by Jo Raven
My jaw clenches. That uncertainty is my fault. “It’s okay,” I say. “Right now it’s okay.”
I tug on her hands, loop them around my neck and slip my arms around her waist, sighing in pleasure when her slight body presses along mine. Nothing so chaste and simple should have the right to feel so damn good.
Her mouth is so close, a sweet bow, that I lean in and lick it. “God, you taste good.” She tastes of strawberries, and I wonder if she was eating ice cream before I came in. “So good.” I press my lips to her, and she opens them, letting me in.
Our tongues twine together, and I groan, dragging her closer, until she’s pressed to my hard-on. God, kissing is awesome. I’ve been missing out all this time.
Then again, I also managed to keep the memories at bay, and now… Christ, don’t wanna think about sleeping tonight, if the previous nights are anything to go by. Fucking nightmares.
She pulls back, breathless, her lips red and puffy, and I swipe my tongue over them, unable to keep away.
Giggling, she puts a hand on my chest, pushing me off. “Slow down. I’m cooking. The food is going to burn.”
“Let it burn.” I attack her mouth again, and she gives in, kissing me back, scattering my thoughts, burying my memories. We kiss and kiss, and as she rubs against me, I know I have to stop, or I’ll come on the spot. “Fuck.”
She laughs again, and my lips twitch in response. “Let me turn off the heat. It’s ready, I think.”
She twists in my arms and takes off the lid of the pot, grabs a spoon and stirs. The heavenly smell hits me again, and my stomach growls like a rabid wolf.
Curiosity gets the better of me. I look over her shoulder at the brown mass inside the pot, and I trail my hands down her hips. “What is it?”
“Dakota special,” she says. “Aren’t you hungry?”
What, she didn’t hear my stomach growl? “Sure I am.”
“Then have a seat at the table.”
I nod, but I’m again distracted by the way her body moves under my palms, the smoothness of her skin and the fact my shirt is riding now high, baring her sexy ass to my eyes.
“Sit,” she says again, and I groan, letting her go and taking my seat. My hard-on swells, and I try to adjust it inside my pants. It’s hot that she gets all authoritative with me.
What the fuck, Zane, seriously? I lick my lips and try to figure this out as she brings the dishes to the table, filled with the brown mush that looks weird but smells delicious. She’s not taking control physically. She’s only telling me to sit, so she can serve me food.
Is it because she’s dressed in my T-shirt, naked underneath, that it’s so sexy that she orders me around? Or because this is a safe place—my kitchen, my pot, my spoon, my table?
Maybe it feels safe when she tells me what she wants—so I know I’m not hurting her? Could be. Who the hell knows how my fucked-up mind works?
“Eat before it gets cold,” she says, sitting across from me. The shirt has slipped off one shoulder. I can see her nipples, small tight buds, pressing through the fabric. Her lips close around the spoon.
I bite my lip as the pressure in my balls becomes unbearable. Jesus.
What if I grab her and fuck her right now? Right here, in my chair, with her on top, so that I can grip her ass, suck on her breasts and kiss her mouth?
She winks at me over her spoon, and I close my eyes, trying to get my body under control. Is this a game? Is she testing me, to see how much I can take? She’s playing along—no underwear, no physical pressure—and she seems curious, too, willing to try this.
I dig into my food, my thoughts spinning, and suddenly come down to earth as the taste explodes in my mouth.
“Whoa!” I look down at my plate, then up into Dakota’s bright eyes. “What’s this?”
“Curry. Recipe handed down to me by my Grandma Florida.”
“Your grandma’s name is Florida?” I swallow and shovel more curry into my mouth. It’s spicy, and my eyes water, but damn, it’s tasty.
“And Grandpa Washington.”
I laugh and put my spoon down. “Does your family cover the whole US territory?”
She shrugs and grins. “We try.”
“Really?”
“Well, let’s see. There’s my cousin, Iowa, and Aunt Georgia, then there’s my cousin Nevada… I even have an aunt named Dakota, like me, but she lives out of state.”
And she goes on, enumerating all those names, and I sit there, quietly laughing, and eating my curry, and it feels… perfect. Easy. Comfortable. Happy.
That should have set off the alarms in my head. It would have, not so long ago. Because when you start getting comfortable and happy, that’s when life decides to take a turn and bite you in the ass so hard you don’t know what hit you.
“You haven’t drawn on me recently,” Dakota says as she puts away the plates.
It takes me a moment to understand her words, my gaze following her bare pretty legs up to the hem of the T-shirt. I hope she lifts her arms, so it rides up, baring her ass. “Hm?”
“Ink. On me.” She turns her head and winks. “Tonight.”
Damn, she’s bossy again, and again it turns me on. Like I need more excitement. Dick the dick is desperately trying to drill a hole through my jeans.
“I’ll draw on you.” With my cock. All over you. Jesus.
“Come on.” She pads over to me and lifts my hand from the table. “Let’s go.”
Frowning, I let her pull me up and into the living room. “What? Where?”
“Here.” She grabs a pen from the table and sits on the sofa, pulling me down with her. She hands me the pen. “Go on.”
“Pushy, aren’t we?” I drawl, running my hand over her bare shoulder, and she shivers.
“I want…” Her voice catches when I pull the shirt completely off her shoulder and rub my mouth on her warm skin.
“What do you want?”
“A dragon.”
I try hard not to flinch. After all, it’s all part of our game. “No.” I think of the deathmoth tattoo on her back, the scar it hides, and I frown. “Why do you want a damn dragon?” Her family loves her, and she doesn’t have nightmares that I know of.
Or does she? Why did she freak out so badly when she was almost pushed into the pool? What is she hiding?
She shrugs, her delicate bones shifting under my lips. “Dragons aren’t for good luck. I know what they stand for in your book.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do.” Her shoulders tense. “Survivors get a dragon.”
I freeze and let the pen drop from my hand. “And what did you survive?”
Her shoulders slump, and she bends forward. I follow her movement, grabbing her around the waist.
“It doesn’t matter. It’s over. I’m alive, and I’m perfectly fine, and that’s all that counts.”
I suck in a shaky breath. “Good,” I say and close my eyes for a second.
Yeah, she’s fine. She doesn’t want to tell me what happened to her, but whatever it is, it’s over and done with. I don’t ask again what it was. Call me a coward. Call me chicken-shit. But I can’t handle more pain right now. She’s like sunshine, happy and bright, and she’s all that’s keeping me afloat.
I don’t ask. Instead, I sidetrack her by reaching up under the shirt and cupping her breasts. She trembles, her head falling on my shoulder, and she arches her back, pushing into my hands. My thumbs flick over her nipples, and I muffle my own groan on her neck. My teeth sink in her soft flesh, marking her again, marking her every hour of every day, then lick the spot to soothe it.
Mine.
I pull off the T-shirt, letting it fall to the floor, and trail my hands down, between her legs. Shaved and smooth, slick and beautiful. She moans loudly as I dip a finger inside her. She’s wet and hot and tight, and holy fuck, I can’t wait any longer.
Condom. I have to let go to hunt for the damn thing, and of course, before I know it, she’s twisted around and is crawl
ing on my lap.
“Dakota…” Oh shit.
She unzips my jeans as I tear the foil open and then helps me wiggle out of my clothes. Her hands travel up my chest, tickling my ribs, then flicking the studs in my nipples, almost making me shoot my load. I push her hand away and reach down for my aching cock, but she looks pleased with herself as she leans back, observing my movements.
I roll the condom carefully over the piercings, then grip the base and grit my teeth. I’m so fucking close.
She climbs on my thighs, hands on my chest, lowers herself on my hard-on, and I grip her hips and tug her down. Oh Christ, this is gonna blow my mind away. I’m loud when I’m having serious fun, and I can’t help shouting her name as she pulls me into her hot, tight pussy. God, feels so amazing. Wanna stay in her forever.
Then she starts moving, and it all goes up a notch—the pressure, the heat, the goddamn pleasure that’s wiping my mind clear. I slide my hands around, cupping her ass, taking control of her movement, her rhythm.
She looks down at me, her eyes dazed, and lifts one hand to my face, tracing my lips. The light sensation on my mouth mingles with the pressure in my gut, and the orgasm slams into me like a sledgehammer.
“Dakota,” I bite out her name, and I struggle to keep her still as my balls detonate, and my cock spasms with pleasure so intense it’s almost like pain.
But she keeps moving, moaning and rippling around me, and I come and come, falling back on the couch. “Fuuuck.”
She rocks on top of me, and her pussy contracts. I feel the moment she comes, calling out my name. I steady her, my hands on her waist, then grab her as she bends forward and curls on my chest. My hand feels right on her wild dark hair, the other on her back, tracing circles over her tattoo. Her weight feels perfect on my chest and thighs, her scent twining around me like ivy.
I should be terrified, but right now… Right now, I feel happy.
Burning pain. It spreads down my back, spreads inside me, so bad I want to puke. There’s no escape from this hell. There are fingers covering my mouth, digging between my lips, choking me. I try to twist and turn, end the pain, but I’m held in place, on my knees. Tears are running down my cheeks. I can’t escape. I can’t.
‘What are you scared of, boy?’
I think I see Emma’s face, her arms open for me, calling me to her. But I can’t move a single muscle.
Fucking useless.
‘My turn,’ a deep voice says, a voice that sends ice down my spine. ‘My turn now.’
My yell bounces off the walls as I come awake, gasping for breath. I’m lying in my bed, on my back. Alone. I’m alone, I’m conscious of that, but at the same time, I’m not sure. I can still hear the voices, feel the hands, feel the scorching pain, and my stomach finally decides it’s had enough and turns over.
I fall out of bed and stumble into the bathroom just in time. I hug the toilet and toss up my dinner and then some, heaving bitter bile that burns my throat.
Shit.
“Zane?” someone calls, and I wince as the voice mingles with the other voices in my head. I crawl back until my head thunks on the bathroom wall.
I can’t catch my damn breath. “Don’t.”
“Zane, it’s me. Dakota.”
I blink. She’s crouching in front of me, back in my borrowed T-shirt, her hair brushing her shoulders, falling in her large eyes.
Dakota.
Her hand lifts, then hovers between us without touching me. “Are you okay?”
I’m not fucking okay, but I nod anyway. I wince when she reaches over and closes the toilet lid, then flushes. The noise is like a hammer bouncing inside my head.
“Come here,” she whispers, and I look at her, uncomprehending, as she reaches for me.
Emma, opening her arms, calling my name. A faceless woman from child services. ‘What are you scared of?’
Fuck.
“Zane.” Dakota, it’s Dakota in front of me. In my bathroom. “Take my hand.”
I wrap my fingers around her smaller hand, and when she tugs on it, I steady myself on the toilet seat and make it to my feet. The room spins a little as she drags me out of the bathroom and back to my bedroom. The sheets are wet with my sweat. They smell of fear.
Dakota stares at the bed for a long moment, then pulls me out and into her bedroom. Pushes me onto the bed, then crawls next to me. I’m shivering now, and she pulls the covers over us, then curls by my side.
I lift my arm, so she can press her body to mine and rest her head on my shoulder. Fuck, I’m exhausted, but I feel calmer with her there. I feel warmer.
“Why aren’t you scared of me?” I mutter, my eyes closing. I don’t get it. Erin almost never saw me like this. I bet she’d have run away if she had.
“Why should I be? You never hurt me, not even when you flash back to bad things in your past. I think, deep inside, you know you can trust me.”
Do I? Maybe I do. “This happens a lot,” I warn her.
“You barfing in the toilet?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Nightmares?”
“Yeah.”
“Flashbacks?”
“Too.”
“Okay then,” she says, pushes up just enough to kiss my cheek and lies back down. “I can live with that, as long as you let me hold you afterward.”
It takes me a long, long time to fall asleep after that, her words playing over and over in my mind, and when I do, I’m still grinning like an idiot.
Chapter Twelve
Dakota
Zane is standing at the kitchen counter, dressed only in draw-string pants, making coffee. As for myself, I’m sitting at the kitchen table, getting an eyeful of his long, strong legs, his muscled ass, and his bare, inked back.
The sight never gets old.
I savor it, even as the images of last night replay before my eyes, and I shiver. Zane’s strangled shouts from the other bedroom. The sound of the bathroom door slamming open and him retching. The way he crawled away from me, as if he didn’t recognize me. As if he was seeing someone else.
He has to talk to someone about this, I think, as he turns and places two mugs of coffee on the table. What he revealed about his memories is horrifying. He should see a specialist, someone who can help him.
Because I don’t know how. Don’t know if I can. All I can do is hold him and tell him he’ll be okay. I have a feeling he doesn’t believe it, and it’s important he does.
Last night he told me he hasn’t mentioned this to anyone else. About the nightmares, or the memories of how his back was burned. Never had to explain all this to anyone before, because he never had a girlfriend before.
Am I his girlfriend? Is he my boyfriend?
“Sugar, no milk,” he says and pushes one mug toward me.
“How did you know?”
He shrugs. “Good memory. I remember stuff.” He swallows hard, and my heart breaks for him. He shouldn’t have to remember certain things at all. They shouldn’t have happened to him. He deserves to be happy.
“Thanks.” I sip at the hot liquid. It’s strong even with the milk, and I grimace. “What else do you know about me?”
He stands at the counter, mug halfway to his lips, considering my question. “You mean, apart from yellow being your favorite color, your fear of water and falling, your preference for strawberry popsicles and lollypops and the fact that you need to see my face when we’re together?”
I swallow hard. “Yeah. Apart from that.”
He shakes his head and gulps down some coffee. “Your family lives out of town. You study graphic design. You are good friends with Audrey. You like orange juice and fruit loops.” He hooks his thumb at the fridge. “Have you checked out the popsicles? I hope they’re the ones you like.”
A silly grin is spreading over my face. “You got me popsicles?” I want to check the fridge, but don’t dare move, not when he might open up to me a bit more.
He shrugs. “You said it was a condition for you coming here.”
He looks up and gives me a sexy grin. “You love it when I eat your pussy and fuck you with my fingers.”
I choke on my coffee and slam the mug down as I cough.
Zane winks at me. Ten points to the hot guy with the Mohawk. Damn.
I can’t deny it. I do love it. Heat seeps into my cheeks and spreads through my body. “Is all that in the folder you have on me?”
He doesn’t answer, but chuckles instead, a deep, throaty sound that makes my toes curl.
I drink more coffee, trying to gather my thoughts—not easy when he’s around. “You like your coffee black, no sugar. You like the color blue, and your favorite food is seafood spaghetti.” I asked Erin. So sue me. “You care for your friends as if they’re your brothers and sisters. You don’t like water and hate having your back touched during sex.” He shifts uneasily, and his lips press together in a line. “But you like watching me lick popsicles. You like having me half-dressed, without underwear. And you love being inside me.”
The corners of his mouth lift, and his eyes darken. “I do.”
Warmth spreads on my cheeks, and I bow over my mug. “I, um. You never told me why you hate water so much.” He says nothing, and I forge on. “That day, at the park, when the guys dropped you into the lake, and you…”
I lift my head to find him staring at me, his face pale. His eyes are flat and empty. Oh God, why am I asking this now, after the bad night he’s had?
“Go on. They dropped me, and I went batshit,” he grinds out. “That what you meant?”
Damn. I shift on my seat and turn the mug in my hands. Time passes. He’s still standing at the counter, gazing at me.
“I don’t hate water,” he says finally, and I nod, because God, I’ve gone too far, and I know it. But he sits down across from me, holding his mug, and says quietly, “I used to love it.”
Caught by surprise, I search for something to say. “What changed?”