by Kit Rocha
It unraveled, and the leather parted. She felt exposed without it, the thin fabric of her blouse just heavy enough to tease against her sensitive nipples. The vest was part of her armor, part of the image she'd so carefully constructed.
And he was stripping it away. He was stripping everything away.
Zan pushed the vest off her shoulders but left it on her upper arms as he turned his attention to her shirt. He pulled it free of her skirt, baring her stomach to just beneath her ribs, and rubbed the fabric between his fingers. "This is soft."
Because she'd washed it until the fabric was thin and worn, trying to make it last so she could put every credit back into the business. "I've had it a long time. I like it."
"So do I." He eased up onto his knees, still watching her in the near-darkness. "Take it off."
There was that thrill. That dark, delicious shiver. No need to agonize over a dozen impossible choices, struggling to pick the right one and second-guessing herself even after it was done. He'd given her a simple command, gentle and firm.
So she obeyed, gathering the fabric in her fists and sitting up just enough to strip both free. The laces caught on her braid, but she tugged impatiently, leaving her hair a disheveled tangle as she tossed the vest and blouse aside.
She wasn't wearing anything else under it. Zan's gaze raked over every inch of bare skin, and his hands clenched into fists at his sides for a split second before he dropped them to wrap around her ankles through her boots.
"Tell me what you imagined," he whispered as his fingers began to slide up her legs.
"Faster." Her voice cracked on the word, and she closed her eyes, as if that would help. She could feel him all along her skin, in all those places he wasn't touching. "Rougher. I thought you'd be in me already."
He lingered at the backs of her knees, just above her boots. "Are you disappointed?"
"No. I'm..." Overwhelmed. She had vague memories of this feeling, the way the light touches made her strain into them, yearning for a stronger hand. It took a patience she hadn't expected of him. "Surprised."
"Mmm." His fingertips traced up the outsides of her thighs, light as a feather.
"You don't have to be rough with me," she offered in a whisper, opening her eyes. Zan was watching her intently, cataloguing every reaction, and her body flushed in response, her nipples tightening painfully. "But you don't have to be gentle, either. I'm...sturdy."
"I know." He reached her hips and maneuvered his fingers under the fabric of her panties.
Her pulse raced. She clutched at her quilt, breathing unsteadily, and eased her hips up to make it easier for him to... God, she didn't even know what. Anything. He could do anything to her right now.
He dragged her panties off her hips, down her legs, guiding the lace past her boots, every movement slow and controlled.
Then he threw them aside and leaned over her again, his hips pressed into the cradle of her legs, his face inches from hers. "I don't have to be gentle. But maybe I want to be."
He had never seemed more intimidating or massive than in this moment, with her thighs pressed wide to accommodate the width of his body and his shoulders blocking out the world. Every flexing muscle held dangerous potential, and there were so many of them, all above her and around her, caging her in, pinning her down...
"What do you want?" she asked, unable to keep her voice steady.
"I want..." Another frown drew his brows together. "To make you feel good. To help you forget everything outside this room for a little while."
She stroked her finger over the furrow between his eyebrows to smooth it away. "What do you want for yourself?"
His lips tilted in another sudden smile. "What makes you think that's not for me? I can be just as selfish as the next bastard, sweetheart."
The smile undid her. She traced it, hardly believing it could be real. "As long as you get off on it. I want you to get off on me."
He shifted, the arms on either side of her flexing as he slid down. His mouth hovered over her collarbone for a heartbeat before making contact in a gentle kiss. He followed the kiss with his tongue, outlining a lazy path from her shoulder to the center of her chest.
It was sweet. The touch, the pleasure. She closed her eyes again and let her arms fall to the bed above her head.
"Keep them there," Zan muttered, then dipped his head to her breast and closed his mouth around her nipple.
Finally.
She was wound so tight she had to clutch at her pillow to keep from reaching for the back of his head. She felt the first brush of his tongue everywhere, even between her legs, and she arched up against him with a moan.
Zan pressed her back down to the bed, then left his hands there, a heavy, commanding weight on her shoulders.
She shivered, her heart racing with a different sort of adrenaline. She was so close to something, a moment of clarity or catharsis, but it slipped through her fingers when she reached for it, leaving nothing but desperation. "Please."
He shifted his weight until his erection pressed through their clothes, hard and heavy.
It wouldn't take much for her to come. Just enough leverage to grind up against him, but she could only squirm, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "Zan. Zan..."
He growled and rocked his hips, thrusting against her.
It happened so fast, even for her. The tension snapped, flooding hot, sharp pleasure through her. Quick and fleeting, but so good she groaned her relief, twisting up against him.
Through the haze, she felt Zan move—not away from her, but stealing one hand between them. A moment later, his fingers slid over her, and then inside her, and oh God. Two fingers. Two big, broad fingers, filling her up, stroking her deep.
He moved again, levering his body up until his mouth was right beside her ear. "I don't have to be gentle," he muttered, echoing his earlier words. "I can be rough, too. Is that what you want?"
Yes, she wanted it rough. Wanted him to fuck those strong, beautiful fingers into her until she was hoarse from screaming, and then wanted him to start all over with his cock. No thinking, no worrying, just inevitable pleasure and welcome exhaustion.
She'd come this far. Why bother with her fantasy if she was going to hide from the rawest parts of it? "I want you to fuck me so hard I couldn't think if I wanted to."
"Not hard, then." His touch gentled as he curved his fingers, searching until he found the spot that jolted through her and popped her hips off the bed. "Intense."
"Zan—" His fingers returned, and she groaned as the shock of it tensed every muscle in her body. It wasn't pleasure—not yet—but it could be. It would be, if he'd just shift his thumb enough to let her ease the growing pressure.
When he didn't, she tried to do it herself, releasing the pillow to slide her hand down her body. But Zan wrapped his fingers around her wrist and slammed her hand back to the bed above her head.
Her breath caught. She was bound, but this was so much better than cool, impersonal steel. Zan didn't need chains to hold her right where he wanted her, and her mind spun dizzily when she twisted and felt him everywhere, hard and hot, trapping her.
She couldn't run from this. She couldn't deflect, turn it into something else. Her only choice was to gasp and tremble as he pumped his fingers, the slick sound of it filling her ears. She was so wet, and he was so quiet, his harsh breaths and the hard cock pressing against her hip the only break in his perfect focus.
"After you come again." It sounded like a promise, one he breathed in her ear a heartbeat later. "After that, I'm gonna fuck you. Slow and hard, so you can't forget it happened."
"Please," she whispered, turning blindly toward him. Her lips found his cheek, and she groaned against it as his fingers worked over that sensitive spot, back and forth and firm. Maybe she could come like this, with nothing except that commanding touch, but she'd die of needing before finding out. "Please, please, Zan. I need, I need—"
His thumb grazed her clit.
She cried out,
digging her heels into the bed in her desperation to get closer. She lost track of the words tumbling from her lips, incoherent pleas and promises, promises to do anything if he'd make her come.
That grazing touch turned into a demanding pressure, and he whispered her name in her ear. "Tatiana."
This orgasm wasn't like the first one, quick and fleeting. Pleasure broke over her hard, arching her back, driving an incoherent noise from her throat. It shook her, not just the intensity of it, but how relentless he was, dragging it out as her pussy clenched around his thrusting fingers until she couldn't take another second.
Zan pulled free, rose to his knees again, and reached for his belt.
The pulses slowed, leaving tingles in her fingertips and tiny aftershocks, little flutters of pleasure inside her. The room swam, but Zan was in beautiful focus, his movements slow and deliberate as he unhooked his belt and eased it open.
Her gaze drifted down, down, down, fixing on his hands as he opened his pants to reveal the most glorious cock she'd ever seen. Big and thick and erect, and it would hurt to take all of him—the good kind of hurt. He wouldn't have to fuck her hard for her to feel it tomorrow.
But she still wanted him to.
He shoved his jeans off his hips and pushed her skirt higher, baring her completely to his gaze. For a moment, he did nothing but stare down at her, as if drinking in the image she presented—sprawled on the bed, half naked, the rest of her clothes in disarray. Disheveled. Debauched.
It was difficult not to cross her arms across her body or reach for the blankets, but only for the first few seconds. Self-consciousness couldn't last in the face of such hungry approval. So she left her arms above her head, left herself exposed in every possible way.
Zan broke with a groan, lunging to cover her body with his. He captured her mouth in a desperate, open kiss, tilting her head back as his cock nudged against her. Then he flexed his hips, pushing inside.
She was wet, but he was so big. She moaned into his mouth as he filled her, taking the discomfort with the pleasure, taking him.
He kept thrusting, working himself into her pussy, inch by inch. Then he froze, his mouth hovering so close to hers she could feel his breath. "Take it."
Dark, forceful words. But he didn't drive into her, and she realized he meant it literally. If she wanted all of him, she had to reach for it. So she did, digging her heels into the bed and arching up with a hoarse cry.
Zan ground against her with a grunt. "You're so tight."
"I know." She wrapped her legs around his hips, holding him to her. "I love it like this. Almost too much. Almost too big."
He huffed out a sound that was half laugh, half moan. "Never."
"Almost," she repeated, sliding her hands to his shoulders. The muscles tensed under her fingertips, and she traced them down to his strong arms. "I can take you."
His hips flexed again. "I know."
But he still wasn't moving, in spite of the tension in his body. So much restraint, and she wanted to know what happened when it snapped. Curling her fingers, she dug her nails into his shoulders, with only a fleeting regret that he still had his shirt on. "Make me feel you."
Zan kissed her again, then licked the line of her jaw. "You sure about that, sweetheart?"
She thumped a heel against his ass, damn close to growling. He was so big inside her, but so still, all that pressure against a million oversensitive nerves and no friction to relieve it. "How are you not moving?" she demanded, clawing at him.
"Careful what you wish for." The muscles in his arms bunched and shifted as he propped himself up to stare down at her.
Then he drove into her. Hard.
It was intense. Insane. Nothing short of overwhelming, and that was what she needed. He filled her so completely there was room for nothing else. Just him, and her, and her struggle to help him get as deep as he could go, because the edge of discomfort was already fading.
He braced himself on one bulging arm and locked his other under one of her knees, pushing her leg up.
His next thrust was even better. Hotter. He had her spread open for him, helpless to do anything except take—but he was giving her anything she demanded. Nothing like the clean lines of power Gia had preferred, but a beautiful tangle of instinct and need.
Tatiana clutched at the pillow again, giving him the one thing he'd asked for in return. Trust.
Zan plunged into her, over and over, scattering the last bits of rational thought she'd managed to cling to. Sometimes shallow, sometimes deep, but always hard.
He shifted his weight again. He rose on his knees, just as he had before, until the only thing connecting them was the most intimate thing imaginable—his cock inside her.
His command was unthinkable—and arousing as hell. "Fuck me, Tatiana."
Whimpering at the loss, she scrambled for purchase and lifted her hips, driving up to close the distance between them. And it was different like this, the angle so, so sharp. Her whole body trembled when she made the first grinding circle, working his shaft against the hungriest places inside her.
His hand fell to her thigh, his fingers biting in to her flesh. "More."
She tried, but her legs were unsteady, shaking every time her hips bumped his and pleasure sparked, centered on her aching clit. She pressed harder, trying to rub up against him, desperate again and teetering on the edge. "Help me, please—"
Her words cut off as he met her next grind with a snap of his hips.
Rational thought scattered. Everything scattered, except that heat building inside her and the promise of something beautiful as she slammed up into him again, only to meet a thrust that rolled her eyes back.
This was everything. Primal. Slick. Raw. She opened her eyes to meet his and gasped in a breath. "Let me— Can I—?" Her tongue tangled on the words, the dirty, crude words, but the surge of his cock inside her shattered the ability to feel shame. "Let me touch my clit."
"No," he rasped. "You want something, you ask me."
The command buzzed in her ears. She flexed her fingers, forcing herself to obey. She felt stretched too tight, and every second he held her like this, right on the edge, only made the fall that was coming more intimidating.
She was going to come so hard. She was going to come forever. But only because he wouldn't let her let go until the last possible second.
"Touch me," she whispered, because she had to. She didn't even know if she wanted him to agree, or to deny her. Everything was sharp and achy and she couldn't look away from his eyes. "Please, make me come."
His hand trailed slowly from her thigh to rest just below her navel. "Touch you where?"
No more hesitation. Dirty words fell from her lips along with her pleas. "My pussy. My clit. Please, Zan, I'm so close, I can't—I can't take..."
He lifted his hand to her mouth, pushed his thumb inside to glide over her tongue—and reached down to rub the slick pad over her clit.
She came apart. Slow, at first, that one moment where the burn flared up into warm, liquid relief. She choked on a sob, arching up into him one last time, and then it was fast and blurry, pleasure pounding all the way to her fingertips as her pussy clenched around him.
Zan growled and braced his arms on either side of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair. He plunged into her, each thrust coming harder and faster until he stiffened, her name on his lips.
She collapsed in a sprawl of shaky limbs. Zan rolled to one side, falling to the bed beside her, his chest heaving.
He was only inches away, but she couldn't move. She tried to roll toward him, and her body just...wouldn't. She was utterly wrung out, most of her still throbbing in time with her racing heart. Her throat felt raspy, and she wondered how much noise she'd made—and who might have heard.
Probably no one. None of the shop owners around her slept above their shops like she did. Anyone else prowling the market after dark had more important things to worry about than who was fucking their brains out. She had a pistol in her bedsi
de table for a reason—and she'd used it. More than once.
But she wouldn't have to use it tonight. That was the thought that gave her the strength to curl into Zan, rubbing her cheek against his shoulder as she threw an arm across his chest. "I'm still wearing my boots."
That made him laugh. "So am I."
He was still wearing everything, which was almost a pity. She smoothed her hand down his chest and snuck under his shirt to stroke the warm skin of his stomach. "I'll get us both naked. When I remember how to stand up."
His grin vanished along with his laughter. "I shouldn't stay. If someone saw me leaving now, we could explain it. After a few hours? Not so much."
It was her own rule, her demand—and it settled like a cement block in her gut, ripping away the pleasant afterglow. A few good orgasms and she'd already gotten stupid enough to risk her future, just for the fleeting comfort of having someone else in her bed.
She pulled away and straightened her skirt. "I can pack up a bag with a few things Lex and Rachel wanted. If anyone sees you, that's a decent reason."
"Sounds good." He sat up and dragged his hands through his hair. "It's not that I don't want to stay, Tatiana. But we have to be careful."
She rescued her shirt and tugged it over her head before turning to face him. "You could have, though. You could have risked it or gotten caught on purpose."
"I wouldn't do that, not after I made you a promise." His eyes were guarded. "I keep my promises."
Fantastic orgasms were easier to grasp than that simple statement. His leader needed Tatiana's allegiance—or at least the appearance of it. Zan wanted her body. She'd handed him both, and he'd...
He'd been sweet to her.
Damn it.
She was still wearing her boots, but her panties were gone, lost wherever he'd tossed them. She stood up anyway, because she needed the space—physically and emotionally. "Thank you."
His wary look sharpened. "For keeping my promise, or for the fuck?"
For both, sugar. That was the Stone answer, sharp and cutting, pain delivered for pain received. But she'd brought this hurt on herself, and what was the point of her damn life if she couldn't live beyond where she'd come from?