by Kit Rocha
"I usually close at sundown." She smoothed her hair into place before bending to sweep up the basket. "Do you want to...?" She trailed off uncertainly.
She was asking if he'd stay the night. "Why don't we see how things go?" And whether she still wanted him here after she'd thought about it for a while.
But the expression on her face wasn't wary. It was almost wistful. "It's the thing I miss most, you know. The sectors are a terrible place to be alone at night."
She wouldn't be alone, no matter what. But saying it out loud might seem like the first step toward losing the independence she treasured so much. "Just trust me. Can you do that?"
Her answer was slow in coming. It didn't come easy. But when she inclined her head, her gaze never leaving his, it was an honest victory. "I can do that."
"Then I'll be back." He dropped another kiss to her lips—a quick one, because he couldn't afford to get distracted. Then he backed off. "See you soon, Tatiana."
"Zan," she called after him as his fingers touched the doorknob. When he looked back, she grinned. "Don't come back without whiskey."
Her hair was disheveled now, deep brown locks spilling out of her already messy braid. He wanted to touch her again, not leave. "Wouldn't dream of it."
He shut the door behind him with a solid click, then surveyed the street for the spot that would offer him the best vantage point of her shop as well as the alley that ran alongside it.
Then he settled in to wait.
Chapter Four
Tatiana's last customers hustled out of the shop as shadows stretched across the marketplace. Few people liked being out after dark, especially not deep into winter, when icy winds whipped through the streets. Spring would circle around again soon enough, bringing back longer days and welcome sunlight.
For now, the anticipation of Zan's big, warm body heating her bed would have to keep her going. That was the fantasy staving off a chill when Catalina showed up.
The shop didn't have windows—the cost of replacing the glass every time some punk threw a brick through them would have bankrupted her in a matter of months, and she couldn't afford enough unbreakable polycarbonate to do the job—so she had no warning. Tatiana opened the door to flip her sign and found her sister standing there, one hand poised to knock.
Disappointment stabbed through her, followed swiftly by guilt. She'd been waiting for this for months. Any sign that Catalina might come around, any hint that her fascination with Wallace was wearing thin. It was selfish to wish it had happened later, or sooner, or on any night other than this one, the only time she'd ever claimed for herself.
Maybe that wasn't meant to be. But this was still progress, so she fixed a smile in place and pulled the door wide. "Cat, I'm so glad to see you. Come in."
"Tatiana." Catalina stepped through the door, her thick shawl wrapped tightly around her arms and shoulders. She looked around the shop, not with any particular curiosity, but seemingly to occupy herself with anything but looking at her sister. "How are you?"
"Good." Tatiana flipped the sign and closed the door, but hesitated over the deadbolt. "Do you have time to come upstairs? I should have enough stew for two."
"I have plans for dinner." Catalina finally met her gaze. "I came to ask if you'd like to join us."
Hope fizzled. A strained dinner with Wallace was the last thing she wanted to endure—or could afford to endure, for that matter. He'd sent Catalina around, no doubt, a ruthless reminder that he had a knife at Tatiana's throat, even if she couldn't see it.
One step in the wrong direction and Wallace wouldn't hesitate to make Catalina's life miserable. He knew it. Tatiana knew it.
Her baby sister was the only one still oblivious.
And she was oblivious. The look of expectation on her face was so painfully earnest, it made Tatiana's chest ache. There was a victory in that, she supposed. A hollow one, maybe, but raising a sheltered young woman in the harsh reality of the sectors took dedication and commitment.
Tatiana didn't know what it would take to let her go. Ripping out her own heart, maybe. "I can't," she said gently. "People are watching me right now, Cat."
"So you can't have a meal with your own sister?"
"I will always have a meal with you. Any time you want."
Catalina frowned. "Except now."
Except with him. But Tatiana held her tongue, because she'd learned that lesson early on. Telling a nineteen-year-old woman in the grips of her first passionate love that someone was bad news only made it worse.
"Things are just a little complicated right now," she said instead. "There was a fight at the crafters' meeting. I want to give everyone time to cool off."
The only thing cooling off was Catalina's voice. "I heard about it."
"Stuart's a powerful man with influence in the sector." Tatiana felt like she was giving a lecture, but she couldn't stop. There were so many dangers Catalina didn't grasp, because she'd never been forced to see them. So many ways where one wrong step would mean the end of her business and their security. "Wallace should be careful—"
"Careful," Catalina echoed bitterly, almost spitting the word. "I'm so fucking tired of being careful. Don't you ever want to live?"
She wanted to live. She wanted to kiss Zan in her store in broad daylight and not agonize over all the ways it could destroy her. But she wanted to stay alive even more. "Do you know what happens when you pin all your hopes on a man like Wallace?" she demanded, leaning close. "You should, because it happened to both of us when our father died. Maybe I shielded you from it too well."
"It's not going to work, Tatiana. I won't let you turn me against him."
That had to be what he whispered to her every night. That her sister just wanted to drive them apart, ruin their love, destroy them. You couldn't fight something like that, so Tatiana didn't try.
She used the same words as the last time, words that felt insufficient and defeated but were all she had. "You're my sister, and I love you. I want you to be happy. If you ever need me, I'll be here for you."
Catalina gripped her shawl even tighter and took a step back. "I have to go."
It hurt. The kind of pain she couldn't even feel all at once, so she grasped for something that might ease it before the full weight of it crushed her. "Do you need anything? Soap or shampoo? I have some of that lip balm you like—"
"Stop, okay?" Catalina interrupted. "Just stop."
"Cat—"
But her sister was already on her way out the door, the cheerful jingle of the bells a stabbing accusation.
Not good enough. No matter what she said, what she offered, nothing short of throwing her lot in with Wallace would ever be good enough. And that was a path to destruction. Maybe a quick blowout, or maybe a slow and bloody one, but those were the only two options.
Dallas O'Kane was too secure, too dangerous. So dangerous he could bide his time, trying to find a bloodless solution to this. He would win, in the end. And Catalina...
Well, as long as Tatiana stayed clear of the conflict, her sister would have a safe place to nurse her broken heart. Because Dallas O'Kane didn't destroy helpless pawns for the crime of clinging to whatever security they could find.
It didn't make it hurt less, in the meantime.
Tears threatened, but the jingle of the bell jerked her attention back to the door. Her hand strayed to the pistol under her counter, but it was Zan this time, his broad shoulders and sheer size unmistakable even through watery eyes.
She turned her back on him and used her sleeve to wipe her face. "Could you bolt the door?"
He was already flipping the two deadbolts into place. "Are you okay?"
The switch for the overhead lights was in a difficult place, tucked behind a display case next to the counter. She leaned up and twisted, throwing the storefront into near darkness. It was easier to face Zan like this, with her pain smoothed away by shadows. "I'm fine. Just a little family spat."
"I seem to remember that those are the worst kind."
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"Sometimes." She circled the counter and stopped with a few paces separating them, feeling too awkward to close that distance. It wasn't easy, like this afternoon. He'd dragged her against his body and swept away her reservations for several breathless, stolen moments—
And then she'd asked for space, and he'd given it to her. Space that loomed between them now. She didn't know how to close it, and she didn't trust the weak, fragile part of her desperately hoping he'd make the choice instead.
It had started like this with Gia. The temptation to let go and have someone else make the little decisions, the ones that weren't life or death. Maybe if she stood here long enough, he'd sweep her up again. He'd get his hands all over her body and kiss her, and it would stop hurting.
He reached out, but only to brush her hair back from her forehead. He watched her, those dark eyes of his seeing everything. She wouldn't be able to hide if she let him stay. Not in shadows, and not behind forced smiles. Zan wasn't just another cocky young bastard, only thinking with his dick. He was a grown man. An intelligent, powerful one. One who'd asked her to trust him.
That first step was so, so hard. The next one was worse, because the pain was slamming down on her now, the loss and the fury and the helplessness. She stumbled into the wall of his chest and buried her face against his shoulder. "I'm sorry."
"Shh." He wrapped his arms around her. "Nothing to be sorry about."
"I don't know how to handle her," she whispered, clenching a hand in his shirt. "Everything I say makes it worse."
His chest rose beneath her cheek in a heavy sigh. "Some people only want you to tell them what they want to hear."
Catalina wouldn't be happy with anything short of, Wallace is brilliant, I know he'll save the sector from those asshole O'Kanes, and you'll be better than a princess this time, you'll be his queen. God. It would have been laughable, if it hadn't been so dangerous.
It still hurt, but not as much. With Zan's heart beating strong and steady under her ear and the warmth of him surrounding her, that sick weakness inside her didn't feel quite so wrong.
Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, if it was just something like this. Stolen moments with a clean start and a firm ending. They wouldn't have to bleed into her life and steal her freedom if they were always over at sunrise.
Easing her grip on his shirt, she tilted her head back. "I want to invite you upstairs. But we need to talk first."
He met her gaze easily, but a thread of wariness crept into his voice. "All right."
This sort of thing didn't usually fluster her. Gia had opinions about engaging in any sort of sex you weren't comfortable discussing with your partner, and the lessons in laying out her expectations had served Tatiana well. She was used to putting it all out there, and then taking charge.
It was harder to ask someone else to be the one in charge. Hell, maybe he wouldn't even want to be. He'd already chided her about making assumptions. The words got stuck in her throat, and she blew out a nervous breath and looked away. "I don't know how to start this. I didn't have to, last time."
A frown wrinkled his brow.
That only made it worse. Steeling herself, she squared her shoulders. "I wasn't good at Gia's games because she always wanted to play the same one and she wanted to do it all the time."
His frown deepened, and then he nodded. "Maybe...because it wasn't a game at all."
No, it hadn't been. But that had been its seductive lure—the promise that playing with power could take you beyond yourself, even help you find yourself. Tatiana had been too inexperienced to understand that the words play and power games were lighthearted descriptions of something far deeper.
"She needed too much," she said, trying to find words to describe that painful disconnect, the point where it had begun to unravel under the weight of her dissatisfaction and Gia's disappointment. "I tried, because I wanted to make her happy. But I was playing, and she could tell."
"I'm not an expert, but I don't think it works that way." His thumbs traced slow circles over her upper arms. "You have to need the same things. You have to need them more than anything else in the world."
"Sometimes I wished..."
"That you needed it, too?" he asked softly.
"Some parts of it were so good." She wanted to rub a hand across her chest, as if she could banish the ache. "I miss that. Giving someone else the power for a little while so they have to take the responsibility, too. But it's not safe with most people."
"It doesn't have to be this hard." Zan's hands tightened on her arms. "What do you want, Tatiana?"
She had to say it. That was how it worked with someone you could trust. But it felt like giving in, like it turned all those other words she'd said—the ones about needing her independence, and to be strong—into lies.
But this was what she wanted. Weak or not, shameful or not. It was what she needed. "I want to be selfish. I want someone to take care of me."
"But you have rules." It was an observation, not an accusation. "Explain them to me?"
He'd respected the last boundary she'd drawn. Hope seized her, swallowing the ache of loss as her heart began to beat faster. "Only when we're upstairs. And if something makes me uncomfortable, I'll tell you."
He took a step back, his expression more intense than ever. "Show me."
Only upstairs. That was the line she clung to as she led him through her office, pausing at the back door to check the locks. By habit, her fingers went to the portrait of her mother, adjusting the frame until it was perfectly parallel with the door.
The picture was their signal. Tatiana had thought hard about it when she and her sister had first moved into the building. They needed something subtle, something that said get the fuck out in a language only the two of them knew. So she'd hung the portrait by the only door they used, and had made Catalina promise—if she ever came home and found the picture tilted, she was supposed to run.
Catalina came through the front door now, when she came to visit at all. But Tatiana still straightened the damn picture.
Swallowing the ache, she led Zan through her workroom, shutting off lights as she went. The darkness made the world seem distant, fuzzy. She shivered as she set her foot on the first step. He wasn't distant. She could feel him in the darkness behind her. This was real, and it was reckless, and it was happening.
She hadn't even asked what he wanted to do to her. It could be anything, rough fucking or fierce dominance. He could want to shove her to her knees, force her to take his cock until she choked. Wrap her in chains and play with pain and pleasure until she wept and begged. Or God, most dangerous of all...
He could want to be sweet to her.
She hesitated with her hand on the apartment door, his big body like a furnace at her back. This was what she had to remember. The rule she couldn't break, not for anything. She could have her indulgence, her selfish moment of living, but it couldn't cross this threshold.
Her heart pounding, she pushed open the door and stepped through.
Zan followed her immediately, sliding one arm around her waist and pressing his lips to the back of her neck. Pleasure melted through her, terrifyingly intense for such a small gesture.
But it wasn't just the kiss. It was all of him, hard and big and unshakable. She ran a hand up his forearm, stroking the heavy muscle with a shiver.
All hers. Tonight, he was all hers. And she was his.
"Tell me," he breathed. "Tell me which part of this gets you off."
The truth sounded sad, needy, but she knew better than to lie. "Feeling like I'm the center of someone's world."
His breathing hitched. "Then why would you want that to end?"
Because worlds always did. "I need to know I can be the center of my own world, too."
He swayed slowly, almost like he was rocking her. She gripped his arm, caught on the edge of uncertainty. It would be so easy to relax into him, but she had to be sure. "Is that okay, still? That I need it to end?"
Zan's lips brushed h
er ear. "Whatever you want, sweetheart."
An end wasn't what she wanted, but it was all she could allow herself to have. Secure in her boundaries, she shivered and closed her eyes. "I want you to do beautiful, filthy things to me. I want you to fuck me."
The hand on her belly slid to her hip, and Zan edged his thumb under her waistband to stroke her skin. "I'm here," he whispered, then tilted her head back with his other hand and claimed her mouth.
He was good at kissing. Slow and thorough, like he could spend the whole night just kissing her. His tongue was hot enough coaxing her lips apart, but her body throbbed when he licked deeper, taking possession of her with brutal gentleness.
His hands glided up her body, over her curves to grip her jaw, the back of her head. "I want this. I've wanted this for months."
And yet he had made no move to take her until Dallas O'Kane needed her. But this was a fantasy, these stolen hours, so she'd let herself believe him. Tomorrow morning, when he was gone and she had both feet planted on solid earth, she'd force herself to face the convenience of the timing.
Tonight, she was the center of his world. "So take me."
He swung her up into his arms and headed for the drawn curtain that separated her living space from the bedroom. He didn't draw it aside, just sidled through it so that it fluttered back into place behind them, maintaining the illusion that this moment was isolated, cut off from the rest of the world.
Then he laid her on the bed and loomed over her, his face in shadow. Inscrutable.
She reached for him, touching his jaw and brushing his lips with her fingertips. "What can I give you?"
"Shh." He mimicked her actions by laying two fingers over the center of her mouth, then bent and licked the exposed edges of her lips.
Not just sweet. It was tender, a filthy sort of reverence, and her whole body went tense and heavy with anticipation. His control had to snap. She'd tasted wild hints of it in that first kiss, with his hands big and rough all over her body. At any moment, he could be on her, fucking her with a power that would leave her weak with yearning.
Instead, he traced one hand down the center of her vest, lingering over the laces before tugging at the knot that held them in place.