by Jo Raven
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.”
Chapter Nine
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…
Hot damn.
My dick twitches, and I push down on it with my hand. My body is willing, but my head still isn’t in the right place. I rub my face as the images from the dream crowd in again. The hands. The smell of burning cigarettes and scorched flesh. The blinding pain.
Too fucked up.
Kissing her felt damn good, so why’s my brain turning on the bad shit? I don’t want to remember my past. I want to live now. Make out with Dakota. I want to give in and trust her, get over my shit and have a chance with her.
Christ, listen to yourself, Zane. You think kissing her means you’re now married or something? That she’s your girlfriend? Jesus, you go berserk and scare the crap out of her on a regular basis. She sure tried, keeping still, letting you fuck her, kiss her… Doesn’t mean she wants more of it.
Right? How am I supposed to know? Never been here before.
What was I thinking? Giving her my number. Kissing her. Telling her about the memories. Letting her get closer than anyone before.
I groan, digging the heels of my hands into my eyes. I set myself up for this trap. I never wanted a girl to come after me, and now I can’t stop chasing after her, hoping she wants to stick around despite everything.
Hope is a bitch. This is a train wreck waiting to happen, and I don’t think life insurance covers this sort of thing.
Nothing can.
I’ve just finished a tattoo, a Maori-style eagle with spread wings that reminds me of Dakota and the drawings I make on her skin, when my cell vibrates with a text message.
Pulling off my gloves, I set about cleaning my tools and tidying up my work space. It’s late, and I’m beat. No clue how I’ll last the rest of the week—and the idea of the weekend scares the living shit out of me.
My hands shake, and I stare at the ink stains on them.
How long until you break?
Only I can’t. Not allowed to. Can’t afford it. Emma can’t afford it. I can’t let her down, not now.
Christ.
My cell vibrates again, jumping on the counter, and I reach for it automatically. The text on the screen reads, ‘Going to a party. Join me? Dakota.’
Dakota. My lips pull into a grin. She didn’t call or text since yesterday, and I was afraid she wasn’t… Wasn’t interested.
Pathetic, Zane. Fucking pathetic.
I stare at the text. A party. The way my head is pounding, and my vision keeps going blurry, I should say fuck no. I haven’t slept a wink since the nightmare, and that was at three in the morning.
Need your beauty sleep, Zane?
I rub my eyes and let out a breath. She texted me. She will be there. I want to see her. It’s like an itch under my skin, a tug inside my chest. Who the hell cares about sleep now?
Before I know it, I’m locking up the shop, getting into my truck and texting to ask her for the address.
I’m insane, I know. So what.
She texts me right back and directs me north, to a fancy neighborhood with huge mansions, towering over cast iron garden gates. I wonder who lives here, and why we’re going to this party. Must be a friend of Dakota’s.
I wonder if the person throwing the party knows who will be there. Probably not.
The place is easy to find, the lights and noise giving it away. Not shocked to see the house is as huge as the rest of them on the street, I park my truck and climb out.
Wealth always surprises me. You’d think I’d be immune to it by now. After all, Rafe is quite rich and so are Tessa and other people I hang out with. But every time I step into a house like this one, I need some time to wrap my head around the amount of money some people have and the stupid ways in which they choose to spend it.
I mean, if they have no idea what to do with all their cash, can’t they just ask me? I’ve seen real poverty, and hey, it’s not hard to find. Just a few streets away, there are people sleeping on the sidewalk. Instead of spending thousands to build a patio surrounded by a pool with alligators made of stone poking their ugly snouts out of the water, why don’t you donate that money and relax?
Jesus H. Christ. I rub my hands over the shaved sides of my head and suck on the barbell in my tongue. Have to calm down. People earn their money and can do whatever the hell they want with it. I shouldn’t care.
It’s just that I’ve taken people off the streets and would give my right arm for that money so that I can set them up, pay for their medical care, their lessons, their rent and all they need.
Help Emma, although Matt says her insurance covers everything. Everything when they can do nothing for her. Maybe if I had this money, I could take her to better specialists who could cure her. Maybe…
Shit. Flashes of her thin face fill my thoughts, and I just want to sink down and howl, when I hear Dakota’s laughter.
Silver bells and crystals. Has to be her. I cut through the lawn, past groups of people drinking and talking. Somehow I know that when I find her, things will be okay. I’ll be okay.
I spot her in a small group. They seem to be having fun, and I slow down. Maybe I should have a drink first, leave her with the fun people.
Just as I’m about to turn and go, she glances my way, and her eyes light up. Transfixed, I watch her as she starts toward me, her dark hair framing the pale oval of her face. She’s dressed in black shorts and ripped black tights and a tight blue top that hugs her slender curves and shows off her perky tits.
And of course my dick goes from zero to hundred in two seconds flat. This girl acts on my body like an energy drink. On my mind, too, but I try hard not to think about that.
She walks toward me. “You made it,” she says and lifts her arms, as if asking for permission to hug me.
I step closer and let her hold me for a long moment before I return the hug. It’s crazy how good her touch makes me feel. My mind blanks, though in a good way, and I grin as I lock my arms around her waist and lift her into the air.
She squeals, and it makes me laugh, until I let her down and catch the flash of fear in her eyes.
“Dakota?” I lift my hands to her face and cup her cheeks. Her skin is cold. “Oh shit.”
“I’m okay.” She puts her hands over mine, keeping them there. “It’s just…” She swallows hard. “For a moment it felt like falling. I’m scared of falling.”
“I won’t let you fall.” I wipe my thumbs over her lips. “I swear.”
She nods, and her smile slowly returns, the one that makes my breath catch and the world shine brighter. But as I hold her, I think that I shouldn’t make promises I can’t keep. I’m the one falling. How the hell can I keep her from tumbling down?
Dakota’s friends come over, and she introduces them to me. Luke the lead guitarist, Quinn the second electric guitar and Riley, who’s the bassist. Turns out nobody really knows the guy who’s throwing the party. They got the invite through the friend of a friend.
Figures.
They quickly drift away to talk and flirt and drink, and I sort of expect Dakota to follow them, but she doesn’t. She takes my hand, tang
les her fingers with mine and smiles. A calm settles over me. She’s got, like, a magical touch. Makes me peaceful and hard at the same time.
Fucking weird.
“You know, I may leave town for a while,” she whispers.
A sort of weird seizure goes through my chest, constricting my lungs. “Where will you go?”
“Home. Tessa can’t host me forever, and I still haven’t found a place. I mean, you said it yourself: I get along fine with my parents. I can stay there until I find a roommate.”
I say nothing, my heart thumping too fast. I look down at our joined hands.
She tugs on me, and I walk with her. As if by silent agreement, we move away from the pool, toward the back of the garden. I tug back and pull her to me, so I can slip my arms around her tiny waist. Her large blue eyes twinkle. Her hands land on my chest, and I dip my head to kiss her lips. Nightmares be damned. This feels so good.
She kisses me back, her lips soft, her taste sweet, her body pliant and warm pressed along mine. Our tongues meet and clash in a furious dance that sends electric bursts straight to my balls.
Holy fuck.
Voices drift toward us, and she pulls back a little. A group is wandering toward us, and regretfully, I let her go.
“You know,” she says, “I’m a good cook.”
I lift a brow at that, because I must have missed something. I reach down to adjust my suddenly too tight jeans. “Good for you.”
She laughs, and the sound makes me want to fall on the cool grass and smile up at the starry sky. “What I mean is, if I were your roommate, I’d cook nice things for you.”
The words throw me smack back into reality. Tension returns, making my back cramp. I pat my pockets for my cigarettes. “I bet you would.”
“My mom always says the way to a man’s heart goes through his stomach.”
I frown. “So you want my heart?”
She shrugs and shoves her hands into the pockets of her shorts. Even in the dim light of a lamppost, I can see a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “Just a room would do for now.”
Yeah, of course what she needs is a room. But I can’t let her move in with me, even if the idea of her moving out of town makes me want to do something real stupid and ask her to stay. I can’t. She can’t.