“Are you okay?” She’d never seen him fumble anything, not even after he’d crashed to the ground from the second story. He’d lined up his shot instantly and fired while almost blind.
White fibers ripped under his controlled violence. He handed her the narrow roll of gauze. She quickly tossed the towel to the bed, carefully lifted the hair off his forehead, and laid the dressing lengthwise over the three-inch gash.
Greer held it in place, then found Z’s gaze. “Who are you really?”
“Derrick told you.” His jaw flexed.
“I want you to tell me the truth.”
He wore another layer off his teeth, but held his tongue.
“Z?” She pleaded.
Still nothing.
She pulled back the gauze and examined the wound. “You could use stitches.”
“The strips will work.” He grabbed four off the bed and offered them to her one at a time.
“I might have to shave some of your hair. The end of the cut is in your hairline.”
“Don’t even think about it.”
“Tell me the truth and I won’t.”
“You don’t believe him because you don't want to. You don’t want to think of me—the man who saved you—as a vicious monster capable of destruction. Truth is, I am.”
“No.”
“Yes.” The heat of his hollered breath penetrated her shirt and warmed her belly. He thrust the strips at her and she obliged, placing them a half-inch apart across the cut.
She dropped the gauze, bracketed his face in her hands, and forced his face up. “No,” she insisted. “I know you’re capable of violence. I’ve seen you kill.” His gaze dropped. Her hand under his chin coaxed it up once more. “But you’re not a gangster. You’re a loner. Gangsters are about the score, the brotherhood, the power. You’re not driven by money.”
“I’m not a good man.”
“You don’t think you are.”
The tempest in his gaze broke. His hands plunged into her loose hair, locking her in place. He inclined the sharp cleft of his jaw and yanked her down. Her hands landed on the unforgiving rounds of his shoulders. Her lips crashed into his. His jaw forced her mouth open and his tongue delved inside. The hard points of his teeth gnashed her delicate skin. He kissed with punishing force as though trying to prove his point.
Outrage should have fueled her fight, yet sadness overruled it. If anyone got too close to the truth, he shoved them away. No doubt he expected her, especially in light of her past, to run screaming. For the first time in her life, she didn’t want to run. As crazy as it seemed, she wasn’t afraid of this man who could snap her neck with a flick of his wrists or force himself on her without breaking a sweat.
Greer filled her hands with his cropped hair and tangled her tongue with the silk of his. She stepped closer. His firm, satin length bumped against her thigh. A moan one part surprise and two parts awe siphoned into his mouth.
“Fuck, Greer.” The muffled curse filled her ears. He shoved her to arm’s length and released her hair. Pants and muttered curses flew between his swollen lips. “I know what I am. And your purity can’t erase my sins.”
“I don't want to erase them.” Though her racing heart tried to course her around the room she stood her ground. “I want to ease their hold on you.”
“You can’t.”
“I can try.”
“Why? Why waste your effort? And if you say it’s because you want to help, I’ll have you air lifted to your dear old dad before the sun comes up. To hell with finding out why we were taken.”
She swallowed her pride and squared her gaze. “Because I want to know you more than I’ve ever wanted almost anything.”
Z leaned back, but he had no place to go except flat on his back. He must have figured that out because he straightened and fixed his jaw. His gaze danced around the room. Her chest and cheeks sizzled. Still she didn’t budge.
“You said almost anything. What did you want more?”
“When I was a little girl I wanted my mother back so much that I bargained with God. I told him if he’d give her back he could have all my toys.”
“Guess he didn’t like Barbie dolls.”
“I had Legos and Play-Doh, thank you.”
When he found her gaze again the tension ebbed from his taut shoulders. Greer reached for the towel. She dragged a clean corner of it over the side of Z’s chin. Faint scars marred his complexion. There were new ones too, besides the obvious pink on his chest. A hideous row of small round marks circled his neck like someone had fastened a dog collar, spikes in. A puckered laceration roughened his trap. If he had this many scars on the outside, he had far more on the inside. Her heart broke.
One by one, her fingers grazed the macabre necklace. Fresh, smooth skin whispered under her touch. Z’s neck bent and arched, allowing her to follow the line. His gaze cemented hers. Clouds rolled and lightning cracked behind them. Her breaths grew shallow as though a hand reached inside her chest and pressed her heart back together. She knelt between his spread thighs and washed away the blood on his chest, carefully blotting his tender scar.
His pecs rose and fell in steady waves. Greer dropped the towel. She released the hold she’d had on herself for most of her life and allowed emotion to rule, not emotions of the past, but of the here and now. Her fingers grazed the large discoloration on his chest. Need pulled her closer, to the edge of total surrender, to the heat of his skin. Z stilled. Greer moved slowly forward as though this virile man were no more than a puff of smoke that would dissipate with the slightest breeze. She wanted to grab him and hold him as resolutely as he held her moments ago, but she wouldn’t force it.
Her lips pillowed against the uneven scar. Z exhaled a tiny noise. She clamped her eyes shut to savor the sound, the scent, the feel of him. His skin tasted like danger. Her head spun. Her pulse skittered. She continued the tour of his battle wound with her fingertips and mouth.
At the ridge of his pecs small, nearly translucent scars dappled his left side. She followed the trail. The thud of his heartbeat throbbed against her mouth. Her lips pressed more firmly and she lingered over his heart before working her way to a bruise on his shoulder. Before long her hands grew more adventurous, fanning out over the pleats and ripples of his arms and torso.
The tip of his dagger caught her off guard. She’d seen it from across a room. Up close the intricate scrawl of ink inside his flesh menaced. A thousand questions rattled across her brain, but she kept them locked away. Her tongue flicked out, catching the point of the blade and his flat nipple in the stroke. He arched in response. Like a chain reaction her nipples stiffened against the loose fabric of her shirt.
Greer’s fingers found the dimples on Z’s back, and then slipped down to the curve of his ass. She dipped her head and ran her tongue from point to hilt along the blade. Her hands rounded his hips, following the pointed V of his abdomen. When they reached the apex she stalled and sat back on her heels. His cock stood proud. The silky skin that had grazed her thigh earlier was lined with light blue veins. Its head wept clear liquid that threatened to slip down the flared top. Saliva pooled in Greer’s mouth. She licked her lips and stared transfixed.
She knew what she wanted, but didn’t know how to ask.
12
Greer touched him with such reverence. Plenty of women had touched him over the years. Always for their own pleasure. Yeah, he’d gotten off every damn time. But this... This was the first time he’d been touched with loving hands. He’d hexed the word long ago. He hated even thinking it, and yet, it poured off of her in untamable waves. They crashed against his chest, suffocating his cynicism.
Why hadn’t she run from his icy demeanor or bruising kiss?
She saw the ugliness in him and embraced it. Hell, she tried to heal it with every touch of her lips. The caring poured off her. His palms itched to plunge into her hair again, but he didn’t know if he’d try to stop her or urge her on. He didn’t know which he wanted more. This was Russia
n roulette with both their lives. No question, he should stop her.
When her tongue branded the tip of his dagger he lost the battle. Until then he’d kept his cock at bay. Now it starched, ready for whatever was in store. Dumb thing. Greer was the marrying kind and he had nothing to offer. Stability? He didn’t know the meaning. He was buried in so many lies he often forgot what was real.
Her red, wet lips were real. She sat back halfway to her heels. The shirt she wore—his shirt—hung loose at her neck, giving him an unobstructed view of her clavicle and the barest hint of breasts. Her hands rested on his thighs, awfully close to his prick. The question and desire in her eyes were real too. Lord help them.
That sparkling blue gaze lifted from his stiff length. Her throat worked. A gasp broke her lips. Zeke held his breath, waiting.
“May I,” she breathed.
Brain and organ function must have stalled as well because he nodded and shifted his hips forward, giving her better access.
“I need to hear you say it.”
He understood her need for consent. It smacked him over the head like a falling brick. He almost scrambled back onto the bed, but her exposed gaze fused him in place.
“Yes.”
Before he could change his own mind the pads of her fingers caressed the side of his shaft. It was no more than a breath on his sensitive skin, but the exquisiteness of her touch shot endorphins through his veins like atomic missiles. He lost his grip on the severity of the situation and sank in the pool of deep-rooted lust he’d hidden since the first time he laid eyes on her.
Greer’s lips parted and a pure-as-sunshine smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. She caressed each side, gently exploring the ridges and texture of his sensitive skin. God, help him. She was a virgin. A twenty-something-year-old virgin who’d also been abused. Zeke set his jaw and tried not to feel.
She fisted his girth in one palm and stroked slowly from base to the bell of his cockhead. Not feel? Who the fuck was he kidding. His sack tightened. The bead of pre-cum rolled off the side of his head and slipped over three of her fingers. He prayed it would send her packing. Her lower lip disappeared inside her mouth. When it came back it was wet and wedged between her teeth. The points of her breasts scratched the front of her shirt. Rapid breathing billowed the fabric.
Her other hand reached forward, middle finger extended. It landed on the stream of clear cum, pulled it off her fingers, and then smeared it across his crown. She played in it like finger paint, examining the composition. Zeke fisted the comforter, hoping he could keep as firm a hold on his lust.
“Is this okay?” She asked the question with no guile. This wasn’t a game to woo him. She honestly wanted to know. He could see the sincerity and trepidation in her gaze.
“Fuck, yes,” he groaned.
His unbridled answer emboldened her. The grip she held on his cock tightened. Her strokes grew steadier. She continued the torture of his cap, slicking his own arousal around and around over the flared skin. Soon her hips rolled with the movement of her hands, as though she’d found her own arousal. Zeke watched the sway of her clothed ass. He wanted to strip her and show her true pleasure, but he kept his hands and jaw clamped tight. This was her show. Whatever she wanted he’d give, if she asked. But sod it all if the swell of her hips weren’t asking to be thoroughly fucked.
Again her tongue traced the line of her pretty mouth. His cock twitched. Greer lowered to her heels and dropped her lips inches from his prick. Her gaze met his with molten lust and a question.
“Greer, you’re killing me.”
The pout of her mouth defiantly plunged over his crown and slid to the tip of his shaft. Her shiny lips plumped over his bell and slid off the tip. She licked the crease of his head, repositioned her hands at the base of his cock, and lunged for more.
Her breasts bumped against her folded arms, coaxing her nipples into sharp peaks. Several times the unforgiving edge of her teeth found his flesh. Not even that or her discordant rhythm kept him at bay. His hips rolled in time with Greer’s. It helped settle the beat of her sucking strokes.
He redoubled his effort not to orgasm…until her gaze locked on his. She boldly, adoringly, bathed and sucked him with her mouth. Her pure, sultry eyes undid him. It sent shocks of orgasm flashing up his spine. As gently as he could in the throes of the most tumultuous upheaval of his life, Zeke cradled her jaw and pulled his prick out of her mouth.
“I’m sorr—” She started to apologize for Pete’s sake.
Zeke fisted his cock and clamped it tight, but he was too late. Bursts of cum launched from his heavy sack and darted up his shaft. Thick, white cream discharged onto her neck, the top of her chest, and onto the shirt. It came in wave after wave from seven long months of pent-up angst for this woman, this amazing, too-good-for-him-on-his-best-day woman, who treated him like he mattered.
Her mouth formed a surprised O as she watched him lose himself. He panted like he’d run a thousand miles uphill. He wanted to say something poignant, but he couldn’t speak. His insides formed rows and rows of neat little knots. His palms sweated. Never had a sexual experience unsettled his calm. They’d been a release with no emotion behind it, never any caring, never…no fucking way. He couldn’t go there. But still he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he’d take a bullet for her, and there weren’t many people he’d do that for. Just one, really, and they were bound by blood and hell and love.
Greer stood, opened her mouth to speak, closed it, and then opened it again. “I’m going to go shower. Thank you.” She pressed a hand to her swollen lips and turned toward the bathroom.
When the door shut Zeke smacked a hand over his face and collapsed onto the bed. What a sodding loser he was.
13
Drugs had never interested her, but that intoxicating sense of power could become a real problem. “Amazing.” Greer breathed the word from her tender lips onto her fingers for maybe the fifth time since she’d brought Z to the point of total release. A grin contorted her mouth. She flipped forward. The towel fell from her head, but she caught it and hugged it to her chest. Her thumb rubbed over the dip at her throat where he’d lost himself all over her.
Enough gloating and stalling. It was easy to be brave behind the bathroom door, but how would she feel facing him again? One way to know. She hung the towel on the back of the door, tugged at the hem of her camisole, checked her cotton shorts, and turned the knob.
The clack of keys filled the room. So, he was still awake. Her heartbeat spiked. On the vanity beside the sink sat the hair brush and toiletry kit he’d given her when she’d regained her wits at the farmhouse. Z must have grabbed them before they left. She’d been too emotional to think so logically. Her stupid grin returned. She’d dreaded finger combing her hair and wiping off her teeth with no more than a wash cloth. Time and again, he told her what a bad guy he was, but time and again he showed her kindness. She diverted to the vanity, grabbed the brush, and pulled it through her hair.
Her reflection caught her by surprise. She’d expected to look different, stronger or more mature maybe, but no. Aside from her red lips she looked remarkably ordinary. Stringy blonde strands clung to her cheeks and back. The curve of her nose still flared a bit too much at the sides. A hint of a blemish edged the bottom of her jaw... All things she would’ve complained about before offered comfort. She still fluffed the roots of her hair, brushed her teeth, and examined her chin, but she did so with new appreciation.
Unable to stall any longer, Greer straightened the mess she’d created on the vanity, and then turned. Z’s wide shoulder rested against the headboard of the bed where she’d explored the frontier of her sexuality and him. Fists that had threatened to rip the fabric covering the bed thirty or so minutes ago relaxed into agile tools for seeking information. Light glared from the laptop screen casting his chest in an eerie glow. His head hung and his eyes squinted with single-minded concentration.
The carpet pricked her bare feet. She would have grimaced,
but like Z’s inattention, what did it matter? Awkwardness usually reserved for the high school lunch room on the first day at a new school—in a new state or maybe even a new country—nor the overused carpet would make her regret what she’d done. Z hid behind a fortress, but for those few minutes she’d reached beyond it. She’d reached him, and had enjoyed every second of it. Withdrawn or not, bad or not, when he let go there was a lightness that stole her breath—and maybe her heart.
Greer crawled onto her designated bed, yanked back the covers, and crawled inside. Whether they rented by the hour or not, the motel sheets coaxed the trace of embarrassment from her muscles and molded them into putty. She pulled the plush pillow from underneath the scratchy, awful tropical patterned one that matched the coverlet, and wedged it under her chest. Her face met it with a sigh.
Z continued to type, scroll, and then type more. Every breath he drew accentuated the contour of his lower back and muscled bottom. The man had no qualms with his naked form. Neither did she for that matter, except he provided a visual road block to sleep. With him otherwise occupied, she drank him in from the tips of his hairy toes to the top of his head and everywhere in between. Memories distorted the view. His arms strained against the comforter. His abdomen rolling in time with her mouth. His hips pistoning his cock inside her. His scent. His taste.
Blood pumped like roaring waves through her, obliterating her inner ear with the rush and recession of its consistent battering. Her most intimate parts throbbed, making her a near-writhing ball of need.
She clamped her eyes shut against the onslaught of his body. She was at the mercy of her imagination though, as she had been since she’d first seen him strapped into an officer’s uniform, standing proud and imposing, commanding a team of deadly men, and her.
A light touch grazed her hand. She shot upright, ready for battle.
“I’m sorry I startled you.” Z crouched next to her bed.
How had she not heard him? Had she fallen asleep or had she been so deep into her own fantasies she honestly hadn’t heard him?
Prisoner Mine Page 12