by Sophia Henry
Not that sailing to the top is my goal, but it would be nice to have my parent’s approval for once. Sucks that it would be because I chose a grandiose place to get married, but I guess I have to meet them halfway. I’ll never be the person they want me to be, and the Russian Dining Room is definitely not Southern, but it’s a place we could compromise on because they’d love to brag to their friends about it. Mama would complain, but deep down, she’d secretly love the fact that it’d be an exclusive party and only a few people would be invited.
When I start to care about Cookie and Harris, it’s a dead giveaway that I’ve had too much to drink.
Gorgeous, stained-glass tiles line the ceiling. Oranges, reds, and yellows swirl like flames against a deep blue background—and I’m drawn in like the crazy moth who loves the fire. This place is giving me all sorts of inspiration. As soon as I get back to the hotel, I’m going to start sketching that tree. Someday someone’s gonna let me tattoo that bitch on them.
I peep Zayne quickly. He’s still talking to Ivan, but he glances at me as if he can feel my eyes on him. His lips turn up in a grin before he turns his attention back to his Russian friend.
He doesn’t have any visible tattoos, which seems odd for someone who works in the tattoo industry. Not that it’s a requirement, but everyone else I saw at his office had visible ink, so it seemed to be part of the culture. Then again, I haven’t seen any parts of Zayne’s body that clothes cover, which is unfortunate because it looks like he has a phenomenal physique.
Maybe that will change. There’s definitely a spark between us that he tries to play off. He thinks of me as a child, which is absolutely ridiculous. Not saying I always act like the most mature person on the planet, but I’ve had more life experiences in twenty-two years than some people have had their entire lives.
The tree is just as magnificent up close as it is from afar. I lean closer, trying to figure out what material the trunk is made from.
“It’s acrylic,” Zayne says, tapping his knuckles against the trunk. “So is the bear.”
His voice startles me so much I jump back, right into his chest. He grabs my arms to hold me steady.
“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says in a lower tone. The hushed voice makes me shiver. Or maybe that’s his hands on me, even though I’ve recovered from the slight shock.
“I didn’t realize you were there. I thought you were—” I shake my head. “Acrylic, you say? That makes sense. It’s durable and inexpensive—or, inexpensive compared to crystal.”
“True.” He hasn’t stepped back, and his body radiates heat as if he’s on fire like the ceiling tiles above our heads. He releases his hold, leaving me cold where there was contact. I’m not cold for long, because he slides his palm down my arm until he finds my hand. When he interlocks his fingers with mine, waves of warmth and calm flow through me. His breath is hot on my neck as he brings our arms up to circle my waist.
Maybe I’m crazy or trapped in a drunken dream sequence, but I hear music, it’s soft, but definitely there when it wasn’t before. I even recognize the song as “Shadow” by Bleachers.
I lift my gaze toward the elevator, expecting Ivan to be fussing with a radio system or something, but he isn’t there. A quick scan tells me the only people in this extravagant room are Zayne and me. At first, I try to ignore the lust swirling in my core, but grinding my ass into him seems like a more fun idea. So that’s what I do.
He lowers his head, his breath hot against my ear as he moans, “Mmmmmmm.”
“What’s on your mind?” I ask softly.
He slides his free hand down my back slowly, teasing me with his touch. Then he reaches around, slips his hand under my shirt and cups my breast while dropping kisses against my neck and under my ear as he lifts and massages. “I have so many things on my mind.”
“Tell me one,” I urge him, tilting my neck, giving him better access to the sweet spots that make me shiver at his touch.
“Taking you back to my room and doing all the things I’ve fantasized about since the minute I met you.”
“Like what?” I ask in a husky whisper. My heart races as he works my nipple, rubbing his fingers up and down hard and fast. It’s the most wonderful sensation. Our hands are still locked, and he has me against his chest in a bear hug.
“I want my face between your legs.”
“What else,” I ask, squirming against him, begging him to continue.
“I want to drive my cock in your wet pussy.”
“How do you know I’m wet?” I tease.
He immediately releases my breast, slams his hand into my skirt and slides two fingers inside me. Then he pulls them out and brings them to his mouth, sucking off my come.
Holy fuck that’s hot.
“I want more,” he growls in my ear pressing his erection against my back. “I want all of you. Are we leaving or doing this here?”
What about Ivan?” I ask, unlacing my fingers from his and spinning around so I can look into his eyes.
“We’ve got a few minutes.” His fingers dig into my hips, pulling my pelvis towards his while gazing at me with hunger in his eyes.
The thought of fucking Zayne in a public place where someone might catch us thrills me. “We should fuck against this magnificent acrylic tree.”
He glances at it quickly, probably assessing if it’s something we can fuck against safely. He must decide it’s okay because he unzips his pants and lowers them slightly. His cock juts out, ready to go.
Zayne’s dick is thicker and longer than Fozzie’s, and I always thought he was quite adequate.
He must hear my sharp intake of breath because he says, “You’re going to keep your eyes open, so you see yourself in every angle of these mirrors.”
My gaze flicks to the walls, overwhelmed at the suggestion, but I nod.
“I want you to see how much you like when I’m inside you.”
I nod again. Normally, I have a comeback for everything, but desire has me speechless. I’m excited and petrified at the same time. Not because I’m scared of Zayne, but he’s only the second man I’ve been with willingly. And his cock is intimidating.
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
“I know,” I whisper, finally finding my voice.
He won’t just hurt me—he’s going to break me completely.
Zayne presses his firm, hungry lips on mine. I slide my hands up his neck, curling my fingers in his soft hair. Our tongues touch, slowly exploring each other. He tastes delicious, like strawberry frosting from the cupcakes we inhaled before coming up here.
He pulls back, reaching between our bodies to slip his hand into his front pocket and retrieve a condom. Within seconds, he’s ripped it open and slid it over his erection. I remove one hand from his hair and use it to inch my skirt up so he has complete access. He brings the head of his cock to my entrance. I close my eyes and bite my lip, bracing for the intrusion. Instead of push straight inside, he slides the tip in and pulls back out quickly. His body rocks into me, pushing a bit deeper each time, crafting a delicious sensation with each slow thrust.
I open my eyes to find him staring at me. “I thought I told you to keep your eyes open.”
“You’re huge, Zayne, I had to brace myself.” My lids flutter in ecstasy, but I keep my eyes open and focused on him.
He laughs, pushing inside a bit more before pulling out. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”
Now he’s just teasing me because at this point, I can accept all of him and I want all of him. Next time he pushes in, I squeeze around him, hoping to keep him inside.
“What do you need?” He asks as he slides out. I moan, enjoying the exquisite rhythm.
“You.” I tilt my pelvis toward his, greedy to get all of him.
“Tell me what you want, Emily.” He grabs my ass and lifts me, prompting me to wrap my legs around his waist.
“I want your cock, Zayne. All of it.”
“How do you want it?”
“Har
d,” I beg, clasping my arms around his neck. The head of his cock waits at my entrance, teasing me as he holds my full body weight. I press my pelvis toward him, trying to take control and get him inside me before I burst with anticipation.
That’s when he pulls back and slams his cock into me. The force makes me cry out. “Oh!”
He draws his hips back and pushes into me again. Then we’re working together. I bury my face in the gap between his shirt and bare neck and inhale the sweet smell of his sweat. He rocks into me again, pushing as deep as he can go. My lips are salty from being flush against his skin.
A fucking frenzy this intense is foreign to me. All I can think of is how amazing it feels to finally have Zayne inside me. It’s the most intense, exquisite feeling—everything I dreamed of and more.
The energy exchange is intense, and it scares me a little bit. I didn’t realize the connection between our souls would be so completely consuming.
Chapter Sixteen
Emily
Waking up curled against Zayne’s chest feels natural like we’ve been waking up together for years. There’s no anxiety. No stress. Just the euphoria of being completely calm and grounded. I’m just as relaxed as I was the night he lulled me to sleep with a guided meditation.
Or maybe I’m just exhausted from fucking all night. That’s definitely the reason the muscles in my legs hurt.
Sunlight streams through the window, lighting up the entire room. When I got up to use the bathroom earlier, I opened the curtains.
“Now I see why you like east facing rooms, EmCat,” Zayne teases me, running his fingers lightly over my back, tickling my skin. I arch into his hand, delighted that he remembered the silly nickname Liz gave me.
“Why did you guys pick me for the Pro Team? Out of all the artist’s you could have chosen?” I ask, closing my eyes and relishing the pampering.
“Do you want me to answer as someone who’s completely smitten with you or with the truth?”
“The truth. Always.”
“Good thing they’re both the same,” Zayne says, wrapping his muscular arms around me. “To be honest, Louis does all the selection, but we’re on the same page about the qualities we look for in the artist’s we bring on. After he saw you on Ink Wizard Charlotte, he said you were an extremely talented artist with a huge personality and a beautiful heart.”
“He really said that?” I ask, glancing at him for confirmation.
“He did.” Zayne kisses the top of my head. “He was dead set on having you on the team. You must have impressed him with how you handled yourself in the competition. He doesn’t choose the artist’s on talent alone. He researches how they use their platform.”
“What do you mean by platform?”
“Who you are and what you believe in as an artist or your artistic vision. The message you spread on social media. We want team members who embrace the platform they have to communicate with the public and use that to create more beauty and compassion in the world because that’s our vision at Ambassador.”
“No pressure there, eh, Zayne.” Maybe they should have told me all of this before I agreed to join the team. I don’t know that I can live up to their expectations.
“You’re a kind soul with a loud mouth—it’s the perfect combination.”
“Hey!” I pinch his side. He jerks his torso away with a laugh.
“You have an awesome personality—you know that. You’re one of those bright spirits that people want to be around. How could we not want you on the team?”
I bury my face in his chest; low-key thrilled at how much confidence they have in me.
“You already think about the future and use your art to help others heal. As you move forward in your career, you could be a leader and champion for other women, especially the ones who’ve gone through traumatic experiences in their lives. You’re a warrior—a survivor. You’ve been through it and lived to tell the tale.”
“I get that.” I nod. “I like that idea. Figuring out who I am and how I can use my platform for good.”
“Eventually. But right now, something is blocking you. You have so much anger in here.” He taps my chest, right over my heart.
I swallow. “I know.”
“You’ve got to figure out how to open that and let go. You need to confront your demons—whatever that means to you.”
“I want to share something, but I’ve never done this before,” I whisper, even though we’re the only people in the room.
“What do you mean, babe?” He squeezes my hip.
“I’ve never talked about his part of my life to anyone. Not even my best friend. I—I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to think less of me.”
“Nothing you can say will make me think less of you, Emily. I appreciate that you trust me enough to be so vulnerable with me. That takes a lot of courage, but it’s necessary because you’ll never be able to give anyone all of you when there’s darkness in your heart. It will always block you. It’ll show itself when you’re at the top of your game—reminding you of every insecurity. It’ll hinder your relationships—both friendship and love.”
“What if you don’t want me after I tell you?” I whisper.
“Emily. I want all of you. Even your darkness—especially your darkness,” he corrects himself. “It’s what makes you so bright. The fact that you carry so much pain, yet you still have such a beautiful heart—that’s what makes your soul shine.”
He says exactly what I need to hear at the exact time I need to hear it. His kindness and compassion give me courage.
I take a deep breath, summoning the strength to open up to him about the secrets that have blocked me for years. “When I left my parents’ house, it wasn’t an easy decision. When I talk about it, I have to act like this badass who can get through anything but, the truth is that the situation was devastating. It wasn’t a decision I wanted to make. I was still a child.”
“I bet. I can’t even imagine. I mean, every kid has threatened to run away at some point, but the fact that they let you is crazy. What happened that was so bad that the only choice you had was to leave?” He asks gently.
I appreciate that he’s trying to be respectful of my boundaries. I trust him completely, but I’m also scared to tell him. There’s still so much shame and embarrassment, and I don’t want him to think less of me or feel sorry for me or think I’m damaged and weak.
“My entire life changed when I turned thirteen,” I whisper, sighing into his warm skin beneath my cheek. Telling him the story is emotionally exhausting. It brings up all the shame and guilt I’ve spent years trying to suppress.
Zayne’s heartbeat speeds up, and the muscles in his stomach tighten. I didn’t even go into full detail, but abuse is never easy to hear—or talk about.
“Jesus! Emily, I’m—I’m so sorry!” He squeezes me against him, then kisses the top of my head. “Have I made you uncomfortable in any way? Did I come on too strong?”
“No! Zayne, please, don’t do that.” I prop myself up on my elbows. His hand stays on my back, firm and reassuring. “That’s the thing. I won’t lie and say I’ve done all the healing I need to because I haven’t, but I’ve never been scared of having sex. It makes me feel guilty because I read other survivors’ stories that imply I should be scared of men, scared of sex, ashamed for liking it. But I don’t have those feelings. Not only am I the black sheep of my family, but I’m also the outcast of the sexual abuse community.”
I’m a disappointment in every aspect of my life. It’s no wonder I turned to a lifestyle no one understands or approves of.
“Everyone heals from trauma differently. It’s a waste of time to be concerned with how other people heal or to listen to how they think you should heal. All it does is add more stress and make you feel like shit.” He wipes away a tear sliding down my face. His touch both gentle and reassuring.
“I try not to stress about it, but it’s in my face every day. Not the assault itself, but the effects of it. My relationship
with my parents is gone. They chose to pay off my abuser so he would keep quiet and so the scandal wouldn’t tarnish our family name.” I crumple onto his chest, breaking down in tears.
“Wait! What?” Zayne shoots up into a seated position wrapping both arms around me in a comforting hug. “Emily! How could they do that? Why would they do that?”
“Because that’s how my family is. If they don’t like something or someone they pay to make it go away.” The bitterness in my voice surprising. I hate going to that low place.
“Listen, I’m not doubting you, Emily. Not one bit, but are you sure they did that?” he asks. “It doesn’t make any sense for them to pay off the person who abused you. It seems like it would be the abuser paying you to keep you quiet about it.”
Zayne makes a good point. I contemplate his comment silently without getting angry or defensive.
“I never thought of it that way,” I admit.
Is it possible I got an idea in my head and ran with it because it made sense to me at the time—when I was a child trying to process sexual assault? Maybe my mind connected the events with no real proof. But if that’s what happened, then I’ve been harboring hatred for my parents over a misunderstanding.
“If you’re right, then I’ve caused my family and myself a lot of pain.”
“You were a child, Emily. A scared, abused child.”
I nod, burying my head in his chest because I can’t talk about it anymore. I can’t process the thought I may have fucked up my entire relationship with my parents over a misunderstanding.
“Have you ever talked to your parents about it?” Zayne asks so quietly it’s almost a whisper.
I shake my head, spreading tears and snot against his skin, which is super classy and attractive.
“When you’re ready, I’ll go with you. I’ll hold your hand and stand by your side.” He wraps his arms around me and kisses the top of my head. I can feel his heartbeat slow.
Talking about it with him created a roller coaster of emotions. Telling him doesn’t make the pain go away, but being vulnerable with him is freeing. But I also feel like an idiot for never thinking that what I saw and heard may not have been what I thought.