by M. Robinson
“I told you not to come here. That it wasn’t worth it. That you only wanted trouble and the Morellis are too much trouble.”
“And I told you I had to,” she said, blowing her hair out of her face. “That girl—”
“This isn’t about the girl. It’s about you.” With one finger he pushed strands of hair off her face one at a time until he was revealed to her. God, he was beautiful. Blond. His face carved out of stone. She saw a million versions of him in his stillness. Each of them camouflaged—hiding the real him. But she saw him sometimes, like a wild animal in the twilight. Constantly changing. Always dangerous.
“You don’t know everything, Jacob.”
“I know you. You live for trouble, Zilla.”
“I just want that girl to get a little justice. That’s all. Trouble is what happens when you’re trying to get a little justice.”
She realized all at once that Jacob was a) not sweating. Infuriating because it was rolling off her. Her makeup had to be a mess. And b) in a tux.
“You’re in a tux,” she said, breathless.
“It’s a party.”
For a second she imagined them down there as partygoers. Just regular people. Dressed up and eating fancy food. Maybe getting a little tipsy. They’d stand in rooms, talk to people and he’d have his hand resting just so on the top of her ass. And he’d say something funny—because he was actually really funny—and she’d put her hand on his arm and rest her head against his chest. Breathless with laughter.
With love.
And then they’d fuck in the limo on the way home.
Just like normal people.
He reached up and brushed the last of Zilla’s hair out of her face and actually smiled down at her sweetly.
“You look beautiful,” he said.
She bared her teeth at him and tried to buck him off.
“Stop fighting, Zilla.” He braced his hands on the bed beside her head. Looking down into her face and she had to remind herself that this man once ran across the Brooklyn Bridge chasing a car because he thought she was in danger. He was the man who laughed at her jokes and kissed her right to the edge of orgasm.
And then vanished for three days.
He was the man who taught her to fight and never pulled a punch.
He was the man who told her if she came to this party, she would be alone. A lost cause, he said. Those were his words. And I am done with lost causes.
But here he was.
“I thought I was a lost cause?”
“You are. But…” He smiled at her. “As soon as you left, I realized I was a lost cause, too.”
Her dress was twisted up around her waist. Her thong twisted around her body. She was revealed to him in a way she hadn’t been. Not ever.
A way she’d craved for so long.
And he looked down at her, a blush high on his cheeks.
“What are you looking at?” she snarled at him.
“The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
“Don’t toy with me.”
“I’m not.”
“What is this, then?” She shook her head, mad at herself because she wanted so much. Too much from him. “You know something? Forget it. Get off of me.”
“We both know you don’t want me to.”
“That ship has sailed, buddy.”
“If I touch you, you’ll be wet, Zilla.”
“That’s not consent, asshole.”
“I don’t need your consent.” His words went through her like arrows. Like something electric and buzzing. “To have you. To have what I want. To give you what you have been begging for.”
“I haven’t begged—”
He laughed and she struggled against him again. But he only smiled at her and to protect what was left of her pride she finally went still.
Don’t give him anything. Not one other thing. He already has so much.
His non-descript blond hair was longer these days and it fell over his face in a way that if her hands were free and he wasn’t threatening to rape her, she’d stroke lovingly off his face.
He put his weight over Zilla in a way that made it impossible for her to move. She was completely immobile under him. And she did not want to be excited.
But she was.
So excited it felt like pain. So in love it felt like pain. So heartbroken…well, the point was made.
If her arms were free, she could wrap them around his neck. Kiss his ear. Bury her nose right at the edge of his stiff white collar. All those small places. The tender places that he never let her touch with care. With love. If she punched him there, he’d grunt with approval. If she tried to kiss him, he’d leave her.
“My way doesn’t work, Zilla. You’re still here. You came here.”
“Damn right I did.” That girl came to her asking for help. What was she supposed to do? Ignore her? Look the other way? If Jacob knew her at all, he knew she couldn’t do that.
Suddenly, Jacob leaned back, letting go of her hands just as he shoved the skirt of her dress up over her hips. She was so stunned she didn’t do anything. Didn’t say anything. She didn’t fight as he pulled off the thong she’d been wearing.
He got on his feet.
Stood beside the bed and started to take off his belt.
Zilla sat up. Telling herself it could be a trap. That she should be careful. But he had his zipper down, his hand in his pants, pulling out the long length of his cock.
“Jacob?”
“We’ll try it your way, Zilla.”
Another woman would be stronger. She knew that. Another woman would take his fucking teasing. His Jesus…gorgeous cock and tell him to fuck himself. But she’d been waiting for so so long. Since the minute he came into her room at Belhaven, she’d been waiting to fuck Jacob Dressel.
She sat up. Her hair a mess. Her dress hiked up to her waist.
Jacob was tall. Taller than he seemed which was part of his everyday camouflage, of being an ordinary man when he was anything but. He was Jacob and she’d never wanted a man more than she wanted him.
Never loved a man the way she loved him.
And yeah, this was undoubtedly going to end in more heartbreak. But she wasn’t about to say no.
“Let me make this clear, Jacob,” she said. “When this is over, you can go fuck yourself. Forever. But for the next twenty minutes…you’re mine.”
He stroked his cock. Thick. The head already slick with what he couldn’t control.
“Open your mouth, Zilla.”
Zilla knew how to present a picture. She knew how to porn it up. But she was past that. She reached for him, gripping him by the fine white shirt bunched and wrinkled at his waist and pressed her face to the warmth of his skin.
The sweet smell of his soap. Of his body. His cock brushed her face and she rubbed her cheek against him.
She felt his flinch.
He tried to control it, but he couldn’t.
Once, when he’d snuck into her room at Belhaven, where the nights were so long and so lonely and there was nothing to do but count her mistakes, she’d hugged him and he’d flinched so hard he knocked a water glass off her dresser.
And then vanished into the night.
He kissed her once. Kissed her so hard. So completely her knees buckled. So completely she thought, this is it. This is the beginning. She slipped her hand down his pants and he flinched. She ignored it that night and he finally pushed her away and left again. Another three days.
She couldn’t ignore it. That flinch.
“Jacob?” She looked up. Met his eyes. His eyes were brown. And green. A little blue. They looked bland, unless you were right here. Right where she was. Half in love, crazy with lust.
“I’m fine,” he said.
“You flinched.”
“It’s nothing. Muscle memory.” Fight or flight. He’d explained that to her once. That her panic attacks were a fight-or-flight impulse. Being touched triggered his fight or flight.
She sat back, her
heart a knot in her chest.
“All we do is hurt each other,” she whispered. “Even when we don’t want to.”
“Do I look hurt?” he asked, stroking his cock. Oh god, she ached looking at him.
“You know it doesn’t work like that,” she whispered.
It was the first thing he’d said to her when he snuck into her room in Belhaven. What the world saw as wrong or tried to fix, was just different. It wasn’t bad. But it was real. And where they were hurt the most wasn’t visible.
“Do you trust me?” he asked.
Always and with everything in her. She nodded.
“Then give me your mouth.” He cupped his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her into his skin. The muscles of his stomach.
She learned him by smell. By touch. Rubbing her face against him like a kitten looking for a pat.
And then, finally, her lips traced the veins on his cock to the tip and she looked up at him, just making sure he was still with her. He wasn’t braced in an awful way, stomaching this so she’d do what he wanted her to do.
But the look on his face was nothing but hunger. Eyes blazing, lips parted. She’d never seen him so nakedly reveal what he was feeling. Ever. And it was hotter than his cock. It was hotter than anything she’d ever been a part of before. Don’t love him, she told herself and then she opened her mouth and let him inside.
He hissed and then swallowed it. More control he was losing. More of how he felt being revealed. And Zilla wanted more. Needed more. Craved all of it.
“Suck me, Zilla,” he whispered and she moaned. Taking as much of him in her mouth as she could. Easing back. Again. He slid his fingers in her hair, cupping her skull. She stopped moving so she could feel him moving. The slow push and pull he couldn’t fight. Thrusting deeper inside of her mouth. She wrapped her fingers around him, squeezing him. Knowing, because she knew him, that he would like the tiniest edge of pain with his pleasure. The slight pressure of her nail against his sensitive skin. Again another sound he couldn’t stop. The sound of her name on a gasp.
“More,” he said and she made her own uncontrollable sound in her throat. He slipped a hand away from her head to reach between her legs and she wanted that. Wanted every part of this. But if he touched her, this would all be over too soon. And since it was never going to happen again, she wanted to remember every moment of it. Every touch. She couldn’t get distracted.
She pushed his hand away. He tried again, but she pushed him away again. And finally he grabbed her by the hair, pulling her off of him.
Yeah, if he thought pulling her hair was going to make her back off, he didn’t know her. But then, that had always seemed like the problem. He knew her better than anyone. And he still walked away.
“Don’t distract me,” Zilla said.
“I want you distracted. I want you out of your mind.”
“And I want to memorize you,” she said, looking him in the eye.
He sucked in a deep breath and stepped back and then got down on his knees in front of her. He pushed her legs out wider, settled himself between them. “What are you doing?”
“Giving you something to memorize.”
He pulled her hips to the edge of the bed, her skirt riding up over her waist again. He went down on her with the kind of enthusiasm that seemed like a dream. And it was all at once too much. This was never her favorite thing, being vulnerable like this. Giving up this control. She pushed him away, or tried to, but he was unmoving. Relentless.
“Calm down,” he said to her. Looking up at her from between her legs. “You’ll be okay.”
“You’ve hurt me before,” she said.
He put his head down against her stomach, his breath brushing across her legs. “I’m sorry. But I would never hurt you now. Not like this. Not again.”
Somehow that was enough for her to melt into the moment. To release the tension in her muscles. To give it all over to him. She slipped her fingers into his hair, and felt the movement of his skull as he kissed her and licked her and she never in her life—in all of her worst and best moments—felt as close to someone as she felt in this moment.
It was like all the boundaries between them vanished. And it was him against her, wrapping her up in all the pleasure she could take. It was terrifying.
“It’s okay,” he said against her, over and over again. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
He slipped a finger inside her, his tongue against her clit and whatever she was so scared of vanished and all she felt was the light loving he gave her.
“Stop, please,” she said. “I want you inside of me. Please.”
He clenched his hands in her hair and lifted her to her feet. She gasped and squirmed against him. She expected him to put her on her feet but he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her. He never kissed like it was an exploration. Like they didn’t know each other. He kissed her like he owned her. Like he knew exactly what she wanted and needed and he was the only one who could give it to her. It was agony. Bliss.
She opened her lips on a cry and his tongue swept in. More and more and more. She could barely breathe. She couldn’t take enough. She couldn’t give enough.
She wrapped her legs around his waist and his cock, out of his pants, and her body spread open, brushed. She felt him from the opening of her body to her clit and she gasped into his mouth. He squeezed her in his arms. And whatever she thought this was going to be, it was going by too fast. She could feel the orgasm coming.
If I come, he’ll leave. That she knew.
She flexed her hips, stroking him with wetness and heat.
He turned pushing her against the wall. Fuck. It was a chant in her head. In her blood. Yes. More.
“I’m going to fuck you.”
“Do it. Just…do it.”
“And then we’re going to go downstairs and drink champagne and you’re going to forget—”
She pulled back, blinked at him. “No.”
“Zilla.”
“No. I came here for a reason and you think you can fuck me and I’ll forget it.”
He shifted his hand, pressed his cock right against the entrance of her body. Her breath shuddered and broke.
“If you fail, Zilla. They’ll hurt you.”
“I won’t fail.”
“Ronan and Poppy can’t protect you.”
“I can protect myself. You made sure of that. You made me strong. Now you can fuck me or you can walk away.”
He pressed his hand against her throat. Tipping her head back. “I’m going to fuck you and we are going to walk away.”
“You aren’t—”
He pushed inside of her, so fast. So hard. She screamed until he smacked a hand over her mouth. Oh god, he was so big and she could feel him in the back of her throat.
Tears burned in her eyes. It was good. So good. So much better than she’d thought. Than she’d dreamed for the last two years.
He held her so close. Close enough that she could imagine she was precious to him. She could believe that he felt what she felt. She pushed the thought aside. She’d known for two years what he felt for her and it wasn’t love. He’d made it clear.
But she wasn’t strong enough to deny this moment. She wrapped her hands around his neck and held on tight. Breathing him in and opening her body up to all the pain that would come after this.
“Zilla,” he breathed. In and out. Fucking her and breathing and chanting her name and she could feel the orgasm back again. Opening her up. Opening up the parts of herself she needed to keep closed. To keep herself safe.
She pushed him away, turned his face aside. Closed her eyes. But it was too late. It was too late when he snuck into her room at Belhaven. It was too late when he ran across the Brooklyn Bridge. It was too late when he taught her to fight. When he taught her to love, even when he didn’t want it.
The orgasm was a lightning strike of pain and pleasure and there was nothing to do but let it roll over her and through her. She clutched him and sob
bed.
“Jesus, fuck, Zilla,” he groaned. Grabbing her so hard against him it hurt. It hurt until it felt good.
Chapter Three
Zilla
She loved him.
He must know that, right? He must feel that?
She’d never been very good at hiding it. She tried, covering her love with rage like she could throw him off the scent of her real feelings.
He taught her how to take care of herself, how to manage the panic attacks, the violent fantasies, the sharp edges of herself that the world told her was wrong.
And she loved him.
He handed her the pocket square from his tux and she used it to clean up between her legs. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable. It never was. Even after he accidentally broke her rib. Or the time she snuck into his bed, naked and crying, feeling raw and alone.
No. Silence wasn’t their problem. Talking was.
“Why did you come to my room?” she finally asked. Two years too late maybe. The question easier to ask because she wasn’t looking at him.
“At Belhaven?”
She nodded, her long hair falling over her face.
The touch of his fingers against her chin stole her breath and forced her to look at him. “Because I recognized you. Because I know how lonely nights like there can be.”
“There were a dozen other people there. Half of them women. If this was about sex—”
It sounded ridiculous even as she said it. If it was about sex, why did he wait two years?
“It was never about sex,” he said. “It was always about you. I went into your room at Belhaven because I couldn’t stay away. And I ran across the Brooklyn Bridge because I couldn’t stay away.”
“And tonight?”
“I couldn’t stay away.”
She shook her head. “And now? You leave again? You vanish for three days and show up in my apartment in the middle of the night.”
He stepped back, tucking himself away. Fixing his shirt. His jacket. Until he was put back together again. Distant and impenetrable.
“I can’t do this anymore,” she said, the words pulled from her stomach. And then she did what she swore she’d never do. “I love you, Jacob. I love you and it’s killing me.”