Wrecked

by Shiloh Walker

  “The night you gave me this, I saw you looking at me,” she whispered. “We . . .” She stopped and cleared her throat. “Were you thinking . . .”

  He slid a hand up and tangled a fist in her hair, holding her steady as he moved in. One leg came between hers, nudging them farther apart. “I saw you looking at me, too.” He dipped his head and pressed his lips to her shoulder as he cuddled his cock against her rump. “Yes . . . I was thinking about this. I can’t look at you without wanting you, Abby. I’ve wanted you for too long.”

  The words slid over her like a caress and she wondered just how that was possible. Why hadn’t she seen it? And then she couldn’t think about anything except how much she wanted him. How much she needed him. One hand trailed up her back, then back down and she whimpered as he butted his hips against her once more. Whimpering low in her throat, she lifted her eyes and stared at him in the mirror.

  Dark brown hair fell in his face, half shielding his gaze from her, but she saw the blue of his eyes glittering at her.

  “Stay there.”

  He moved away from her and without his hands on her hips to steady her, without his strength there, she had a hard time staying upright. Locking her knees, she lowered her head and sucked in a desperate breath of air. Blood roared in her ears and her heart thudded so hard, it was a miracle it didn’t leap out of her chest.

  Although he didn’t make a sound, she knew when he was back in the bathroom. Jerking her head up, she watched in the mirror as he came to stand behind her. She heard a foil packet rip and her knees started to go weak. Images of that day in his shop flashed through her mind and she sucked in another breath.

  Moments later, she felt him nudging against her gate, hard and slick, separated by the thin shield of the latex condom he wore. She rather hated that barrier, needed to feel him, just him. But then he was pressing inside and she forgot about everything but the wonderful feel of him stretching her, and the gravelly sound of his groan as he buried himself inside her.

  * * *

  Hands spread low on her spine, Zach rocked against her, alternating his view between staring where they joined and looking up to watch Abby’s face in the mirror.

  The edge of hunger rode him hard, but it wasn’t so brutal this time, wasn’t so breath-stealing. He could take it just a little slower and he intended to draw it out, make it last as long as he could.

  Although it already felt like a fist was gripping his balls, fire licking down his spine as she clenched tight around him and shuddered.

  Her damp hair fell around her shoulders and back in crazy spirals and he reached up, catching a fistful of it as he moved closer. He drew her body upright, the depths of his thrusts slowing down so that he was barely rocking inside her now. And it was still incredible bliss.

  Staring at her in the mirror, his arm banded around her waist, the colors of his tattooed arm vivid against her pale skin, he held her gaze in the mirror as he circled his hips against hers. “Look at us, Abby. See how we fit?”

  She nodded slowly, reaching back up with her arm and twining it around his neck. It arched her breasts out and forced her hips down more firmly against him and a ragged, breathless snarl tore out of him as he continued to watch them.

  Words rose inside his throat, words he had to fight back for now. Not yet. Not until he thought she might be ready. He couldn’t have her running. But it was a ragged refrain in his head. I love you . . . always you.

  “Zach . . .” Her voice, shaky and hoarse, danced through the air and the sweet glove of her sex tightened around him, the tension in her body ratcheting up until she was rocking back and forth against him almost frantically. He gritted his teeth and stroked his hand down her belly, sliding his fingers through the curls between her thighs.

  The hard knot of her clit all but pulsed against his fingers and he pressed against her lightly, smiling as her cry bounced off the walls in the bathroom. “Fast?” He settled on the rhythm that had pushed her over the edge earlier. “Is that how you like it?”

  But her eyes had already gone glassy and she didn’t even seem to hear him.

  She moved faster, working herself up and down, the movements short and shallow, but it didn’t seem to matter.

  He groaned as she started to come, vising down around him and coming with a cry that sounded like glory.

  He wasn’t far behind.

  * * *

  There were some mornings that were just made for lazing in bed, for that slow glide from sleep into wakefulness—and this was one of them. Stretching, Abigale rolled to her belly as her body tried to urge her brain back to sleep, back to dreams.

  And wow. Had there been dreams.

  Zach . . .

  Zach—

  She turned her head and cracked one eye open.

  The view of the mountains greeted her. Mountains weren’t an unfamiliar sight for her to wake up to, but these weren’t the mountains she was used to. Staggering, soaring peaks and evergreens, the sky so blue it hurt to look at it . . . all in all, completely beautiful. And nothing like the beauty of the desert back home.

  Flagstaff.

  Swallowing, she sat up and stared out the window.

  She was in Flagstaff. With Zach.

  Glancing down, she found herself staring at her naked body and then she groaned, covering her face with her hands. She was naked. In Flagstaff. With Zach.

  And that meant last night had really happened. Really. She’d slept with Zach. She’d . . . How did she describe last night? The word sex seemed inadequate. She felt like he’d turned her inside out, shattered her, and then completely remade her.

  Need to calm down, she told herself. She needed to do it, and do it now before he walked in and saw her freaking out.

  Slowly, she took a deep breath and when she did, she became aware of something . . . enticing. Bacon. Coffee. And despite the nerves twisting through her, a smile tugged up the corners of her lips. He was making her breakfast. She hoped there wasn’t a repeat of the last time.

  Her belly rumbled demandingly and she got to her feet, looking around for something to put on. Her clothes had been in a tangled mess across the floor last night. She remembered leaving them that way on her way in here with Zach. Now they were tossed in a small wicker hamper over by the door. Shoving her hair back from her face, she moved over to the closet and tugged it open. Their bags were still sitting in there but at some point, Zach had unpacked a little. Industrious man. He had a sweatshirt hanging up and a few of her shirts. Her blouses were all short-sleeved and it was chilly in the cabin. She grabbed the sweatshirt.

  Just as she pulled it on over her head, Zach appeared in the doorway with a tray. A wide grin flashed across his face as he said, “Oh, come on now . . . I made you breakfast in bed. The least you could do was stay naked for me.”

  “Breakfast in bed?” She glanced down at her naked feet on the gleaming hardwood floors and then back up at him. “I’m not in bed now.”

  “Smart-ass.” He came farther into the room and settled the tray on the smooth, wide surface of the bedside table before he came and caught her in his arms. His mouth covered hers even as she tried to turn her head.

  “I need to brush my teeth,” she mumbled against his lips.

  “And I need to kiss you.” Which he did . . . thoroughly. By the time he had lifted his head, she was panting for breath and her legs were about ready to fold underneath her.

  She curled her hands into the faded material of his t-shirt and rested her brow against his chest. Zach slid his arms around her, his head pressed against the curve of her neck. She could feel the warmth of his breath drifting over her skin and he had one hand stroking absently up and down her spine, like he just had to be touching her. Stroking, kissing, something.

  It was driving her out of her mind with want for him.

  “You’re one hell of a wake-up call,” she said softly.

  “If you ever want to keep me on service permanently, let me know,” he whispered. “I can tuck myself
into your bed and I’ll give you a personalized wake-up call whenever you want.”

  She shivered a little at the thought. Thinking about waking up to Zach was an oddly intriguing and terrifying thought.

  “You ready for some coffee? Breakfast?” He kissed her neck once more and then lifted his head to look down at her, pushing her hair back from her face.

  “In a minute.” She eased away from him. “Bathroom.”

  She locked herself inside and even though it felt like her bladder was about to explode, even though she wanted to wash her face, brush her teeth, and just get out there and see him, she took a minute and leaned back against the door, eyes closed.

  Zach.

  What in the hell . . .

  She’d wanted a torrid affair. No denying that.

  She’d wanted something memorable, she thought. That was what she’d told Marin.

  I want somebody who’ll make my heart stop, and then make it race all over again. I want somebody who’ll make me remember every damn second we were together, and not just the moment we were in bed. I want something to remember . . .

  There was no way she’d be forgetting any of this.

  The only problem was that she was starting to wonder if any other guy would ever live up to this. Her lips still buzzed, still burned from the heat of his kiss. Pressing the tips of her fingers to them, she realized she already knew the answer.

  One week with Zach. That was all she’d had, really. One week. And they’d spent one night together and she already knew every guy after this was going to come up short.

  Yet there was no way she could see herself regretting any of this.

  Shoving away from the wall, she quickly used the restroom, washed her hands and face. Once she’d done that, she dug out her toothbrush and toothpaste, brushing her teeth. She lingered in front of the mirror, finger-combing her disheveled hair but there was only so much she could do without a shower.

  And she wasn’t leaving Zach out there with her breakfast too much longer. He was one hell of a guy, but he’d drink all the coffee and eat most of the bacon.

  As she opened the door, she saw him laying back on the table, munching his way through a thick-sliced, crispy piece and she narrowed her eyes at him. “There better still be some for me.”

  He patted the bed next to him. “I made plenty.” Then he winked at her. “But if you want it, you have to come join me so I can feed you.”

  She settled next to him, sitting up with her legs folded. Zach pushed up onto his elbow, his gaze zeroing down and locking on her lap. “That’s a picture,” he said gruffly. “Fuck breakfast . . . I think I want—”

  As he went to sit up, she planted her hands into the middle of his chest and shoved him back. “I want breakfast.” She eyed the tray for a second and then looked at him. “Are you feeding me, like you said, or is your brain already in your pants?”

  “Men are like dinosaurs, sugar. We have two brains, completely independent of each other and capable of separate thought.” He sighed and sat up, moving around until he could grab the tray.

  “Dinosaurs . . .” She pursed her lips and shook her head. “I don’t think dinosaurs have separate brains. That’s earthworms, right?”

  “Hey, there’s the stegosaurus. Some scientists thought they had two brains.” He shrugged and moved around until he had her settled up against him. “But that’s not the point. I can feed you and still carry on a conversation while my dick is yelling at me to pull that sweatshirt off of you and get you under me again. Which I plan to do very shortly.”

  Her breath hitched in her chest and she tried to remember how to breathe.

  A slow grin lit his face as he held up a cup of coffee. It already had plenty of cream in it and she figured he’d added enough sugar to make him cringe—that one would be hers. “Coffee, Abby?” he asked, still smiling that hot, devilish little grin.

  She licked her lips as she closed her hands around the mug, grateful to see that her fingers weren’t shaking. She was shaking . . . all but quivering inside as she lifted the mug to her lips. Still, it didn’t show in her hands, on her face, or her voice as she said easily, “Zach . . . if I’d known I’d get breakfast in bed, I think I would have gone after you ages ago.”

  “I’ll do it every damn week if you keep me around.”

  Keep you . . . damn it. I’m starting to want just that. “You better be careful. You just might tempt me.” She took a sip of the coffee and it was perfect. She couldn’t have made it any better if she’d done it herself. “You apparently know exactly how I like my coffee.”

  “I’ve only been watching you make it since you were sixteen years old,” he said.

  She frowned at the edge in his voice and glanced up. “Is everything okay?”

  He flashed her a smile. “Couldn’t be better.” He reached for a piece of bacon and held it to her lips. “See? I can do it without making a mess or burning the hell out of my hand.”

  She nipped a bite of the end and picked up a piece to feed him. “Not bad, Zach. If you ever get tired of the tattoo biz, I could use a hand with my catering business.”

  “Nah.” He laughed softly. “Breakfast is pretty much the beginning and end of my cooking skills.”

  The rest of the meal passed in companionable silence, although she was acutely aware of just how much he watched her.

  Had he always watched her like that? she wondered.

  She thought maybe he had.

  But she really wasn’t certain.

  One thing she did know was that she rather liked how it felt when he watched her. Liked how it felt being with him . . . like this. It was deeper than what she was used to, but still the same on some basic level. She knew that this was the one person who understood her, knew all of her flaws, all of her foibles . . . and loved her anyway. That, in and of itself, was a wonder. But this just felt . . . more. It felt like . . . everything.

  And the thought of that scared her more than a little. So she pushed it aside.

  Chapter Eleven

  I know how she likes her damn coffee, he thought sourly as he carried the tray into the kitchen.

  Yeah, he knew how she liked her coffee.

  He knew how she liked her tea, and he knew which kinds she drank, and at what time of the year.

  He knew the kinds of wines she liked, the kinds she hated—anything that wasn’t sweet enough to cause a cavity—and he kept her particular favorite on hand at his place even though he couldn’t stand the stuff.

  He knew what movies she loved, knew what movies she hated, and he knew what kind of books were likely to get thrown across the room and which ones were going to make her cry, and which ones would make her laugh.

  Yes. He knew her.

  Dumping the dishes in the sink, he rinsed everything off and loaded the dishwasher, taking those few minutes to try and get the frustration out. It should be a little easier right now, he thought. Should be. He finally had his chance, right? Granted, this wasn’t exactly evolving because he’d been up front or anything . . .

  One hand curled into a fist and he realized that was something he had to do. Something he needed to do before this moved too much further.

  Now.

  He’d go do it now.

  He finished up and dried off his hands, mentally bracing himself as he headed into the shower.

  Dread curdled in his gut, but if he didn’t do this, he was going to risk fucking it up for good. And he couldn’t risk that. No matter what.

  * * *

  . . . into the shower . . .

  Abigale groaned at the random page she’d found in the journal. Take the damn thing into the shower? It would get ruined.

  Except . . . well. That was the point, right?

  Wrecking it.

  She sighed and kicked her legs off the bed, glancing out the door into the main room. Zach was still out there, moving around in the kitchen. Something was bothering him, but she didn’t know what. He’d told her he’d clean up and although she had wanted t
o argue, she hadn’t pushed.

  Not once she saw that glint echo in the back of his eyes. He tried to hide it, and she let him, because there was no point in pushing him when he retreated into one of his moods. Besides, she got damn tired of washing dishes.

  She’d tugged the journal out of her bag, thinking she’d just jot a few things down, but then she’d remembered she was supposed to actually be doing these things and she’d told herself she’d do one thing today.

  One thing.

  “Take it into the damn shower.” She headed into the bathroom. Hitting the lights, she laid the journal on the marble counter as she stripped her borrowed sweatshirt off. The bathroom was ridiculously lavish with a shower bigger than a queen-size bed. There was a long bench along two of the walls and before she could change her mind, she tossed the book onto one of them. That should do it, really. It would be in the shower with her. In there, where it wouldn’t get too wet. She didn’t have to get it soaked, right?

  Just looking at it there made her uneasy so she turned her back to it and focused on getting the water going. She’d just leave it there. If it got wet, it got wet. It was in the shower, after all.

  Once she had the water going, she was able to forget about it. A little. Standing with the hot water blasting down on her, she sighed, welcoming the pulsating blast of water coming at her from the multiple showerheads. That was just about perfect, she thought. Just about perfect.

  Turning around, she angled her back under the main spray and opened her eyes.

  A shriek escaped her as she caught sight of the shadow at the door.

  “Damn it, Zach!”

  He chuckled and slid the door open, eyeing her with a look that was rapidly becoming very familiar. “You’re wet.”

  Shoving her hair back from her face, she glared at him. “I’m in the shower. You get wet in these things.”

  He reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it off. “Is that a fact? I should try it out.”

  She might have had a response to that. If she could have thought. About anything, other than the fact that he had just peeled his shirt off and was now unzipping his jeans.