I should have pushed her off me.
I shouldn’t have come.
I was bigger than her, but I didn’t use my strength.
I was smarter than her, but I didn’t use my wit.
I wasn’t enough.
I was weak.
I gave up.
I let her hurt me.
I gave up power to a woman who wasn’t Siren.
I let a woman I didn’t love, ruin me.
I let her touch me.
I let her…I let her…it was my fault.
Swing, swing, swing. I let all the horrible thoughts speak.
Every.
Single.
ONE.
The shame takes over, forcing me to sink lower, but there is no going back now. I’m consumed with it.
I should have stopped Palmer.
It didn’t matter that I had been tied up without food or water for days.
It didn’t matter that my blood had been pumped with drugs, and my brain was foggy.
It didn’t matter that three men had beaten me up, spilled my blood, made my muscles throb with the pain of a thousand dragons breathing fire onto my skin all at once.
It. Didn’t. Matter.
When I let her touch me, it was just her and me.
Palmer had removed the chains. I could have stopped her. I could have. I should have. But I wasn’t enough.
I wasn’t strong enough.
I didn’t love Siren enough.
Not enough to stop my body from betraying Siren. My cock got hard. Every thrust of her body over me felt good. When her pussy tightened over me, I exploded inside of her.
I felt her wetness. I felt her shudder over me. I let my cock be fucked by her. Palmer used me, and I didn’t stop her.
“I didn’t stop her.
“I didn’t stop her.
“I didn’t stop her!”
The last one is a ferocious scream, like a lion letting the whole savannah know that I’m king. Except I’m not a king. I’m letting the world know I’m weak, a coward, an adulterer.
I fall to my knees more broken than I’ve ever been. I hate myself. I can’t look at myself in the mirror. I’m not worthy of Siren.
“I’m not enough,” I whisper into the darkness, letting my embarrassing secret out. This is how I die—the pain and shame and guilt of letting that woman fuck me when the only woman I want to fuck is Siren.
I’m sure I’m crying.
I’m sure I look like a dying man about to take his last breath.
I’m sure I’ve never looked weaker. I’ve never looked more like a fool than I do now.
I’m sure Siren has never loved me less than she does now.
I feel the boxing gloves leaving my hands, but I don’t feel Siren.
“I am enough,” her voice sings to me, much in the same way her voice called to me the night she saved me from the water.
She sings it over and over, her voice carrying us, demanding all the attention, all the oxygen down to the tiny molecules. Her voice demands every being,
no matter how microscopic, pay attention to her.
The vibration of her voice is what hits me first, smack in the chest. Pounding, pounding, pounding into me. Just like the punches I took earlier, it hits me, letting loose more demons in my body. But unlike before, her voice sings louder than the ghosts’ voices.
Siren continues to sing, her voice alone destroying the evil inside me. The evil I allowed in.
“I am enough. I am powerful. I am worthy. I am a king. I am a protector. I am selfless. I am enough,” her voice changes tune and melody. It changes pitch going higher and higher, trying to pull me from the darkness of hell and into the light of heaven.
I think she’s crazy if she thinks this is going to work, but I’m too exhausted to speak, to move. I’ve fallen—this is as low as I can possibly go. I’ve sunk to the deepest parts of hell by betraying the woman I love.
I’m a bad guy.
I deserve it.
This was all just payback for all the men I’ve murdered, all the women I’ve failed to save. This is where I belong—suffering, forever.
Siren deserves better.
I shouldn’t have let her marry me.
“I am enough. More than enough. I am Zeke. But my name could have as easily been Zeus, the father of all the gods. The strongest, the protector, the one who looked over all the others.”
No.
She’s wrong.
Her lips are close now, but she doesn’t touch me. Not on the lips. Not on the hands. I don’t feel her anywhere but in my head.
“Open your heart. Let me in,” she whispers before continuing her song. “I am enough. I am love. I am loved. This wasn’t my fault. This isn’t punishment for my sins. Karma doesn’t exist. I’m human, and humans make mistakes. But to Siren, I am a god. I’m her anchor. Her reason for living. The thing tethering her to the goodness in men. I’m a good guy. When I should have punished her, I forgave her. When I should have broken her heart, I married her.”
Yes.
I’m her anchor.
I’m her good.
I’m her love.
I think for a minute my heart is going to heal; I’m going to mend. Instead, I feel the pressure building to excruciating painful levels.
“I am enough. I’m worthy. And I’m going to keep my promise to love Siren, forever,” she sings again.
That does it—my heart bursts. My world shatters. A dam inside me bursts, and I feel free.
I collapse—the weight gone. Tears are everywhere. I feel like I’m bleeding on that damn floor again with Palmer straddling me about to be taken advantage of.
That should scare me, but it doesn’t. When I look up at the gorgeous watering eyes staring over me, when I see the love in her eyes and know that she must have spent hours down here with me in the darkness, I know I am truly loved.
Siren isn’t going anywhere. I let her see all of my pain, my shame, my guilt. She understands it all and doesn’t care. And now, I know my path forward.
Siren’s face watches me carefully, afraid she just lost me again. I grab her hips, helping her to straddle me just like Palmer did in that basement. This dark workout room is mimicking that basement perfectly.
“Zeke, what do you need? Tell me how to help you, and I’ll do it,” the pain in her voice is still there.
I smirk, grabbing her hair and yanking her down until she can see through my eyes to my soul. “I need you to fuck me, ride me like only you can. I need you to fuck me hard, my beautiful Siren. I need you to remind my cock that you are its master, that I only come for you. I need you to punish me for daring to let another woman touch me.”
“Zeke, you have nothing to be sorry for. Nothing I need to punish you for.”
“I know.” And for the first time since it happened, I believe my own words. I’m angry about what happened to me, but it’s not my fault. I need loads of therapy and more time talking about it than I want to admit, but right now, I don’t feel my demons. They aren’t fluttering around in my heart anymore causing havoc. Siren fought them off.
“But I want you to punish me anyway. I want you rough and hard. I want you to demand my cock to kneel down to his queen and worship you. Fuck me, Siren. Milk me. Remind me of what a stupid ass I’ve been for not fucking you all these weeks.”
Siren bites her lip, and if the lights were on, I know I’d see her cheeks reddening, her eyes dilating. Instead, I settle for thrusting up and hearing the little gasp she makes when my hard cock hits between her legs. I hear her audible gasp.
I grin. That’s right, baby. I’m about to fuck you like I’ve never fucked you before. So hold on, and prepare for the ride of your life.
21
Siren
I want to jump up and down and scream for joy. I want to run around the yacht and wake everyone up, shouting the good news. I also want to collapse into a ball and sleep for days.
I’ve never been so exhausted, so drained.
I felt like I just did two Ironmans, a triathlon, and then swam the entire length of the Pacific Ocean.
I never realized the depths of Zeke’s pain. He made it seem like it was just his physical body that was hurting. He didn’t let me see what was going on inside—the turmoil breaking every cell in his body.
But tonight, I saw it.
I felt it with every punch he threw me.
I heard it with every word he spoke into the darkness.
I tried to take it all away with the sound of my voice. I don’t know why I sang. I didn’t know if it would work, but singing has always been one of my greatest strengths, my secret weapon.
It worked.
I can hear the change in Zeke’s voice. Feel the heaviness lift from the vibrations of his body. His aura is clean again. His heart is mine again. I don’t have to fight off Palmer.
Finally, I get what I’ve wanted for weeks.
What I prayed for.
What I thought might never come.
I get Zeke. All of him.
And damn, is it perfect timing, because I’ve never needed him more.
I rip my shirt from my body and then tug at his, needing to feel our skins mashed together. We are lying on a workout mat that Enzo and Zeke use to fight each other on. It’s covered in sweat, a far cry from the beautiful bed we could be fucking in just a floor above us, but our surroundings don’t matter.
I’m not letting anything stop me from having Zeke right now.
“Off,” I say, no longer able to form words after singing for three hours straight, singing to his soul and hoping it would listen to me. Hoping my voice would remind him what he already knows inside: he is enough. It isn’t his fault what happened. He couldn’t have stopped her from taking him any more than I could have stopped Julian from taking from me.
Zeke chuckles as I paw at his shirt in the dark. Our eyes both adjusted long ago, but it’s still pitch-black in this room, and my eyes are still human eyes—full of fault, lacking the ability to see much beyond the foot in front of me.
I find Zeke’s rough abs, still somehow dipping into deep valleys and high peaks rippling over his body even though his workout routine has reduced significantly since he was injured. His abs are now scarred, but his body refuses to become soft. It refuses to be anything but a brick of muscle, ready to defend me always.
I moan when Zeke’s hands push my bra up and find my swollen breasts. They grow larger and more sensitive every day, and Zeke has had plenty of practice finding all the new areas that turn me on now. He works my breasts, molding them, pressing every button before pinching my nipples.
I reach around my back and unhook my bra, needing everything off.
I stand up and shove my leggings and panties down. At this point, they barely fit around my growing stomach. I hear Zeke scrambling to removes his own pants.
I stand over him, listening to him breathe. I’m terrified standing here. I don’t know what the end result is going to be. Am I going to trigger him by trying to fuck him? Especially here, in the dark?
Did
I push him too far? Demand he heals before he is ready?
Even if he’s healed emotionally, what if his cock isn’t ready? What if he can’t perform? Is that going to make everything worse? Undo everything we just healed?
“Siren?” Zeke asks, his voice strong.
“Yes,” I try to match my voice to Zeke’s, but I know my voice faltered. I know he can hear my fear.
“Get your ass over here and ride me. I’ve never been harder for you. I’ve never wanted you more. If you weren’t already pregnant, I would fill you with so much of my seed you’d end up pregnant, whether it was the right time of the month for you or not.”
I chuckle at his words. They give me strength, just like my song gave him.
I don’t think anymore. I’m on the floor, my hips over his, my hands pressed against his chest. My hair is caging in Zeke’s head as I breathe over him before going in for a kiss. One final kiss getting us both more turned on and giving Zeke one last chance to back out before we venture into the unknown.
I feel like I’m about to take Zeke’s virginity, and I want him to be sure, so fucking sure. I don’t want to take anything from him. I want to give him his life back. His strength. His love.
Zeke kisses me, slipping his tongue expertly into my mouth just like he’s done a thousand times. There is nothing special about this kiss except what I know is about to follow.
And then, I feel pressure as his teeth roll my bottom lip back and forth between them. My wetness grows between my legs, spilling onto his Zeke’s deep V, just above his cock I want so badly.
He presses harder with his teeth and then suddenly releases.
“Fuck me,” he growls, gripping my hips and pushing me until I can feel his tip at my slit, but he doesn’t push me down. He waits for me to move the final inch.
“With pleasure,” I roar as I take all of him at once. His cock rips through my body, and I realize instantly I was wrong when I said I didn’t need Zeke’s cock before. I was wrong thinking I could live on Zeke’s fingers alone, his tongue.
I was so fucking wrong.
His hips rock and mine roll over his, meeting his thrust. It’s like the entire ocean is pounding down on top of me. This moment is so intense, in the most delicious, satisfying way.