by Anne Malcom
“Bye, kid,” he muttered.
He struggled to turn his gaze to Mia, who was dangling half out of the truck, an uncertain look on her beautiful face.
Fuck. She was so fuckin’ beautiful he could hardly think straight. Not only that, she was funny. With her daughter, they had an easy relationship, happy. She was a good mom.
“Seriously, thanks,” she said in a small voice. “For paying, and for actually coming. Lexie’s very particular about who comes to the movies with us, so you should feel blessed for a second invitation. They are as prestigious as invites to royal weddings,” she joked.
Bull wanted to laugh, to smile. He was focusing on not doing that. Had to. He couldn’t let his guard down around her. Not for a moment. That’s why he was silent.
Her grin turned shaky. “Anyway,” she continued, eyes darting around the cab, looking anywhere but him. “See you round,” she finished quickly, and gave him the quickest glimpse of her eyes before she was gone.
Bull actually breathed a sigh of relief when her presence left. He needed to get this shit sorted. He couldn’t have a female fucking with him. Not again. He knew how that shit ended. He couldn’t think of her either. Not without going full dark side. So he had to make sure Mia and Lexie Spencer never entered his life again. How the fuck he was going to make sure of that when he lived across the street from them he had no clue.
“I’m pretty sure I’m going to explode,” Lexie declared, plonking herself down on our sofa.
I sank into the armchair across from her, sprawling my arms and legs out. “Me too,” I agreed. Although I was referring to my libido, which had undergone a serious freaking challenge in the past two hours. Plus, I was grossly full considering I shoveled food into my mouth at twice my normal rate in order to distract myself.
“That was fun, though, I’m glad Zane came. He’s a cool guy,” she said simply, laying her head back.
I gave her a look. “Yeah, he’s real cool. And a chatterbox. God, he hardly shut up the entire time,” I said sarcastically.
She lifted her head. “Okay, so he isn’t the most articulate man on the planet. I find it refreshing. I like him,” she informed me.
“Yes, well, you also seemed to like someone a lot more articulate earlier today.” I decided to change the subject, not only to get my mind off the seriously sexy Zane, but to get the deets on the little troublemaker from the garage.
“What are you talking about?” Lexie asked.
“The kid from today, who was channeling Danny Zuko?” I said casually. I didn’t want to make it a big deal, nor give her an inkling I really didn’t approve of her canoodling with such a character. No matter how well-behaved my teenager was, a parent’s disapproval was the biggest motivator in any situation.
Lexie eyed me. “Oh, that’s Killian. We were talking about Tolstoy. He’s one of those crazy people that actually reads,” she said sarcastically.
I ignored the not so subtle stab at my intelligence. “Killian?” I repeated. Oh God, not only did he have a bad ass name and the bad ass physique to go with it, he also liked books? Shit.
She nodded, idly flipping channels on the TV. “Yeah, unusual name. I asked him about it, his family’s Irish,” she said distractedly.
Irish? This situation had escalated from and oh shit to an oh fuck moment. It seemed both of the Spencer girls were tied up with men who were not healthy for us. At least Lexie looked like she had a chance with hers. Mine was likely going to make a voodoo doll out of my likeness.
“Mom, I don’t get what the big deal is. Go over there, drop off the cake, say thank you and leave,” Lexie called to me while I was leaning against the door of her room.
“Why can’t you do it?” I whined, “You’re the one who baked the cake in question, I feel like it’s appropriate that you deliver it.”
Lexie emerged from her room, slinging a fringed bag over her shoulder. “Because I am meeting some classmates for my English project,” she explained, stuffing a dangerously boring looking textbook into the already overflowing bag. “And,” she added, looking up at me, “because you are the adult in this situation, so I think it is only appropriate you deliver the cake and the thank you.”
I scowled at her and followed as she walked towards the door. “You don’t need to do an English project. You speak the language well enough,” I said to her back. She didn’t reply, nor did she stop walking toward the door. “Since I’m the adult I think I should come with you—you know, to chaperone and help with the project,” I told her desperately.
She stopped walking and gave me a look. “You’ll help with a project about Shakespeare and his most influential works?”
I nodded.
“What do you know about Shakespeare?” she asked me with a sly grin.
“I know the dude hated happy endings and that Leo was a great choice for Romeo,” I replied confidently.
Lexie rolled her eyes. “I’ll see you later, Mom. Deliver the cake,” she ordered before she disappeared out the door.
Shit.
It was Wednesday afternoon, and uncharacteristically I was home early. Way early. I still had work to do, but I could do it from the comfort of my couch while wearing sweats and stuffing my face with candy. I had initially been happy about this turn of events. Until I came home to find Lexie icing a cake that she declared was for Zane as a “thank you.” I had been further dismayed when Lexie had announced I would have to deliver the cake, since she had to meet her stupid friends about a stupid Shakespeare project.
I stared at the offending cake. It looked innocent. Delicious, actually. All chocolaty and decadent. I think Lexie might have actually used real sugar. I debated eating the entire thing then telling Lexie I had delivered it. I quickly squashed that idea. Not because I doubted my ability to polish off an entire cake, but because Lexie would probably run into Zane at some point, ask him about the cake, and I would be discovered.
The only option was to deliver the thing. I just hoped my mental shield was strong enough to withstand the death glare I was most likely to get.
It was safe to say my hands were shaking as I walked up the cobbled path that led to Zane’s front door. This did not bode well for the cake I was carrying in those shaking hands. Although, if I dropped the cake then I would have a sufficient excuse as to why it wasn’t delivered. But then I would still face the explanation as to why there was a smooshed chocolate cake on Zane’s front walk. To be fair, even a smooshed chocolate cake would add some personality to the blank and boring exterior of the house. The lawns were mowed, the paint fresh and not chipped. But there was not an inch of personality in this place. I got that a biker wouldn’t be crap hot on landscaping, but even a muffler lawn sculpture would jazz the place up a bit.
I knocked quietly on his door, hoping, no, praying he wouldn’t be home so I could leave this on his front step and run. My chances were actually pretty good on that score, considering we hadn’t seen hide nor hair of the handsome biker since Sunday. I deflated a little on that thought. My mind was already mentally back at home, thinking of how much work I could get away with doing before commencing a Criminal Minds marathon.
I was preparing myself to place the cake on the ground when the door opened suddenly. I jumped a little, jostling the cake as I locked in on dark brown eyes. He stiffened in surprise as he registered who I was. His eyes seemed to turn black with fury.
Zane wasn’t wearing his cut for once. Actually, he wasn’t wearing a shirt at all. His huge expanse of chest seemed to take up the entire doorway and my eyes feasted on it. He was buff. Beyond buff. I didn’t think a word had been created yet for the amount of muscles on him. That wasn’t what transfixed me though—okay, it was for a second. It was the fact that every inch of his chest seemed to be covered in ink. Not black and dark, but vibrant, colorful artwork. I yearned to inspect every square inch, but I realized standing and drooling at someone’s chest after knocking on their front door was hardly good manners. Looking back up at his black eyes, I r
ealized how long I had gone without speaking. His expression was hard with fury and he seemed to be holding himself back from saying something.
“Um, hi,” I greeted nervously, my eyes darting around. “I just came over to deliver this,” I lifted the plate in my hands but his eyes didn’t move to it; his glare was locked on mine. I foraged on. “Lexie made it. As a thank you for the tire, and the movies.” I spoke quickly. The sooner this was done the sooner I could run away and drown my sorrows in a bottle of Pinot and a box of Oreos. “It’s cake,” I explained quickly, filling the loaded silence. “I made Lexie swear it doesn’t contain beetroot, coconut flour or any other weird substance she consumes on a regular basis,” I joked.
Zane’s face stayed hard. I gulped.
“Although she did make a beetroot chocolate cake once, and it wasn’t half bad. But the whole point of eating chocolate cake is to indulge, so putting beetroot in it kind of defeats the purpose—beetroot is hardly decadent. It’s healthy. You don’t eat cake to be healthy, you eat it to be naughty,” I babbled.
More silence. And the withering glare. If I wasn’t mistaken something changed in that glare; I swear if I didn’t know better, it was desire. But I did know better and this dude definitely hated me, so I had to blow this popsicle stand. He had given me enough eye candy to take back to my vibrator, sans the glare.
“Well, anyway, I don’t want to keep you from—” I glanced down at his chest again. Bad move. I snapped my head back up. “Whatever it is you’re doing. I am just here under Lexie’s orders to deliver the cake.”
I thrust the plate up at him, using it as a sort of glare shield, letting out a breath of relief that I had finished my clumsy and embarrassing explanation. Apparently the embarrassment portion of this exchange was yet to be concluded. Zane did not take the plate; his fists stayed clenched at his sides and his eyes burned into mine. We simmered in the heated silence, me still extending the cake.
“Um, I know you might not like me, for whatever reason but my kid seems to be mighty fond of you. Because of this, if I don’t deliver this cake I’ll face her wrath, which I’m sure you don’t give two shards about. But it will also hurt her feelings, and I’d do anything to avoid that happening, so I’m afraid I can’t leave this spot until you take the cake,” I declared, pointing with my finger at the ground on which I stood. “So unless you want me to take up residence on your doorstep....” I continued, only to be cut off by Zane snatching the cake out of my hands.
I relaxed. Finally.
“Thanks. Now I’ll leave you alone and never darken your door again,” I promised, not eager to repeat this experience again, no matter how nice the view was.
I was turning to leave when he snatched my wrist and yanked my body to his, dropping the cake to the ground. I barely noticed it clatter but not smash.
“What...?”
I didn’t get past the shocked shriek as I was plastered against his hard naked torso and his mouth latched to mine.
I let him in, thanks to shock more than anything else. Of all the things I expected Zane to do, kiss me was not one. Shoot me, maybe. Running me over with his car also featured on the list in my mind. Playing tonsil hockey appeared nowhere on this list.
So I was shocked at the rough, desperate plundering his tongue did as strong arms locked me in place. I wasn’t shocked at the sharp flame of arousal that flew through my stomach and dampened my panties at his touch.
I vaguely heard the door slam shut, but I was mostly focused on keeping upright, staying conscious as he ruthlessly fucked my mouth with his tongue. I kissed him back, matching his frenzied intensity. This wasn’t tender, wasn’t soft or coaxing. This was brutal, carnal. I didn’t have time to think about where this had come from, why a man who pretty much hated me had suddenly pounced. I could barely think at all. Him, his touch, his strong body against mine was what saturated my senses and consumed my mind.
He slammed me against a wall; I moaned into his mouth and circled my leg around his hip, yanking his body closer to mine. One of his hands groped my ass, kneading it, pressing my core against his hard length. The other cupped my breast roughly, tweaking my nipple through the material of my dress.
His mouth was suddenly gone from mine and he pulled my dress down roughly, the cup of my bra going with it. His mouth was on my bare skin, sucking my nipple, grazing it with his teeth.
I cried out, cupping his head with my hands. My clit pulsed and pressure built between my legs. If he kept this up I was going to come purely from his mouth on my nipple.
“Zane,” I moaned, needing him inside me.
Cool air tickled my breast as his mouth left it.
Furious black eyes met mine and his stare was animal need mixed with human fury. “Shut the fuck up,” he commanded roughly, almost cruelly.
The harsh, cold command did not dampen the white hot arousal coursing through every part of me; it only made me burn hotter, caused my panties to dampen even further.
His mouth latched onto mine with even more fury than before; his callused hands yanked up my dress, ripping at my panties. I barely registered him tearing at the flimsy lace. I was too busy frantically fumbling with his jeans, desperate to yank them off so I could get his hard length inside me. I felt like I was going insane with need. He growled in my mouth as I slipped my hand in, making contact with his pulsing cock. My hands lost their purchase as he pushed them out of the way so he could free himself fully.
Without warning he was there, inside me, filling me. I gasped at the intrusion, and at the lightning bolt of pleasure that came with his touch. Zane’s grip tightened on my ass as he lifted me and slammed me against the wall once more, my legs wrapping around his hips. Another hand moved to circle my neck tightly and his forehead crashed against mine, his mouth inches away.
I couldn’t tear my gaze away from his black eyes that were burning with hunger, need, danger. Our gazes stayed locked together as he began to pound into me. I cried out as he brutally fucked me against the wall, loving every second. My nails raked against his bare back, his hiss of pleasure as I broke the skin bringing me closer to the brink.
“Harder,” I rasped, feeling out of my mind, needing the rough friction of our coupling to be even more brutal.
His hand tightened on my neck, bordering on pain, but dancing gloriously on the line of pleasure. “No. fucking. talking,” he growled in between thrusts.
He ensured my silence by capturing my mouth once more, brutally matching his kiss to the frenzied thrusts slamming me against the wall, and building me up for what I knew would be the most intense orgasm of my life. I bit his lip roughly and dug my nails into his back once more. I felt like a woman possessed.
Suddenly my orgasm overwhelmed me and I failed to restrain my scream as I shattered into a thousand pieces while Zane kept pounding. Every brutal stroke seemed to take me further into oblivion.
My pussy clenched around him as I reached the peak of my climax. He grunted his own release and I felt him empty into me.
I struggled to regain my grasp on reality, breathing heavily. My legs were still locked around Zane’s hips, my hands clinging to his back. I was worried he was the only thing stopping me from melting into a sex-induced stupor.
His hand was still firm at my neck, the other biting into my ass in a way that I knew would leave a mark.
I opened my eyes slowly, regaining some sense of equilibrium. Zane was staring at me. No, not staring at me, but into me. His gaze seemed to sear my soul, as if he had fucked me bare, right down to the core of me. He could see everything. His expression was strange. Searching, somehow reverent.
In an instant, as if a switch had flicked, it turned blank. Everything wiped from those eyes and a cold fury returned. He pulled out of me quickly and set me on shaky legs. I felt him seep out of me.
Holy fuck. No condom.
I didn’t have time to evaluate all of the issues this presented, since a rough voice cut through my thoughts like a blade.
“Get out,”
he commanded.
I blinked, trying to right my disheveled clothes.
“What?” I asked weakly. We had just had sex, literally seconds ago. No, it wasn’t sex. It was fucking. Pure, unadulterated, raw and carnal fucking. But still. He had just been inside me, his cum was literally dripping down my leg. He couldn’t possibly be kicking me out. We needed to talk about this. Actually, we needed to have some sort of conversation. I didn’t think we’d actually done that since I’d met him. We needed to converse and he needed to emit more than two syllables so I didn’t feel like a dirty slut who just had sex with someone who she hadn’t even heard utter a full sentence.
He regarded my coldly. “You need to fuckin’ leave. Now,” he bit out, his voice hard and emotionless.
I flinched slightly at the cruel tone and the equally cruel stare. I felt humiliated. Used. Sullied. I didn’t have the strength to conjure up any fury, to yell or argue or call him a misogynistic asshole. I merely just stared at him a second longer and darted out the door. Then I ran, full on ran across the street and into my house. I really hoped my neighbors didn’t choose now to water their gardens and see the sight, but then again I was too beyond it to care. I just needed to get home.
I slammed the door behind me and sank down to the floor, my head hitting my knees. I didn’t cry. I hadn’t let a man have my tears in sixteen years; I wasn’t about to start now. I also hadn’t had a man hurt me in sixteen years, and I was afraid that I had just opened that door. This time it wasn’t with fists or kicks. It was with cold stares and cutting dismissals. It hurt just the same.
Bull paced his living room, his fists clenched tightly to his sides. He was struggling. Battling actually. This time it wasn’t against the demons that were hell bent on destroying him. No. This time it was against himself. Against her.
Every fiber of his being was urging him to get out of his fuckin’ hallway and follow her, drag her back in here, apologize, then fuck her again. Against the wall. Then he’d take her into his bedroom, taste her pussy, make her come on his mouth, then fuck her for a third time. His dick clenched at the thought of getting her honey on his tongue. Of sliding into her tight heat again. He put his fist through his wall. Out of anger, frustration. But mostly to distract him. The pain didn’t do much to move his mind away from her, though. Pain was normal. It was his constant companion. A welcome friend.