Chapter 48 Sloane #2
He straightens slow as honey, still staring at me. Once he’s moved away, I sit up and slide off the bed, trying not to let my nerves get the better of me. I can do this. I just need to maintain my resolve. I can’t think about what this will cost me later.
The duffel’s already unzipped. I draw it open so I can get a better look inside and almost lose it on the spot.
I’ve never seen anything like it before in all my life.
It’s part sex shop, part hardware store in there.
God only knows whether the coils of strapping or the sheathed knives are meant for work or play, and frankly I’m scared to find out.
There’s other stuff in there: ball gags, handcuffs, lengths of rope, a sleek silver bullet vibrator, still sealed in its box.
Alongside all of that, there’s a knuckle-duster, a gun, and a Taser.
The roll of duct tape really finishes the whole thing off for me.
This is a stark reminder that Zeth is not a fucking Boy Scout.
He’s dangerous. And he’s never pretended to be anything else, a small voice in my head reminds me.
I glance up to find him watching me closely, hands clenched by his sides.
It’s almost as if he’s done this on purpose.
He’s made me look in the bag. To see who he is.
He must think I’ll run. He must be waiting for it to happen.
But I am not reserved, timid Sloane anymore.
Even if I find Alexis and bring her home, it will be impossible to go back.
I take the gun out of the bag. “Stand up.”
Zeth couldn’t look more surprised if I’d already shot him with the damned thing. “Sloane…”
“I said stand up.” I check the clip, take the safety off, and aim the thing at his chest. I’m still panting like crazy, still red in the face, but something has shifted inside me. I’m not nervous anymore. Not with this weapon in my hand. Zeth stands up slowly, never taking his eyes off me.
“When I told you to take something out of the bag—”
“Yeah, I get it. You didn’t expect me to pick this. Now take off your shirt.”
He does it, slipping the clothing over his head quickly, as though he doesn’t want to take his eyes off me even for a second.
I want to take a moment to appreciate the beauty of the half-naked man in front of me, but I can’t let him know what he does to me.
Instead, I point the gun at his pants, raising my eyebrows.
He gets my meaning: those, too. He kicks off his shoes and loses the pants, all without looking away.
“Now what?” he asks.
“Shut up. Come here.” He makes his way around the bed and looms over me in his boxers.
He’s trying to intimidate me with his size, but it won’t work.
Not this time. That must come as a shock to him.
I get the feeling he’s relied on his stature to scare the living shit out people for a very long time…
and I’m about to take that advantage away from him. “Get on your knees.”
He doesn’t obey straightaway. I shove the muzzle of the gun into his chest, pressing hard enough to depress skin and muscle. He gets the picture and sinks to his knees.
“Now put your hands behind your back.”
He does that, too. I skirt around him, still aiming the gun at him, until I reach his duffel.
The duct tape comes out next. My heart hammers as I pull out a length, my hands shaking like crazy as I bind his wrists together.
I keep expecting him to whip around and grab me, but he doesn’t.
He lets me do it, although his breathing has kicked up a notch, coming faster and louder.
I pause behind him, taking a moment to regroup.
I know exactly what I’m going to do to him, and the prospect is at once thrilling and terrifying.
I bury my fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, grabbing hold of it and pushing his head forward.
He grunts but doesn’t react. Not until I press the gun against the back of his head.
He stops breathing. I know his eyes are open because his long, dark eyelashes are visible from this angle, but he doesn’t blink.
Doesn’t move. He just stares at the floor, holding his breath.
“Tell me what you’re feeling,” I demand.
Zeth blasts a full lungful of air out of his nose. “Oh, really? We’re sharing our feelings? Right now? Come on, Sloane.”
I cock the hammer on the gun.
“Fuck! Okay. Okay. Well, I guess you could say I’m wondering if you’re gonna blow my head off. Happy?”
“No. That’s what you’re thinking, not what you’re feeling. How do you feel?”
“What the fu—”
“You’re kneeling on the floor with a gun pressed against the back of your head, wondering if you’re about to die. Don’t fucking tell me you’re not feeling anything, Zeth.”
“All right, I’m fucking shitting my pants. I’m losing my shit. Is that what you want to hear?”
“Yes.”
He lets out a scathing laugh. “Wonderful. I’m glad I’m not the only sadist in this relationship.”
“I’m not a sadist. And neither are you.”
“Then what the fuck are you doing, Sloane?” He sounds exasperated.
I put the gun back into the duffel, remembering to snick the safety back into place first, and then I kneel down behind him.
Carefully, I stroke my fingertips down the defined groove between his shoulder blades, taking great pleasure in the way he shivers at my touch.
From there, I lace my arms through his so that I can run my hands over his chest and his abs.
I’m so close to him, my chest pressed to his back.
His skin smells of outdoors and the faint tang of masculine sweat.
I can’t stop myself; I press my lips against his shoulder blade, closing my eyes.
“God, Sloane,” he whispers. Nothing else.
He doesn’t ask anything else. He just trembles as I trace my fingers across the planes of his stomach and downward, to the tops of his thighs.
I kiss his shoulders, running my tongue over his heated skin, licking and biting at him, gently this time.
Not hard like before. My knees hurt, but it’s worth it if only for the way his body comes alive against me, twitching and reacting to each considered stroke.
The anger that I felt just now eventually turns into something more heady, sexual, and basic.
The power that I have over him is incredible.
I could do anything I wanted to him and…
and realistically he probably could stop me.
He’s still kneeling where I told him to because he wants to, not because I’m forcing him. But still…
I slide my hands lower, then lower still until I find what I’m looking for.
His cock is rigid, straining against his boxers.
He sucks in a sharp breath when I take him in my hand and squeeze, the way he did to himself back in his apartment the second time I slept with him.
No, not slept with him. He was right earlier. I fucked him.
“Do you want me?” I whisper, grazing my teeth against his ear lobe.
“Yes.”
“Are you going to behave if I let you come play with me on the bed?”
Zeth makes a low, guttural sound. His breathing comes fast and uneven. He’s never been like this with me before. Control is a big thing for Zeth. He’s always in charge, always handling what’s happening between us, but not now. I don’t think he’s even realized it himself yet.
I stand and let him rise as well. His eyes are hooded by his half-lowered lids.
I take the knife from his duffel and cut the duct tape, freeing his hands, wanting him to be able to participate in what I plan on doing next.
He hooks his thumbs into his boxers and strips out of them without my asking him to.
And then, not two seconds after thinking that he’s actually giving himself over to me, I realize my mistake.
I scream when he rockets forward and grabs me by the waist. “ZETH!”
In a flash, his lazy, sex-doped expression is gone.
He’s lit up, fizzing with fury. “You’re fucking crazy, you know that!
” He has me off my feet, practically over his shoulder.
Three long strides and then he throws me forcefully onto the bed.
I hit the mattress with a very unladylike Ufff !
as the oxygen leaves my lungs. I lash out with my feet, trying to push myself up the bed and away from him, but it’s no good.
I’m all arms and legs, panicking, and Zeth is a practiced predator.
He has my arms pinned over my head before I can scramble my way off the bed. “Stop struggling.”
Oh, I want to, but my natural instincts are warning me not to trust a man who carries a Desert Eagle around in his sex kit. He huffs impatiently and then lowers his body weight on top of me, pinning me to the bed. “Sloane, stop fighting me.”
“Get off me and I will!” I regret pulling the gun on him. Massively. I have no idea what kind of retribution he has planned, but I’m sure I’m not going to like it. “You told me to do it, Zeth! You can’t hurt me for doing what you told me to!”
He lifts himself a fraction, rearing back to get a good look at me. The anger on his face has morphed to something else. “Hurt you?”
“For the gun!” I have to get him off me. I need to. I buck against him, but the bastard doesn’t shift an inch. He’s a dead weight on top of me.
“What do you mean, hurt you?” His voice is cold. Detached.
“I don’t—I—” The disbelief on his face finally hits home. He doesn’t look like he’s set on killing me. If anything, he looks horrified.
“I would never hurt you, Sloane. You honestly think I would?”
A small voice immediately answers yes, but it doesn’t belong to me. It belongs to that treacherous Pippa impersonator who lives inside my head. My panic subsides, leaving me exhausted underneath him. I stop struggling. “No. I…”