Slow . . . slow . . .
Her hands dipped into his hair.
She arched against him, all soft skin, delicate curves.
Slow . . . slow . . .
Her teeth caught his lip.
Slow . . .
She wrapped one leg around his and then he grunted as she shifted so fast and shoved, tripping him so that he fell backward onto the bed. She tumbled forward to land on him and his eyes flew open, staring up at her.
She stared back, eyes glassy as she sat up, straddling him.
He curved his hands around her hips, felt the heat of her burning him through her panties and his trousers. So damn hot. So damn sweet.
“I keep telling myself I should go slow,” he said, sliding his fingers under the edge of her panties.
“Yeah?” She leaned forward.
His eyes crossed as she bit him and then pushed her tongue into his mouth.
“I don’t know if I want slow,” she whispered when she lifted up.
He stared at her. She was blushing, but her eyes were focused on his.
“You should have slow.” He stroked his thumb over the heat that teased him, taunted him.
“I’m too nervous for slow.”
He shifted then, spilling her onto her back and moving between her thighs. “You don’t have to be nervous. We can stop—”
She covered his mouth with her palm. “That’s not why I’m nervous. I just . . . I’m nervous. I’ll start thinking and that’s never good.”
He caught her wrist, bit her palm. “I won’t let you think, don’t worry.” Then he guided her to the bed and settled her on his hips. Catching the material of her panties in his hands, he drew it down, baring her to his gaze. Keelie tensed and he leaned in, kissed her hipbone. “Shhh. . . .”
Slowly, she relaxed, and he stripped the material away, tossing it off to the side as he sunk on his heels and sat back to stare. She went to close her thighs and he caught her knees. Pale, ash-brown curls covered her sex, glinting with the evidence of her need, and Zane felt his mouth watering. He gave in to his need, bent over her and pressed his mouth to her.
She bucked against him, a harsh cry ripping out of her.
Steadying her with his hands, he slid his tongue along the slit, parting her so he could dip in, take a deeper, longer taste. It exploded through him and, half-mindless, he caught her around the hips.
This. Just this, he thought.
Wordless, sharp sounds came from Keelie and he followed the signs she unconsciously gave him, deeper there, quicker here.
When she exploded, his cock gave a hard, insistent jerk inside the material of his trousers and he felt the first few drops of pre-come leaking free.
“Zane . . .”
* * *
She couldn’t think. Couldn’t even move.
That was . . . she closed her eyes while her brain struggled to put a name on what that had been. Vaguely, she heard the rustling of material and she cracked open one eye, saw him peeling away his shirt. Her mouth went dry at the sight and she opened her other eye.
The better to stare at you with, my dear . . .
The phrase popped into her head from nowhere and if she’d had the breath to laugh, she might have. But she had no breath, and a split second later, even the thought of laughter died.
He was beautiful. All long, lean limbs, golden skin stretched over tight muscle. He only had the one tattoo, that owl curling over his shoulder and down his chest, the feathers done to a perfection that made the bird of prey almost seem alive.
As his hands dropped to his belt buckle, a mad rush of heat arrowed straight down to her core and she fisted her hands in the sheet.
Damn.
She was really doing this.
Was really here. With him.
The bed shifted and Zane caught her around the waist, wrestling her higher up on the bed and then, his hands cupped her face. “Look at me,” he said, his voice raw and rough.
His mouth came down on hers and she froze at the taste of herself on his lips. His hands bracketed her head, refusing to let her turn away and after a few seconds, she didn’t even want to, lost in the hunger of him, the heat.
Then the kiss ended and he rose up, kneeling between her thighs.
She heard something tearing and looked down. Any embarrassment she might have felt was gone because the sight of him sheathing himself utterly fascinated her. No. He was utterly fascinating. He was thick, his balls lying heavy below his cock and she found herself wanting to stroke her hand down him, close her fingers around him, and learn the feel of him.
The taste of him.
“You keep looking at me like that and I’ll be lucky if I last five seconds,” Zane said, meeting her eyes. He’d lost his glasses at some point and his gaze was a little unfocused.
“I thought you couldn’t see all that well without your glasses.”
“I don’t need to see that well to feel your eyes on me.” Then he covered her and she shuddered at the feel of his cock pressing into her belly. He did nothing else, just lay there, as though he was giving her a chance to adjust to his weight, the feel of him. His lashes lay low over his eyes, shielding that amazing blue green from her. “Tell me, Keelie . . . were you looking at me?”
“I think you already know the answer,” she whispered.
“And what were you thinking?” He rubbed his lips over hers.
Gulping, she brought her hands up, absently digging her fingers into the taut, ridged muscles of his back. “I . . . um.”
He rubbed his mouth against hers. “That’s not an answer.” He levered up and started to stroke against her, drawing a shaken, startled cry out of her as the head of his cock moved over her. “I suppose I could just do this until you answer me.”
“That’s . . .” She arched up, seeking more of that teasing, taunting contact. “That’s not nice.”
“I’m not very nice.” Wedging a hand between them, he closed it around his cock and used the head to tease her clit.
She felt every featherlight touch from her head down to her toes, the pleasure seizing at her as though he was pouring liquid lightning into her veins.
“I’m not the nice one . . . everybody just thinks I am. So . . .” He raked her neck with his teeth and sucked in a patch of skin, drawing the blood to the surface. “Are you going to tell me or do I just do this, and play, and play . . .”
She could feel the promise of another orgasm, hovering just out of reach, and she wanted to shove him to his back, or twist her hips until one of those teasing glides had him plunging inside her. At the same time, part of her wanted to do the same thing he was doing—tease. She’d never had a lover . . . not really. The thought of playing with Zane, teasing him, was intoxicating.
She sucked in a breath and then met his eyes. She even managed to smile, although it was shaky, and when he did another one of those taunting, slow glides, that hunger twisted through her again and sent a cry ripping from her.
“I was thinking . . .” she gasped out, once she could breathe. “That I’d like to touch you. Almost like what you’re doing.”
And because Keelie didn’t believe in empty words, she slid a hand between them, her teeth sinking into her lip as she sought him out. Her fingers brushed his hand. His eyes narrowed to slits and then he stiffened over her. His other arm went tight, muscles hard as he braced his weight over her.
“Then do it,” he muttered against her ear, guiding her hand into place.
Blood rushed to her cheeks but she let him guide her, show her. His hand folded around hers and heat bloomed in her belly as he stroked his cock into her hand. “Tight,” he said, his voice rasping over her skin. “That’s . . . that’s it.”
His voice tripped and then he started to surge into her hand.
Her sex clenched and she clamped her thighs together against that burning, aching hunger. Panting, she fisted him as he rode her hand and then abruptly, he snarled.
In movements almost too fast for her to fol
low, he caught her wrists and pinned them with one hand. His free hand caught one thigh, shoved it high, hooked it over his arm. “Last chance,” he said, the words ragged, snarled against her lips. “Say it now or we move past the point of no return.”
“We’ve already done that.”
A hard, hungry kiss swallowed her cry as he pressed against her.
That same hungry kiss muffled her whimper as he drove inside and she fought not to flinch.
* * *
Too hard. Too rough.
Distantly, he knew he was being too rough. “A minute,” he muttered. “Just give me a . . .”
Her body shuddered, her hips rolling against his. Sweat popped out on his brow. “Be still.” It was practically a plea and he wasn’t ashamed to admit it. He thought he was going to die. She was so tight and she felt so good . . . Then she moved against him again and . . . oh. Hell. “Keelie, just be still and give me a minute. I don’t want to hurt you.”
Her hands gripped his hips, her nails sinking into his skin. “If you don’t do something, I will hurt you.”
“I need to . . .” He swore as she arched against him again. “Damn it, you’re too tight. I’m being too rough.”
A soft, broken little moan escaped her and she sighed. “It was uncomfortable, but . . . oh.” She brought her knee up, pressed it to his hip. “Zane, if you don’t do something and soon, I’m going to cry.”
His weight braced on his elbows, he studied her. Then, lowering his head, he pressed his mouth to hers. She opened for him, a hot, hungry kiss that he felt all the way down his balls.
As he pulled away, she flexed around him and that milking sensation almost had him whimpering, begging for mercy—or more.
“You’re trying to kill me,” he muttered as she did it again, then again. Keeping his weight off her, he slid out, watching as her eyes flew wide, then fluttered closed as he stroked back in.
“No. If I did that, we couldn’t do this again.” A cat’s smile curled her lips and she rocked up to meet his next stroke. “And I really, really want to do this again.”
Slow, he told himself.
He could do this. He just had to . . .
Her body, that long, elegant body arched like a bow under his and she started to rock against him harder, her nails biting into the skin of his ass. Gritting his teeth, he reminded himself, Slow . . .
She moved under him again and then, with that sexy feline smile still on her lips, she twisted. “That . . .” Her voice was a husky murmur, another caress that threatened to drive him mad. “That right there.”
He was still convinced she wanted to kill him.
He shifted and then twisted his hips as he pushed into the wet, welcoming grip of her sheath. She was like a fist, so tight, milking him. Her nipples stabbed into his chest and her nails bit into his skin harder. A harsh whimper tripped out of her and he stared at her from under his lashes.
Her gaze had gone blank.
When he went to withdraw, she clutched at him.
“Keelie.” He lowered his head, fusing his mouth to hers as he wrapped his arms around her and rolled to his back.
* * *
Keelie gasped, torn between delight and a weird sort of awkwardness as Zane eased her body upright. She braced her hands on his chest and moved, slow at first, each movement tentative as she tried to find a rhythm.
Zane’s hands gripped her hips, but he didn’t do anything but lie there.
The weak, breathy moan that stuttered out of her sounded nothing like her, but it was. Shifting her position, she twisted, then rocked . . . and just like that, it was easy.
Zane’s fingers turned to steel on her hips and she looked into his eyes, watched as that blue green started to blaze. Deep inside, she felt his cock jerk and, unconsciously, her muscles clamped down in response.
“Don’t . . .” Zane gritted out, his teeth clenched, neck arched.
“Don’t what?” She fell forward, bracing her weight on her hands on either side of his head.
His gaze bore into hers and then she twisted her hips and this time, when she tightened those internal muscles, she did it intentionally. His response was to arch up and drive into her, so deep, so hard. She cried out in response.
“Keelie . . . ?”
“Again.” She rocked against him, harder, squeezing him, milking his cock, and he swore, his hands gripping her in an iron grip as he thrust against her hard. Fast. He swelled inside her and she cried out, tensing. Zane tensed in return and then, impossibly, moved faster, her name a growl on his lips.
There—
She would have begged if she could have formed the words.
But she didn’t have to.
Zane tangled a hand in her hair and yanked her to him, his mouth sealing over hers. At the same time, he twisted his hips and drove up, using his free hand to hold her tight against him.
Locked together with him, her breath caught, hitched—and the bliss exploded through her, flooding her every pore, overtaking her entire being.
If she’d been one to think along poetic lines, she might have thought she was seeing fireworks.
But all she saw was him.
All she felt was him.
Zane. And that gut-wrenching pleasure as it ripped through her body, and stole the very breath from her.
Chapter Eleven
Keelie lay with her back to him, face pressed into the pillow.
The sweat had dried from their bodies.
He’d forced himself to pull away long enough to dispose of the condom and then he’d collapsed in bed behind her, wrapped himself around her, delighting in long, pale limbs, in the fact that he could move just a scant inch and press his lips to the tattoo that spread across her back.
But even as he studied it, her words rose up to haunt him.
Storms. The questions twisted, burned in him.
Leaning in, he pressed a kiss to her shoulder and then hooked his arm around her waist.
She sighed and snuggled in closer.
“What happened to your dad?”
She’d smiled as she spoke of him, but that look in her eyes had been one of sadness. Was that the storm she’d spoken of?
She shifted in the bed, enough that she could turn her head to look at him. “I told you . . . he died.”
He half expected her to let it go at that, but then, to his surprise, she rolled over and faced him completely. Lifting a hand, she stroked her fingers along the upswept wing of the owl. “He was out on a business trip with his partner. There was a car wreck. A truck driver—he’d just finished up a long haul and was heading home. Wasn’t drunk or anything. Just tired. He went over the line and hit the car my dad was driving. All three of them died instantly.”
Zane cupped her cheek, brushed his thumb over her lower lip. “I’m sorry.”
“It was a long time ago.” Then she scowled. “I don’t know why people say that. Eighteen years ago, eighteen months, eighteen days. It still hurts. I still miss him. I remember on graduation day, I looked out, halfway still expecting to see him, camera in hand.” A grin curved her lips, a little bittersweet, as she looked up at him. “You and he would have had that in common. He almost always had a camera in hand. I kept looking for him, even though I knew he couldn’t be there. I was . . . alone. I had nobody.”
“Your mother?”
A shutter fell across her eyes.
“My mom.” She rolled onto her back and she snorted. After a moment, she turned her head and stared at him, her face barely visible in the faint light. “You know the term sperm donor? Well, in this case, I guess I had an egg donor. She wasn’t exactly fit for motherhood. I don’t remember much about her from when I was little. When they divorced, my father filed for sole custody and won. I was ten when he died. I don’t remember anything, but she was fucked up enough that she wasn’t considered an acceptable guardian. I ended up in in foster care.”
Zane frowned. “Wasn’t there anybody else?”
“No.” The word was shor
t, clipped. She sat up, drawing her knees to her chest. “There had been arrangements. My dad and his business partner, Otto, Otto’s wife Beth, they were all good friends. If my dad died, Otto and Beth were going to be my guardians. But Otto had died, and well . . .” She shrugged. “I ended up going into foster care. I guess Beth had her hands full. She’d just lost her husband. Didn’t want to take care of me and her four-year-old son. I don’t blame her.”
You should, Zane thought, but he kept it behind his teeth. How could somebody just let an orphaned, scared girl go off into foster care?
Keelie looked back at him, a sad smile on her face. “It’s okay,” she said, reaching out to push his hair back. “She was young. Grieving. It was a hard thing for her.”
“You were a kid. It was just as hard, if not harder on you. And you ended up alone, in foster care.”
She shrugged. “Yeah. But foster care wasn’t the worst thing that ever happened to me.”
“Don’t tell me the story gets worse,” he muttered, focusing on the ceiling.
An odd, almost strangled tension blanketed the room. Slowly, he sat up and shifted his attention to Keelie. She was twisting her hands in the sheets, over and over.
“Keelie?”
* * *
Keelie kept her face carefully blank as she turned away and focused on the wall.
Twilight had fallen and the light streaming in through the narrow slit in the curtains was that surreal shade of pink gold. Almost unearthly. She’d always loved sunsets here in Arizona. Grabbing the sheet they’d kicked off, she wrapped it around her toga-style and moved to the window, brushing the curtains back enough that she could stare outside. She could see the mountains, see the golden gleam of the fading sun.
But the view gave her no peace.
“Talk to me,” Zane murmured from behind her.
“You sure you want to hear this?” she asked softly.
His hands closed over her shoulders. She leaned against his heated chest and realized how cold she was. “If I didn’t want to hear, I wouldn’t have asked.”
“Hmmm.” She closed her eyes, rested her head against his chest. He slid one arm around her waist and she snuggled into his comforting warmth.
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