She swallowed past the tightness in her throat. Yeah, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that now, finally, she was going to get the chance to show him a few things of her own. And hey, the fact that he had a hard-on was already a point in her favor. Meant he saw her as a woman, right?
Carefully Zoe spread open the denim of his jeans. He wore black boxers underneath, the cotton straining to contain his hard cock, and she couldn’t resist the need to touch him, trace him through the cotton.
“Stop.” The order was low and absolute.
Her hand fell away almost before she’d realized she’d obeyed him.
“No touching. Just do what I told you to do.”
A tremor shook her as she slid her hand down inside his boxers, her fingers grazing hot, smooth skin before closing around his dick. He tensed, but said nothing, letting her draw him out.
Her heartbeat was so loud now, she couldn’t hear anything else. Here he was, finally in her hand, long and thick, much bigger than she’d thought and she’d given it a lot of thought. Smoother than she’d imagined too, his skin unexpectedly soft.
The scent of him was going straight to her head, engine oil and smoke, and male musk. Everything that spoke of familiarity and safety. Except there was nothing familiar or safe about this, and somehow that made it even more exciting. Even more erotic.
Her fingers tightened around him. She was uncovering all these secrets about him, all these things she never knew, such as what he looked like when he was aroused. What he smelled like. What he tasted like. What he would look like when he came....
She glanced up at him, helplessly drawn, looking into those hard black eyes. Anger glittered there now, a kind of furious hunger that made her chest ache. God, if he was so pissed about this, why didn’t he just walk away? Why was he standing there letting her hold his dick?
Her mouth opened to tell him exactly that.
“Did I say you could talk?” he growled roughly. “No, I fucking didn’t. If you wanna be that waitress you’d better shut up and open your mouth.”
He’d never spoken to her like that before, never with that harsh, demanding edge, and it shocked her. Thrilled her. Made her understand that he wasn’t seeing her as a little girl to be protected any longer. That he was seeing her as a woman he wanted to fuck.
The thrill spread out, electric, intense, nervousness and excitement rolling over and over inside her.
She shut up and opened her mouth.
The lines of his face were shadowed, his jaw tight. His eyes deep, velvet darkness. He reached down and with a calm deliberation that had her shaking like a leaf, he drew off her glasses, folding them up and putting them in his back pocket. “Last chance, Zoe.” The growl in his voice made her breath catch. “Last chance to stop this.”
It’s going to change everything if you do this. And it won’t ever go back to the way it was before.
Good. She didn’t want it to. After all, what’s the worst that could happen? He could send her away, or leave himself, and that would suck so hard. But even that would be better than what she had now. Even that would mean she’d be able to move on.
So she said nothing, remained on her knees, kept her mouth open. Giving him his answer without words.
His jaw tightened imperceptibly as if that wasn’t the answer he wanted, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he lifted his hands and shoved his fingers deep into her hair, twisting hard, making her gasp.
Then he pushed his cock into her mouth.
She’d often fantasized about this, often thought about it, and she’d thought she was ready for the reality of him. But this was . . . God, she didn’t have any words to describe it, not the sheer intensity of the sensation. He was in her mouth, hot and heavy, stretching her lips wide, the salty flavor of him unfamiliar yet not in any way unpleasant.
It was exciting, strange, scary, and thrilling all at the same time. And it was weird how even though the only place he was touching her was her head, she’d never felt so turned on in her life. The throb of her sex was persistent, making her want to slide her hand down to give herself some relief, but she didn’t. It wasn’t her own hand she wanted.
“Eyes up here.” His voice was guttural, and she obeyed, blinking up at him. Without her glasses his face was slightly blurry, but there was no mistaking the burning darkness that were his eyes. “Tell me to stop.”
Stupid man. How could she tell him anything when her mouth was full? Not that she was going to tell him that anyway since there was no way she wanted this to stop. No way in hell.
Keeping her gaze on his so he was very clear as to her thoughts on the subject, she shook her head.
He made another guttural sound, and then his fingers tightened on her hair, his hips flexing, pushing his cock in farther, then drawing it slowly back out.
Zoe groaned, the soft sound wrung out of her, and she found she was clutching onto his hard, muscular thighs to brace herself.
He pushed into her mouth again, deeper, and she ran her tongue along the hard length of him, sucking hard. Showing him that she was into this. That she wanted it.
“Tell me to stop, Zoe.” The words were rough as gravel, something unsteady in them, something frayed, like he was unraveling at the seams.
She blinked hard, trying to focus on his face, but his features remained stubbornly blurry. Dammit. She wanted to see what she did to him, wanted to see how badly she unraveled him, because it had to be her, hadn’t it?
“Zoe . . .” He drew his hips back, pushed them slowly back in. “Little one . . . tell me to stop.”
But she shook her head, increasing the suction, her tongue swirling around him, tracing the smooth head and the slit at the top, the salty flavor of him flooding her mouth.
And this time he was the one who groaned, the sound rolling down her spine in a sensuous lick, making her tremble. Yes, God, she loved this. Loved that she was doing this to him. That she was giving him this pleasure and that he was letting her do it.
She wasn’t a kid anymore. She wasn’t his little foster sister. She was a woman and she was going to give him the best fucking blow job of his life.
He didn’t say it again after that, as if he’d accepted her choice and that thrilled her too. That he respected it and wasn’t going to pull away. But he’d clearly also decided that she needed to learn a lesson about that choice, because his fingers tightened even more and he was holding her head very still as his hips began to move faster and faster, fucking her mouth.
Zoe clung on to his thighs, digging her fingers into the rock-hard muscle beneath the denim, letting him take whatever he wanted from her. Reveling in the taste and feel of him in her mouth, listening to his breathing become ragged.
“Good girl,” he murmured low and rough. “That’s it. Open wider . . . suck me harder . . . fuck, yeah . . .”
She did everything he told her, shaking as he moved harder, faster. As the sounds of his breathing became harsher and the flex of his hips slid out of rhythm.
He was pushing himself hard down the back of her throat and her jaw ached and there were tears in her eyes, but she didn’t want him to stop. She didn’t want him ever to stop.
She kept her blurred vision on his face, trying to catch the moment when he came undone, her scalp hurting where he was pulling her hair, because he wasn’t being gentle and he wasn’t being soft. But it was okay, she liked it. She wanted it.
His fingers in her hair twisted hard all of a sudden. “Zoe . . . oh fuck . . . fuck . . .”
Then he was thrusting into her mouth, wild and out of control, and the thrill of it was lightning across her skin, knowing she was the one who’d turned him inside out like this.
He groaned when he came, a wordless sound of desperation, and she swallowed him down without hesitation, her own heartbeat loud in her head and her thighs trembling, the ache between them almost impossible to ignore.
He didn’t speak as he withdrew from her mouth and eased the painful pressure of his fingers in her hai
r, and she leaned forward, resting her forehead against the hot skin and hard plane of his abdomen. She wanted a minute to savor this, the thick, salty taste of him in her mouth, the ache in her jaw, the scent of musk and Gideon completely overwhelming all her senses. Because who knew what was going to happen after this?
Things are going to change.
And even though that had been what she’d wanted all along, Zoe felt afraid.
* * *
Gideon couldn’t believe what he’d done. Couldn’t believe he’d actually put Zoe on her knees and then put his cock in her mouth.
His head was ringing, the aftereffects of the orgasm that had practically broken him into pieces moving like tiny electric shocks through his system, and he had the terrible sense that he’d fucked up. Not just in a small way, but in a life-altering way.
He looked down just to make sure of the gravity of the sin he’d committed and sure enough, Zoe was on her knees at his feet. He couldn’t see her face, the rough black silk of her hair obscuring it, but he could feel the slight pressure of her resting against his stomach.
Jesus Christ. He’d meant to scare her, show her exactly what she was letting herself in for, force her into pulling away from him and hopefully never coming near him ever again.
Instead, she’d done everything he’d told her to. She’d gotten down on her knees, opened her mouth, and sucked his cock like a dream. Taken everything he’d thrown at her, and he hadn’t been gentle and he hadn’t gone slow.
And it had been . . . the best fucking blow job he’d ever had.
Holy shit, he was going to hell.
Beneath the shock and the pulsing echoes of his orgasm, he could feel anger starting to turn over heavily in his gut. An anger directed mainly at himself and his lack of control, though he was pissed at her too. For being so determined and stubborn. For wanting to show him whatever the fuck she’d been determined to show him.
“Zoe,” he ordered, his voice not quite as hard as it should be. “Look at me.”
Slowly she lifted her head and looked up at him, and something in his chest lurched. Her skin was flushed, her eyes glazed, and shit, were those tear tracks glistening on her cheeks?
He went cold. He’d held on to her head extremely tightly, no doubt pulling her hair in the process. Which would have hurt. And toward the end he’d thrust hard in that lovely, lush red mouth of hers. Had that hurt her too?
You fucking asshole.
“Are you okay?” he demanded, suddenly furious with himself. “Did I—”
“No, you didn’t hurt me,” she interrupted. “And FYI, if you apologize I’m leaving and I’m never coming back.”
The ice in his gut began to thaw. Okay, so maybe he hadn’t hurt her, but he’d certainly fucking crossed a line all the same. One that he’d never in a million years ever thought he’d cross.
But that wasn’t even the worst part of it. What was worse was the fact that even now, as she was kneeling at his feet, looking up at him, his attention kept fixating on her mouth, on the heat of it, on how those soft, velvety lips of hers had felt wrapped around his cock. And he could feel himself getting hard again.
Abruptly he stepped away from her, turning to shove his dick back into his jeans, infuriated that as he did so, his hands were shaking like an old man’s. Like a goddamn teenage boy’s.
Shit, this was wrong. So fucking wrong. What the hell had she done to him? What the hell was the matter with him?
No mystery. You needed an orgasm so she gave you one.
No, Jesus, that wasn’t the way it was supposed to go. If those guys back in Anonymous hadn’t been Novak’s, he could have accepted Tori’s invitation. Tori could have given him the blow job and then he wouldn’t be so eaten up with fucking guilt.
But you don’t want a blow job from Tori. You wanted one from Zoe.
Gideon shoved the thought away, not wanting it in his head. He couldn’t be thinking shit like that, he really couldn’t. Zoe was . . . Zoe was . . .
Hot. Sexy. Fuckable.
“Gideon.”
He didn’t want to turn around, didn’t want to look at her or her beautiful mouth again. Because he didn’t know what he’d do if he did. He’d wanted to give her some reality and he had. Except it was supposed to be her who was running from it, not himself.
Coward.
The voice in his head was snide, but he ignored it, moving toward the door of the living room without turning around.
“Gideon?” There was a note in her voice he didn’t want to hear. “Where are you going?” It sounded like bewilderment or confusion. Hurt.
“Out,” he answered shortly, ignoring too the tight sensation in his chest.
“No.” Definitely hurt this time. “Don’t you dare walk out on me. Not after that.”
But she didn’t understand. He had to get out, had to put some distance between them or else he’d . . .
Push her down onto the couch, pull up her skirt, push your cock deep inside her, fuck her till she screams.
Anger and lust twisted inside him, creating a heavy, flammable mix. All it would take was one spark and he’d go up, and he didn’t want to be anywhere near her when that happened.
“Gideon, for fuck’s sake!”
He didn’t turn, but at the doorway he paused. “If you leave this apartment, I’m gonna lock you in your bedroom for the next week straight. Understand?”
Without waiting for a response, he walked straight out, heading toward the front door of the apartment.
You prick.
Yeah, he was, and maybe this was what he should have been doing all along. Ignoring her completely. That would show her exactly what kind of man he was if nothing else would. That would drive her away. Because after all, she’d always hated it when he ignored her.
Gideon pulled open the front door and slammed it hard behind him, then went downstairs, taking the steps two at a time. He’d had some half thought of going to Gino’s, sinking as many bourbons as he could get his hands on, but at the last minute, he veered to the left, making for the door to the garage instead.
Machines, that’s what he liked. What he’d always liked. The quiet of the garage where he could sit and fiddle around with an engine for hours on end. Putting bits together or taking them apart, making them fit, making them go. When he’d been a kid, his mother had had an old Ford that he’d used to tinker with. The days where she’d be inside “resting”—aka recovering from one of his father’s drunken beatings—he’d go outside, pop the hood, and ignore the feelings of helplessness, of despair that he couldn’t protect her. Of loneliness. Leave them all behind him as he focused entirely on the engine. The car didn’t even need fixing, it was he who needed fixing. Or maybe even just an escape.
It had been over ten years ago when he’d gotten that last job and finally left the criminal underworld. When he’d taken Zoe and gotten out of Chicago, covering their tracks as best he could. He’d had some money, enough to buy himself a business, and it had seemed natural to get a garage, turn the escape engines had always given him into a reality. Especially when it was going to be permanent.
So he’d headed to Detroit, Motor City itself, and found a shitty neighborhood where no one asked questions and no one looked twice at anyone new. And after a few years, he’d thought he’d done it. That they’d actually gotten away.
But of course, his luck would never hold that long.
Gideon stepped into the garage itself, the familiar smell of engine oil and grease calming something inside him. On the far side of the garage, up on a stand, was the bike he’d been working on. A vintage Harley. Although he loved cars, motorcycles had been his first passion, and he indulged himself whenever he could.
He’d been hoping to restore this one and maybe keep it for himself. Or sell it. Or maybe he’d just keep it to tinker with forever.
Making his way over to the Harley, he stood beside it and folded his arms, trying to hold on to that calm, to settle down into it the way he always did when he w
as in the garage. Christ, Zee and Levi would laugh themselves sick if they knew what his goddamn emotions were doing right now.
Then they’d fucking kill you for what you did to Zoe.
He let out a breath, trying not to think about that. Reaching out, he ran a hand along the glossy black paintwork of the gas tank. The metal was smooth and cool against his skin.
Not like Zoe. She felt smooth but hot. So very hot . . .
Gideon muttered a curse. Fuck no, he couldn’t be thinking about her. He was here to get his head back in the right space, to calm the fuck down. To focus on what was important and that was her safety. That’s all that had ever been important to him. She’d been the reason he’d left his past behind him, the reason he was here in Royal going straight, trying to be a good man. And so far, because of her, he’d succeeded. She’d kept him on the right path, and if anything happened to her . . .
Darkness stirred inside him, like a deep sea. Heavy, dense. Vast. He forced it back down. His darker urges had stayed asleep for years now, and that’s how they were going to stay. He wasn’t going back to the way he’d been before, a violent thug for whom money was the be-all and end-all, working out his anger at the world by loving his job as an enforcer just a little too much. No, he couldn’t afford to go down that path, not again.
What he had to concentrate on was the fact that Zoe was safe at the moment and that’s how she was going to stay. He also needed to figure out some kind of plan to deal with Oliver fucking Novak and the threat the bastard presented.
Making a mental note to collect as much intel from his sources as he could on Novak’s movements, Gideon stared at the bike another minute. Then he turned and went over to the workshop counter where the bike’s exhaust was sitting, all ready to be fitted.
But before he could pick it up, the garage door suddenly banged open and his whole body tensed, a streak of electricity bolting right through him.
Because there was only one person who would have followed him here.
He found he was gripping onto the edge of the workshop counter, his knuckles white, his earlier calm slipping away like oil through a cracked engine casing. “What did I fucking say?” He didn’t bother to temper the harsh edge in his tone, nor did he turn around. “I said stay in the apartment or else I’m gonna lock you in there for a whole fucking week.”
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