Chapter 26 Sloane #2
Well, holy shit. I wasn’t expecting that.
A reprimand, sure. Some sternly worded, poorly veiled threat.
Anything but a compliment followed by a reassurance.
I open my mouth, but infuriatingly, I can’t think of anything to say.
Zeth puts the thin length of rope down on the table and slowly shrugs out of his jacket.
I catch sight of the impressive bulge pressing against his jeans, begging to be set free, and I can’t help my reaction. I blush.
“Angry one minute, coy the next. You’re confusing yourself, Sloane.” He steps into me, placing his hands on my hips. His grip is strong and masterful. “Pick one emotion. I recommend ‘turned on.’ If you’re not with me on that one, then I can go.”
He’s been pushy ever since he walked through the door half an hour ago, so I’m not used to this sudden glimmer of compromise within him. A meet-me-halfway, secret side of him that I think he’d prefer to keep hidden away.
The tension that’s been drawing me tighter than a bow string slackens a little at the knowledge that it is there, somewhere, hiding within him. Buried beneath ten layers of shit-kicking concrete, but still…
I’m feeling brave, so I do something really crazy: I reach out, take hold of his hand and guide his fingers between my legs. The evidence of my lust is right there for him to judge with his fingertips.
He blinks quickly, enough for me to think I’ve caught him off guard, and then he moves his fingers, humming deeply. “Mm. I see. Point taken.”
My body is jittery, impatient, demanding more than the teasing friction he is applying to my clit. He’s doing it on purpose, only giving me enough to make me crave more.
“Sit on the table,” he commands.
I do it without question.
“Good girl. Now open your legs.”
I do that, too. And then Zeth drops to his knees right there in my open-plan kitchen and begins to trace his tongue lazily up the inside of my thigh.
Let me tell you this: You may think you have been turned on before. You may think you have been ready to beg, to plead, to straight up murder to feel someone inside you, but until you’ve had this. Until Zeth Mayfair is on his knees for you…
He looks up at me, eyes still hooded and promising forbidden things.
“I’m gonna do this. And then you’re gonna do something for me, Sloane.
” He doesn’t give me an opportunity to agree to the deal (am I even being asked?).
He grabs my hips, pulls me forward, and buries his tongue into the slick heat of my pussy.
I’m so ready for him. I feel wanton, totally gripped by my need to drive my hips forward so he can gain better access.
He laves at me, drawing his tongue upward slowly and flicking the tip across the charged bud of nerves.
During our encounters thus far, I’ve fought an inner battle.
One that has prevented me from really letting go.
From embracing the situation and enjoying it fully.
That had a lot to do with fear, which admittedly still remains.
But being afraid is overrated. I don’t want that anymore.
I want to own this. To let it consume and overpower me and wipe everything—all the pain, all the worry, all the regret and guilt—from my mind.
I bury my hands in Zeth’s hair, and I moan. It’s a wild, unfamiliar, carnal sound.
Gonna be cringing over that when you replay this later, my subconscious whispers.
“Fuck you,” I whisper right back. With my thighs clamped firmly over his ears, I doubt Zeth heard me, thank God. I’m not even in control of my body anymore. It’s liberating, surrendering control to a side of myself I’m unacquainted with. My hips grind into Zeth’s face.
He snarls, digging his fingers into my skin, growling into me as he works me over.
I fight back when he pulls away, not wanting his attentions to deviate from my sweet spot, but he slaps my thigh so hard my eyes sting.
The pain demands an instant reaction. I drop my legs apart, panting for breath.
Zeth’s chest is heaving, too. And he’s wearing that wicked smirk again.
Holy fuck, I don’t care if he’s dangerous.
I don’t care if he’s an axe murderer. I’m never letting him leave this house.
“Got any ice?”
“What?”
“Frozen water,” he rumbles. “You got any?”
I shake my head, trying to clear it. “Uh, yeah, I think so?”
Straightening, he crosses the room to the freezer and nearly yanks the door off its hinges.
I’m still sitting there with my legs wide open, struggling for breath, propping myself up on my elbows when he comes back.
There’s a mischievous glimmer sparkling in his eye.
“Never had you pegged for a freezer pop kinda girl,” he says.
My stomach lurches. Oh. Shit. I have a thousand of the things stashed in my freezer.
Bubblegum flavor—a shade of blue that scientists will probably reveal gave people all over the world cancer in ten years’ time.
They’re my guilty treat. And now Zeth is producing one of them from behind his back.
“Oh boy, you should put that—”
“I know exactly where I’m putting it, Sloane.” His expression implies that this is way better than the ice cube he had planned.
“I don’t know how I feel about that, Zeth.”
“I’m gonna make you feel good about it,” he says, nodding his head, as though that alone is enough to change my mind. I shake my head, but he drops back down on his knees and presses the offending article against the tender flesh I’ve left exposed to him.
My brain demands that I close my legs and escape the unbearable cold. “Motherfucker!” I try to kick him, but Zeth grabs my ankle, his eyebrows dipping together.
“Sloane.” That reprimand again. “Want me to use the rope?”
I suck my bottom lip into my mouth, biting down on it.
Screw this. I should just get up and kick his ass out.
It’s all well and good when he’s doing questionable things that might scare seven shades of shit out of me, so long as they excite me at the same time.
But this is just uncomfortable. And sticky!
Zeth’s a smart guy—he watches all this play out on my face.
“Risk it,” he advises me, tightening his hold on my ankle.
I hear what he’s really saying, though—trust me—and that changes everything.
He hasn’t asked me for that before. I’ve given him my trust a few times, unwisely I’m sure, but he’s never asked anything of me.
It feels like a development of some sort. I’m not sure how. It just… does.
“Okay. Fine.”
He gives me a nod, stern and grim, which is kind of ridiculous since he’s holding a fluorescent blue freezer pop in his hand.
He traces it down the center of me, watching my reaction with smug appreciation, then dips forward and licks me, still piercing me with his eyes.
The switch from cold to burning hot has my muscles jumping uncontrollably.
“Shit!”
Again, he repeats the same thing. Cold then hot. Cold then hot. The pleasure smashes into me over and over, never letting up. Eventually, the cold becomes just as pleasurable as the hot, and my hips are rocking again.
“Your tongue’s blue,” I groan.
Zeth arches an eyebrow at me. “So’s your pussy.” He traces the frozen treat downward and hovers a moment over my opening.
I know what he’s going to do, and I am not on board. I am so not on board. But I’m also too late. He pushes it inside me, growling a warning as I try to squirm away…
It’s the coldest fucking thing ever. And then it’s not.
It quickly turns to heat—the strangest sensation.
A burning, stinging warmth that—I hate to admit it—feels good.
I gasp as Zeth draws the freezer pop slowly out again, and then does something that shorts the wiring in my brain.
He slides it into his mouth, a rumble of approval emanating from his chest as he wraps his full lips around the thing and sucks.
I’ve never been so jealous of a freezer pop in all my life.
“Mm. Bubblegum and Sloane. Best combination,” he purrs.
Oh. My. Fucking… I can’t think straight.
Zeth rises up my body like a hungry predator, eyes full of fire.
I shy back from him until I’m lying flat on the table and he’s on all fours hovering over me.
The freezer pop makes its way from his mouth to mine.
He rubs it over my lips until I open my mouth, and then he slides it inside.
The flavor is sweet and sugary, an explosion of chemical goodness.
Then he reclaims it again, sucking it, tasting it himself, like he can taste my mouth on it, too.
He places it down on the table next to my head and considers me for a moment, his breathing ragged and hard.
“Time for the rope, angry girl.”
I haven’t forgotten about the rope. Coiled like a snake in my peripheral vision, it’s been a danger I’ve tried not to provoke.
Does it scare me? Hell yes. But I’m done being afraid.
Zeth picks it up, and I brace, readying for the panic.
This won’t be like before, when he tied me to the bed.
This will be hands behind back, ankles knotted together.
Who knows? Maybe he’ll hogtie me. Sweat prickles in a nervous rash across my skin, and Zeth hesitates. He stops altogether.
Why is he stopping?
He doesn’t speak. He jumps down and yanks his shirt over his head in that careless way men do.
He looms at the end of the table like some rough-hewn monolith, only he is made out of tightly packed muscle instead of stone.
Unbuckling his belt, he gets rid of his shoes and rips off his jeans in the space of ten seconds flat, and then there he is, standing naked in front of me.
His cock is rigid and hard, the tip level with his navel.
I’ve seen quite a few penises through my training and later through my work, but I’ve never been possessed with the urge to play with one before.
In fact, I’ve always thought they looked pretty comical.
But Zeth? No, not Zeth. There’s nothing funny about his manhood.
He is magnificence personified. Christ almighty, I’m staring at him.
He stares right back at me, the level of his focus unnerving, but I can’t look away. I wouldn’t even if I could.
“Stand up.”
My legs feel unreliable, and yet they somehow manage. A thousand scenarios run through my head. Will he bend me over the table and fuck me? Will he grab that knife from the kitchen again? Will he blindfold me and do unspeakable things that I can’t even begin to imagine?
None of those things come to pass.
He snatches me into his arms and hoists me up so that I instinctively wrap my legs around his waist. And then he slams me up against the wall, and pain jangles through my nerve endings like discordant piano chords.
“Ah!”
Zeth doesn’t waste any time. He thrusts inside me so hard that my eyes water.
“Ah!” I cry out louder this time, and Zeth grunts, too, straining with the effort of pile-driving into me.
Hands grasping hold of my hips one second, pulling firmly on my hair, tipping my head back the next, he exposes my neck and grazes his teeth across the sensitive skin of my collarbone.
The mix of pleasure and pain is dizzying.
I’m pulled into his fever, and the fire inside me sparks and burns.
I gouge my fingernails into his back, enjoying the way his muscles tense against the pain.
“Bad girl,” Zeth snarls. But he doesn’t tell me to stop.
If anything, he seems to push back against the pain.
I grab hold of a fistful of his hair and jerk his head back just as he did to me a moment ago, and I see the look on his face.
He’s a man possessed, eaten up by his need.
For me? This dark, brooding, sexy-as-hell man wants me? Shit. How is that even possible?
Zeth slams himself into me over and over, our eyes locking together.
Something… something is passing between us.
With each thrust, I’m being drawn closer to something, being pulled in like a boat toward shore.
Zeth reaches down between our bodies and starts to stroke my clit, applying a pressure that shows he means business.
He wants to make me come. I’m ready to do that. I want to do it for him.
As the pleasure builds to Hurricane Zeth proportions inside me, I feel like…
I want to do something I know is stupid.
I lean forward and do it anyway, before I can stop myself.
My lips meet Zeth’s. They crash down on his as he pummels me against the wall, and for one blissful moment I’m in heaven, his lips on mine, full and sweet and tasting like bubblegum and sex.
The most divine thing I’ve ever experienced. And then I’m coming.
Involuntarily, my head kicks back, smacking into the wall behind me as a surge of pure fire ignites through my body.
I see stars, from both the pain of cracking my head on plaster and the orgasm that explodes through me.
Zeth comes at the same time, roaring out his climax just as he did back at his apartment.
His fingers dig into my skin as his movements slow until they stop altogether.
He breathes heavily, mouth open, pressed against my neck for a long moment before he lets go of my thighs and slips out of me.
A warm, wet sensation rushes out of me, and I realize to my horror that he didn’t wear a condom.
Suddenly, the high that I’m floating on pops and fizzles, and I come crashing back down to earth with a thump. Zeth pulls away from me and turns around, gifting me with a glorious view of his perfect ass. He buries his hands in his hair. He’s freaking out, too.
I wrap my arms around my naked body, suddenly not so okay with being on show.
“It’s okay.” I have to put his mind at rest, even if the next sentence out of my mouth is going to sound incredibly clichéd.
My voice is still low and nervous as I say, “I’ll get the morning-after pill. You have nothing to worry about.”
He drops his hands to his sides, turning around slowly. His face is a mask of conflicted anger.
“Never do that again,” he says. He shakes his head, looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Don’t ever fucking kiss me again.”