Chapter Six
Kenzie
"You've been working all evening, angel baby. It's time for bed."
"I'm almost finished," I mutter, my hands flying across the keys as I caption the last of Olive's posts for next week. I finished mine earlier. I have two other clients who still need content sorted for next week, but it'll have to wait until tomorrow.
"No." Zion leans over me at the table, pushing my laptop closed.
I snatch my fingers off the keys, gaping up at him. "I was using that."
"You've been using it for the last four hours. And you worked all morning before the pool party, which was also work." His disapproval is loud and clear.
"I have a lot to do."
"I noticed." He pulls me up from my chair. "You're done for the night."
"You don't make the rules, Zion. Not when it comes to my job."
"My job is to look out for you. That means ensuring you're taken care of, angel baby. If that means I have to drag you away from your computer, then I'll drag you away." His tone leaves no room for argument.
Except I'm me so I argue anyway.
"You aren't dragging me anywhere," I growl, though I'm not even sure why I'm pushing the issue. The truth is that I'm exhausted. My eyes are blurry from staring at the screen for so long. My butt hurts from sitting in the chair. People think my job is glamorous. Most of the time, it's this. Me dressed in sweats and a tank top, trying to figure out content for myself and the clients I refuse to drop just because I got popular.
When the shiny fades and everyone finds someone else to fawn over, I'll still have my business. Like I told Zion, it's the only reason I do any of this.
He eyes me critically for a long moment before his expression softens. "You make it damn hard to be mad about you being so fucking stubborn when you're as sweet as you are, angel baby. Come on." He dips, scooping me into his arms before I can say anything.
I grumble wordlessly anyway. What is it with this man carrying me around? He's supposed to be my bodyguard, not my own personal pack mule.
He strides from the kitchen, hitting the lights on his way out. The living room is already dark. I tried to convince him to sit in there and watch TV while I worked, but he refused. He sat at the table all night instead, pretending to play on his phone.
I think he spent most of the night with his eyes on me. Every time I looked up, it was into his eyes.
He carries me down the hall, heading straight for my bedroom. I don't even want to know how he's figured out which is mine. My cheeks heat when he pauses in the doorway, taking it in. It's a lot. Soft cream walls and pastel pink fabrics turn the small room into a little haven. But the clothes and shoes strewn indiscriminately across the floor and the jewelry spilling across the top of the dresser give it a chaotic vibe.
"I've been meaning to clean it," I mumble, embarrassed. I'm probably the only twenty-three-year-old on the planet with a room that looks like a tornado hit it. But time is something I don't have enough of most days. I work from sunup until I collapse, and then I get up and start again.
When you have a business to run, you get to pick your hours. You just have to pick the fourteen a day that works best.
"I like your room," he murmurs.
"Liar," I laugh quietly. "It's a disaster area."
"It's lived in." He picks his way across, planting his feet carefully to avoid stepping on any of the clothes or shoes littering the floor. Once we're beside the bed, he gently lowers me to the floor. "Get ready for bed, baby. I'm going to go get my shit."
"Okay." I turn toward the bathroom before his words register. "Wait a minute. Your stuff? What do you mean your stuff?"
"I'm spending the night." He says it casually, as if it's a foregone conclusion.
"What do you mean you're spending the night?" My voice is suddenly a full octave higher than it should be. I refuse to believe anyone can blame me for it. This crazy man just invited himself to spend the night with me.
He grabs the hem of my shirt, reeling me in until I'm pressed up against him. "I mean," he says, his eyes locked on my face, "that I'm your bodyguard. That means I'm by your side twenty-four-seven until Madden deals with Lyle Taggert."
"B-by my side?"
"Yeah, baby. You heard me right. You'll be sleeping in that bed with me tonight." His wicked grin has me breaking out in a cold sweat as he lowers his head, placing his lips against my ear. "And I fucking love to cuddle."
Dear Mother of God, please send help. Seriously. Help. Me.
He brushes his lips across my temple before he releases me. "Get ready for bed, Makenzie. I'll be right back." He strides toward the bedroom door, only to pause on the threshold. "Don't even think about trying to lock me out."
Lock him out? Why would I do that when I can smother him with a pillow while he's asleep?
He disappears from view, leaving me standing in the middle of my bedroom, my mind spinning. Madden didn't hire a bodyguard. He hired a crazy man. And God help me, I think I love it.
I grab my pajamas and head to the bathroom, praying I'm dressed and in bed before he gets back inside. Maybe then I can hog all the covers. Wait. Am I seriously about to let this happen?
Yes. Yes, I think I am.
I don't know the first thing about playing house with a man like him. I don't know the first thing about men like him, period. But I do know one thing. I've spent far too much of my life running just because I didn't want to end up like my mom. Maybe it's time to stop running and find out once and for all.
When I step out of the bathroom ten minutes later, Zion's standing beside the bed in nothing but a pair of boxers with his shirt in his hands. I stumble to a stop, my eyes locked on his body. He's ripped from head to toe, every inch of him made of thick, corded muscle.
But the skin over that muscle? Brutal scars mottle his golden skin, standing in stark contrast to the perfection of the rest of him. Most are old, but they were obviously painful. Some are still red and angry, as if they never faded past that initial stage of healing.
"Zion," I whisper, my heart in my throat. "What happened to you?"
"Shit." He starts to pull the shirt on over his head, but I throw up a hand, halting him.
"Don't." I stumble across the floor to him, one hand outstretched.
He flinches, his body rigid with tension. His jaw locked tight. Something dark glitters in his eyes. Not malice or anger but grief, a yawning well of it. As if he knows loss on a level that I'll never be able to comprehend.
"Don't hide from me," I plead, not sure what I'm asking. I just know that I don't want him to put that shirt on right now and cover this part of his story. I don't want to be the person who flinches from what he carries. Whatever it is I want to know.
He slowly lowers his hands, exhaling a long, slow breath. "War happened, angel baby," he says quietly.
"You were injured?" Tears spring to my eyes, unbidden.
"Shot," he says, his voice clipped, as if it still pains him to talk about it. "We got hemmed up in a little village in Syria. Command wanted us to pull out, but we were after a group of hostages. Mostly women and children." He exhales a breath. "I wasn't leaving without them."
"Zion."
"Don't go looking at me like the hero of this story, Makenzie. I'm not. All I managed to do was get myself shot all to hell. We didn't save the hostages. Barely managed to save ourselves." His eyes glitter with some emotion I don't have a name for. It's one I've never experienced. Because of men like him, I never had to experience it. "My team dragged me out, their fingers plugging bullet holes."
A tear drips down my cheek, grief for him pricking at my heart.
He reaches for my hand, lifting it toward his neck. "You feel that?" he asks, placing my fingers behind his ear. There's a small mass of scar tissue hidden in the hair behind his ear. He traces a line down his neck with my finger, stopping at a larger, angrier mass at his collarbone. "That's the bullet that should have killed me. Instead, it took most of my hearing."
"I'm so sorry, Zion."
"That's my story, angel baby. That's what I hide beneath my clothes." He releases my hand, cupping my cheeks in his to dry my eyes. "You're breaking my fucking heart crying for me."
"You're worth crying over, Zion Carmichael."
A little of the pain in his eyes washes away as a smile ticks up the corners of his lips. "Keep talking like that, and I might not ever let you go." He leans forward, brushing his lips against mine before I can respond. "Come on, into bed."
I hesitate for a minute, earning a little tap on my hip.
"Bed, Makenzie. Now."
"Well, I understand one thing now," I mutter, scowling at him as I move toward the bed.
"Yeah? What's that?"
"Why you're such a bossy pain in my freaking a C"
My words die in a rush as he spins me around so fast my head spins. Before I can even process the fact that I'm falling, I'm against his chest, staring up into blazing green pools of eternity.
His hand plunges into my hair, his lips coming down on mine. His kiss is tinged with sweetness and steeped in sin, as if I set something loose inside him that he can't contain. I feel it growing inside of him. I feel it growing inside of me.
This man is going to change my entire freaking world. And I think I might just let him. I don't care how bossy he is. I don't care if he's a little bit broken. All I care about is the wild hunger screaming in my soul.
"Zion," I groan, clinging to his broad shoulders as if to root myself to reality.
"I know," he pants against my lips before coming back for more. "Fucking Christ, angel baby. I know."
He kisses me again and then again, pulling me deeper and deeper under his spell. Drowning me in desire and lighting me on fire with need. He walks us backward to the bed before gently pushing against my shoulders. I fall backward, bouncing against the soft pillowtop.
"You taste like peaches, angel baby," he drawls. The bed dips as he crawls onto it with me. "I'm dying to know if you taste that good everywhere."
"I I " I can't seem to form a coherent sentence, so I give up trying and simply nod, giving him permission. I want the same thing he does. Maybe even more than he does. I've been a bundle of raw nerves all day, desperate for the next time he puts his hands on me.
He drags my shirt up, pressing his lips to my belly. It quivers beneath him, heat sinking deep into my womb. I grip his hair in my hands, trying to keep it together as he kisses his way up my body, taking my shirt with him.
"Fuck me," he growls once he's got it off over my head, leaving me half naked and sprawled out beneath him. "I knew these would be perfect when I saw them in that bikini, but this is " He shakes his head, speechless.
"They're boobs, Zion."
"No, Makenzie. They're fucking perfect." He dips his head, his teeth closing around one hard nipple in a punishing bite. It's torment. It's heaven. Oh, my God. It's everything.
I cry out, my back bowing from the bed as a blast of pleasure rips through me.
"Make that fucking sound again," he growls against my skin, his eyes flicking to mine. "Louder this time." His teeth sink into my skin again as he drags my nipple through them.
"Zion!" I shout, thrashing beneath him.
He slips his hands around my waist, lifting me into his arms to get me closer to his mouth as he attacks my breasts, snarling like a beast. He's unruly and wild, lavishing me with punishing bites and sweet kisses. He sucks and curses and pants, leaving me sobbing his name.
He hasn't even touched my pussy, and I'm already a throbbing, aching mess of want and need and now, please. I need it. More than air or water or life. I need him right there, solving the problem he's created.
If this is why my mother is the way she is, I understand the allure now. How much would I give up to have this potent pleasure every day? How much of my soul would I sell to keep Zion right here like this?
All of it. All of it.
He releases my breast, kissing down my body. His teeth rake across my abdomen. His tongue dips into my belly button. He lavishes attention on every dip and curve, not shying away from a single imperfection.
By the time he peels my shorts and panties down my legs, I'm a stuttering, shaking mess, too far gone to feel embarrassed. All I feel is him. Everywhere. He's consuming me, piece by piece.
"Mm," he moans, dragging his nose down the crevice of my thigh. "Peaches and pussy."
"Zion," I whimper, arousal flooding between my legs.
His eyes flash open, landing on mine. "What'd I tell you about saying my name like that, Makenzie? Didn't you learn your lesson today?"
"Teach me again. I forgot."
He growls, bending his head to sink his teeth into my inner thigh. "You like fucking with me, don't you?"
Do I? Or do I do it simply because it's who I am?
"Yes," I admit. I like pushing his buttons. I like knowing I don't intimidate him. I like knowing I can say whatever the hell I want to say and do whatever I want to do with him and he just continues on. I should hate how easily he handles me. The fact that he tells me what to do and doesn't even flinch when I'm giving him a piece of my mind should infuriate me. It's foreplay.
Maybe he isn't the only one who's a little bit broken here. But I like the way our pieces fit together.
"At least your ass is honest." He nips my thigh again, breathing deeply as if to keep my scent in his lungs. "You better hang on to something, angel baby. I'm about to punish the fuck out of this perfect little thing." His eyes glitter with wicked malice. "And I'm not going to quit until you're too exhausted for me to keep going."
I gulp, grabbing for the bed. My fingers don't even close around the bedsheets before he shoves my thighs apart, burying his face between them. He attacks me like I'm his favorite dessert, eating me with relish.
My eyes roll back in my head, my ass lifting from the bed as I instinctively try to get closer to the magic his mouth weaves on my body. I've never felt anything like it before. Oh, my God. What is he doing to me?
"Taking what I should have earlier today," he growls, alerting me to the fact that I'm speaking out loud, questions and praise and gibbering rolling from my lips in an unbroken flood. "I should have dropped to my fucking knees and ate you in that pantry."
I pull the sheets from the bed, clawing at them. Gasping. He drags me closer to his mouth, spreading me wider. His tongue is everywhere, touching places I didn't know existed. He forces the tip of it into me, grinding his nose against my clit.
A surprised shout rips from my lips, exploding in the air around us as an orgasm blasts through me out of nowhere. It hits like a bomb, shattering me into a million little pieces.
Zion doesn't stop. He doesn't even slow.
He just grunts against my center, forcing his tongue deeper. He's a man possessed, driven over the edge by the need to take and claim and glut himself. And I'm his meal.
The second orgasm hits right on the heels of the first, leaving me shaking. Every part of my body is overly sensitive. I feel every cool rush of air, and every scrape of his beard against my skin. It's the most exquisite torture.
"Please," I gasp. "Oh, God, please."
"Don't beg now, angel baby." He pulls one lip after the other into his mouth, licking them clean before releasing them with a loud pop. His eyes rise like suns over my belly, searing me with the wicked desire there. This man isn't a God. He's the devil. And he's after my soul.
God help me, but I'm going to give it to him. Every square inch.
"If you wanted mercy, you shouldn't have cried for me. You shouldn't have made my fucking heart beat again." He pulls my clit into his mouth, sucking hard.
I scream, fighting him and the orgasm this time. It's too big, too powerful. When it hits, it's going to destroy me. I know it is. I feel it creeping over me, threatening to unmake me down to the tiniest quark.
Will I survive? Do I want to?
I don't know how to answer either of those questions. All I know is that he's already slipping into place in my heart, stealing pieces of it that I didn't mean to give to him. And that scares the shit out of me.
So I fight. Harder than I've ever fought before. I scratch and hiss and claw. And come. I come so hard I black out for a moment, losing track of everything. The world, myself. Everything.
If death by orgasm is a possibility, this is the way I want to go.
When I come back to myself, he's still between my legs, still licking me like he doesn't plan to ever stop. Only, he's got one hand wrapped around his massive erection this time, pumping in rough pulls.
He rises up on his knees, roaring as his own orgasm rips through him. His seed splashes out, landing across my mound and thighs. It drips all over my belly, hot and sticky.
And I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I'm in serious, serious trouble here. Because I've never seen anything more beautiful than this warrior with his dick in his hand and his heart in his eyes, giving me every part of himself.
When it's over, he rubs his come into my skin, his eyes locked on mine. He doesn't speak. He doesn't explain. We both know exactly what he's doing. Marking me. Claiming me.
I let him.
He falls beside me a moment later, dragging me into his arms. He's breathing hard as he shifts us around, turning me onto my side to yank my ass right up against his still hard cock. His lips settle against the back of my neck.
"Sleep, Makenzie," he orders.
I close my eyes, obeying without argument for once today.