by M. A. Grant
Her orgasm wrung every drop from him and left him gasping, then wincing, even as his fingers dug into her hips and urged her on. And as the spasms continued to wrack her, he began to laugh, a desperate, overwhelmed sound of joy.
When she finally slumped to his chest, he wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly. “I don’t know how the hell this happened,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to her temple, “but I don’t want to lose you.”
Vivian yawned and snuggled against his broad chest. “So don’t.”
“You aren’t scared of me? Of what I’ve done?”
“The only thing you’ve ever done is make sure I’m safe.” She yawned again, fighting to stay awake long enough to help him understand. “And now that I know you a little better, you know what?”
He tensed under her. “What?”
“I still want you. Okay?”
His soft huff made her hair shift, tickling her cheek. “Okay.”
Chapter 9
A sweet, low ache lifted Vivian from her dreams, drowsiness vanishing at the familiar sensation of Zeke’s lips on her neck and his fingers between her legs. She smiled and spread her legs wider. “Good morning.”
“I’d like to make it one,” he said, sliding the pad of his thumb slowly over her clit.
She shuddered and stretched, breasts jutting higher from the movement. He expertly captured a nipple and flicked his tongue over the point, teeth biting in just hard enough to prevent her from escaping.
“Zeke, I need to get to work.” She reached out for him without thought. Zeke hissed and froze when her hand brushed against his shoulder blade.
The skin beneath her fingers was ridged, a map of crisscrossed wounds intersected by patches of unmarred flesh. A muscle twitched under her hand from how tensely he held himself. She lifted her hand from his back, guilt slicing through her as his captors’ knives had sliced his skin.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Don’t.” She waited in silence as he took a deep breath, then another. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Does it still hurt?”
“No. I just...” Abruptly, he rolled over, covering his eyes with a forearm.
She pushed herself up on an elbow, concern growing the longer he didn’t speak to her. Strangely nervous, she brushed her fingers over his arm. He jerked from the movement, but didn’t uncover his eyes.
“Tell me,” she urged.
“After everything that happened—Syria, my mother—I hate to see those scars.”
“I can understand that.”
“And I don’t let anyone touch them.”
Vivian blinked. “Ever?”
Zeke’s lips curved in a rueful smile. “No.”
She threw a quick glance toward the kitchen area. She still had almost an hour before she had to leave for work. She refused to let this ruin their morning.
Zeke made a grunt of displeasure when she poked him in the ribs. “Roll over.”
“Darlin’, not now–”
“Now.”
He grumbled, but obeyed. Once again, he held himself stiffly, as if he were afraid for her to see the damage. And that’s what it was. There could be no denying that the wounds that had been inflicted on him were designed to inflict pain and little else. Certain intersections were more scarred than others, clearly places where he’d been cut more frequently.
“I’m going to touch your back,” she warned, drawing back the sheets so she could clamber on top of him.
“Damn, you’re warm,” he muttered when her core pressed against the top of his hips.
She ignored him and leaned forward, resting her hands lightly on his lower back, mere inches from her legs. She had to steady herself when he jerked and shushed him softly, waiting for him to relax a bit more before pushing her thumbs up along his spine.
He sucked in a breath as her hands moved higher. She pushed against the tension coiled under his uneven skin, letting her hands fan out towards his shoulders when she reached the top of his back. The breath he’d been holding whooshed out and she repeated the movement.
She lost track of how many slow, steady movements she made. She didn’t stop until Zeke made a strangled noise into the pillow. Hands still pressing into his back, she stopped and asked, “Zeke?”
“Oh, God, don’t stop. It feels so fecking good–”
So she continued, thrilled as the knots left his muscles, as he stopped tensing every time she touched him. He was practically limp underneath her when he suddenly shifted, nearly spilling her off his back as he levered himself up on a forearm. He reached underneath his body and did something before settling back down.
Now Vivian couldn’t hide her triumphant smile. “Did I give you a hard-on from a back massage?”
“Maybe.”
She opened her mouth to tease him again, but he twisted under her, cradling her as she toppled onto her back and settling himself between her legs. An easy rock of his hips and his cock slid inside her.
“I wasn’t done,” she protested.
“You gave me a massage and it’s only fair you get one in return,” he said, wicked grin sending heat blooming across her skin. He leaned closer, capturing her lips with a devastating kiss, before whispering, “Although mine is a bit more...intimate.”
“I guess I’ll have to suffer through it.” Her flippant remark devolved into a moan when he pressed deeper.
“Well, I guess if you’re so unhappy about it, I could stop now–”
She dug her nails into the firm flesh of his ass, holding him in place. “Don’t you dare.”
He chuckled. She liked this Zeke. He wasn’t any softer, but there was a lightness to him that called to a part of her that had given up on the hope that she wouldn’t fall for him. It was far, far too late for that.
“You seem happy,” she said quietly, running a hand down his cheek.
He closed his eyes, pressing his face against her palm, and kissed her skin. “Happy...” His eyes opened and his blue stare left her split open, raw and vulnerable to him. “With you, I am. Just with you, love.”
***
Zeke was still smiling to himself as he pulled up to The Club. Only he could make a pronouncement like that, in the most unromantic fashion possible. And only Viv could accept his admission of love without batting an eyelash. She’d given him a beautiful smile and he knew she understood.
He still took full advantage of the moment to show her how much he meant the word. He’d almost made her late for work in the process. He dropped her off, checking for non-existent letters, and waited for her to lock herself safely inside the bakery before heading over to his work.
It felt odd to enter the establishment through its front entrance. The patrons were all gone and for the first time since his hiring, Zeke could stop to appreciate the beauty of the building. The rich colors, polished wood, and modern amenities ensured The Club would hold its place among Karim’s elite. And if Zeke had anything to say about it, he’d never witness that future success.
Preston was waiting for him in the security room. “Got a spring in your step, Irish. Either you bought yourself a new piece or you found yourself a woman.”
“That obvious, sir?”
Preston chuckled and laced his fingers behind his head, relaxing into his comfortable computer chair. “How’s the head?”
Zeke shrugged. “Healing. It’ll be red for a while longer though.”
“Need extra time before you come back on shift?”
Zeke rarely felt nervous. It was a wasteful emotion, one connected to guilt. Too bad he could feel it now. “That’s why I needed to come talk to you, sir.”
“Should I assume this is your two weeks’ notice?”
“It’s a bit more...complicated than that.”
Preston’s keen examination was all curiosity, no frustration. “Interesting.”
He rose and moved toward another desk. Coffee mugs and empty energy drink cans littered the surface, along with piles of bind
ers and loose papers with complicated instructions and notes written all over. The desk’s chair was equally covered in assorted crap, which Preston deftly moved onto the desk. A few swipes with his hand to remove the last vestiges of crumbs and he pushed the chair toward Zeke. “Take a seat.”
“Thank you, sir.” Zeke followed the command and sat. It felt unnatural, reporting to his superior without standing.
“So, gun or girl?”
“Woman.”
Preston grinned. “Even better. How’d she coax you to resign?”
“Actually, I intended to resign before I met her.”
“You’ve been thinking that for over a year, Irish. Why’s it so important to do it now?”
Shit, where did he start? “She’s in trouble.”
The chair creaked when Preston leaned closer, resting his elbows on his knees, face unusually serious. “How?”
“Her name’s Vivian Bennett. She owns Divine Twins Bakery.”
“Great place. Love the food. How serious are we talking?” Preston asked, undeterred from his original question.
“Stalker’s been hunting her for a few months. He’s devolving and starting to take risks. Leaving letters. Slashing her tires. He stopped by her apartment the other night and left a present. The police already know about it all and are working with her, but–”
“Their hands are tied until it gets really shitty,” Preston finished. “Damn, Irish.”
“I don’t know how much Mr. Mak told you about me, but I can keep her safe,” Zeke said, looking down at his boots and feeling that familiar numbing cold taking root inside. “I need to keep her safe.”
“He told me you had some extreme training,” Preston said slowly. “And I’ve seen you under pressure. I’m glad she’s got you around. You think it’s going to require some of that training you got?”
“I hope not.” He meant it wholly.
“You were a soldier?”
“POW in Syria.”
“Your scars...”
“Yessir.” He ignored Preston’s grimace and muttered apology. “I’m good at what I do, sir.”
“But–?”
The truth slipped out before he could organize his thoughts. “But I’m tired. I’m tired of violence and keeping honest people safe from perverts who want to abuse this place and I’m fucking exhausted every night I go home from work. If I can’t feel the weight of my guns, I freak out. I’m stateside and don’t feel safe unless they’re right there, ready to draw at any moment.” He took a deep breath and looked up, meeting his boss’s eyes full-on. “I need to protect Viv and I need to do right by Mr. Mak. But I can’t do both and I’m asking for your help.”
There. The world hadn’t fallen apart by admitting it. Preston sat back in his chair, lips pursed, silent. Zeke waited. He’d had ample opportunity to learn the value of patience. Eventually, Preston turned from him and punched a button on the desk phone. He had turned it to speaker when the other line was picked up.
“Mak.”
“Sir, it’s Preston Stevens. Zeke Harding’s sitting here in my office and I think you need to hear what he told me.”
“Go on.” The clipped words didn’t mean Mr. Mak was irritated by the interruption, just that he was busy. Well, hopefully that’s what it meant.
Zeke repeated his story to the phone. Once it was over, he waited, nervously tapping his fingers against his leg. He was about to apologize for wasting his boss’s time when Mr. Mak spoke.
“I appreciate your work, Harding. You’re good at your job.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“I know you feel like you owe me, but I’d say years of dedicated service have already done that. Stevens, do we need to hire a replacement?”
“We have several employees who have asked for more hours, sir. I think we’ll manage until we find someone to take Harding’s spot.”
“Good. I accept your resignation, Harding. I appreciate you discussing the particulars with me. I hope everything works out. And please know that if you need anything, you only need to call.”
The tension he didn’t know he’d been holding disappeared with those brusque, but kind, words. “Thank you, Mr. Mak.”
Preston hung up. “All good, Irish?”
“It’s a relief. Thank you, sir.”
Preston made a face, but stood and shook Zeke’s hand. “Seriously, doesn’t all that formality ever get stuck in your craw?”
“Old habit, sir.” Zeke grinned and gave Preston’s hand an extra shake. “Guess I should clean out my locker.”
In another unusual move, Preston followed him back to the Suits’ building. It didn’t take long for Zeke to clean out his items; he rarely kept more than a spare suit in there anyway. Task finished, he fished his ID badge from his pocket and handed it over. “Anything else?”
“Nope.” Preston tapped the badge absently against his palm. “What are you going to do now?”
“Buying a bookstore.”
“No shit?”
Zeke shook his head.
“Why?”
“When all the–” He gestured lamely toward his back. “–well, that, happened, I promised myself that if I made it out, I’d buy a bookstore.”
“Kind of an odd choice for a security specialist, isn’t it? Why not a gun store?”
“I love books.” His throat tightened a little and he fiddled with his suit’s hanger. “The guys who were trapped with me were treated even worse than I was. Every time we got dragged back to our cell, the only way I could get them to forget the pain was by telling them stories.” He cleared his throat awkwardly, wishing the ache would go away. “I recited every goddamn fairy tale I knew. Every poem my mother had made me memorize. I even tried to recite all the other books I’d ever read. Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Hardy. Fuck, even Jane Austen. It was an escape. You asked what I was saving my money for? My realtor’s found a few places she thinks I might like.”
“Are you looking around here?”
“Not too many places around here. But I need to talk to Viv first.”
Preston nodded understandingly. “I hope it works out, Irish. Call me if you end up buying a place. I’ll drop in and buy something.”
“Sure thing.” He shook hands with Preston one last time, realizing that this was it. This chapter of his life was ending. “Thanks for everything, sir.”
“Of course.”
He was almost to the door when Preston called out behind him, “Good working with you, Zeke.”
He rested his hand on the doorknob, but looked back. “You too, Preston.”
The first trails of sunlight were tingeing the sky when he got back to his car. His newfound freedom whispered from the quiet morning streets. He’d done it. He’d finally done it.
Divine Twins was busy when he arrived. He waited patiently in line while the people ahead of him ordered coffee, office snacks, breakfasts to go. Only a few remained to eat at the tables, most of them reading newspapers or talking with each other as only old familiar friends could.
The woman behind the counter gave him a bright smile when he stepped up to order. “How can I help you?”
“I’m here to see Viv,” he said. Seeing the woman’s confusion, he quickly added, “Can you tell her Zeke’s here?”
“Of course. Do you have a moment to wait while I help these other customers?”
“Sure.” He stepped to the side, letting the drone of the bakery buzz around him while he examined the offerings in the glass case. It wasn’t until a dark form stepped beside him that he realized John had been calling his name. He straightened, surprised to see his friend there at the early hour, and gave him a hug.
“Sorry, John. Didn’t hear you.”
“I figured that out when you didn’t look up.” His buddy glanced around the restaurant, which was finally starting to quiet down again. “What are you doing here?”
“Came to see Viv.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be at work or something?”
Zeke couldn
’t fight his grin any longer. “I quit my job.”
To his credit, John only sputtered a little. “What?”
“I quit my job. I’m going to buy that bookstore like I always told you.”
“Shit, Zeke. That’s...I mean, I’m happy for you, but...”
Zeke laughed and ran a hand over his head. “Yeah, you sound like it.”
“No, I really am.” John shifted from foot to foot, face serious. “Does that mean you’re leaving Karim?”
“I’m not sure.” Zeke peered toward the back where the woman from the counter had vanished a moment ago. “That’s why I need to talk with Viv.”
“You think she’d go somewhere with you?” John gestured around them. “This is her place, Zeke. She can’t just leave it.”
The frustration in John’s voice drew Zeke’s attention back to him. He eyed his friend, noting how stiffly John held himself, how his hands were clenched into fists. John’s protests were both unwelcome and unexpected.
“Why’re you having such a problem with this?” Zeke asked, keeping his voice.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Bullshit. If something’s bothering you, say it.” Zeke took a step closer, deliberately invading John’s space. It didn’t make sense for John to be so unsupportive; he was the one who had urged Zeke to buy the store, to follow on after the dream that had helped keep them sane during their captivity.
John mumbled something under his breath, but stepped back. Zeke opened his mouth to press the issue, but the excited call of his name distracted him.
Vivian stood in the doorway leading toward the back of the bakery. She didn’t have an apron on today, so her curves were on display in the rich blue shirt and snug jeans. Her hair was pulled back and up, exposing the graceful line of her neck. Her full, smiling lips were his greatest distraction though.
He crossed the room without thought, cupping her face with his hands, and gave in to his body’s demand of feeling those lips against his. Her mouth was soft against his and she kissed him like it they hadn’t seen each other for weeks instead of the few hours it had been in reality. When he finally pulled away, he could hear the amused whispers from patrons and the quiet oh of the worker at the counter.