Chapter Eight
Kenzie
"Stop looking at me like that."
"If you didn't want me looking at you, you shouldn't have worn that fucking dress," Zion growls, watching me from between slit lids as we make our way into the ballroom at the Hilton. "I'm mad as hell it's not on the bedroom floor while I'm wearing you, angel baby."
My cheeks heat as a blush climbs up them. His mouth is going to be the death of me. He says the filthiest things, but in the sweetest way possible. And I don't have to ask to know he means every word. The truth is written all over his face.
"It's just a dress, Zion," I say, trying not to think about how badly I wish it were on the floor while he was wearing me. I got so used to him being in my space yesterday, spending the day away from him today felt different. Even though he was right outside, I didn't like it.
I think I'm addicted to this man.
I also think I don't care.
I've had nothing but time to think all day. And every road led right back to him. It's terrifying how quickly he's become important to me. It defies logic how perfectly he fits into my life. I feel like the little warning voice in my head should be screaming at me to slow down. Going this fast can only end in disaster. Yet, everything about this feels right.
I've always believed that we forge our own fates. Our futures aren't predestined. There is no higher power and no magical beings weaving looms that decide how our lives will unfold. We're the only ones who decide that. What we choose to do every day whether we fight or fold, whether we give up or get up determines where we land in life.
But with Zion? He feels bigger than any decision I've ever made, as if somehow, he was meant to step into my path and help decide the course of my future. He was meant to change my life. I just had to find the courage to let him.
I think I found it somewhere inside the salon today.
"That's just a dress," he says, nodding to a middle-aged woman a few paces ahead of us in a royal purple ballgown. "You're in a goddamn Siren's lure."
I smile, glancing down at myself. The dress isn't at all racy or inappropriate, but it is beautiful. It's a teal, off-shoulder front-split gown with draped lace, tulle, and gorgeous beading. The bodice hugs my curves before the tulle skirt flares out, floating around my legs like water. I fell in love with it the minute I laid eyes on it.
I feel a little like a princess in it, especially with Zion on my arm.
"I'll be sure to let the designer know you approve."
He hooks his arm around my waist as we approach the doors to the ballroom, pulling me up against his body. His mouth lands close to my ear. "I'll show you exactly how much I appreciate it as soon as I get it off of you tonight, angel baby."
My stomach quivers.
We reach the doors. Camera flashes light up from every direction, momentarily blinding me. I lean into Zion, my mind clouded with his scent, with his promise, with him.
I don't care who's watching. I don't care what they think.
I lift up on my toes, placing my lips at his ear. "Promises, promises," I breathe before nipping his skin like he does to mine.
He growls, reaching for me. I drop back down to my flat feet, slipping from his grasp. The bright smile pasted on my face feels triumphant as I face the cameras again, allowing them to take their photographs.
Zion gives me a moment in the spotlight before he presses up against my back, his erection digging into my hip. "Let's go, angel baby," he rumbles. "Before I turn you right back around and take you home."
That doesn't sound like a terrible plan to me. In fact, it sounds like heaven. But I surge forward anyway, pulling him deeper into the ballroom.
We're seated with a bunch of social media stars I don't know. They all rave over my dress and my makeup. One of them, Lexie, spends half the night looking at Zion in a way that makes me want to claw her eyes out like a jealous brat.
He doesn't notice her, though. Aside from periodic sweeps of the room, his eyes never leave me. They're locked on me, slowly driving me crazy. So are his hands. He keeps one on the small of my back. The other he slips onto my thigh.
It slips higher during dinner. And then higher again. By the time dessert lands in front of me, his pinky is brushing the seam of my panties. No one else notices.
They don't notice when he flicks the fabric aside to touch my bare pussy, either.
He toys with me, giving me just enough friction to make sure I feel him, but not nearly enough to make me come. I consider stabbing him with my fork but decide that would be too obvious.
By the time the lights dim and the first speech starts, I'm a sweating mess, ready to crack apart at the seams.
"You're going to come for me right here, and you aren't going to make a sound when you do it, Makenzie," he breathes in my ear.
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from sobbing my agreement. I'll do whatever he wants if it means I get to come.
Lorna launches into her speech, thanking everyone for coming. At least that's what I assume she says. I don't hear a word. All I hear is my own choppy breathing as Zion's thumb settles on my clit.
He works it in agonizingly slow circles.
I bite the inside of my cheek, trying like hell to stay still. Trying not to beg for more. Trying, desperately, not to get us caught.
"When I was telling you how perfect you look in that dress earlier, I forgot to mention something important," Zion says almost conversationally, his mouth against my ear and his free hand running up and down my back. His thumb grinds against my clit again. Slow, slow. So slow.
"W-what?" I whisper at least I mean to whisper. It comes out loud enough for Lexie to glance across the table at me.
Zion falls still, his eyes on Lorna as if he's absorbed in her speech and not what he's doing to me.
Lexie eyes me oddly before turning back to the stage.
Zion doesn't move for a full minute, keeping his thumb pressed firmly to my clit. And then he pinches it. "I forgot to tell you that you snatched my fucking heart out of my chest," he whispers. "You own me, angel baby."
Oh, God. Oh, God.
I bite my tongue, fighting back a cry as the orgasm washes over me, washes through me. It turns me inside out, leaving me a ruined, drooping mess right there at the table in front of three hundred witnesses.
Zion doesn't let them see me, though. He pulls me up against his chest, using his body to shield me. He protects me in this moment as carefully as he's protected me in every other that we've spent together.
And I know right then and there that there is no coming back from this. Not for him. And not for me.
"Take me home," I whisper, pleading with him to get me out of there. "Please, Zion. Take me home."
I'm on him as soon as we're over the threshold, pushing him back against the door. He's been the one to lead so far, always taking the reins. Always deciding how things between us go. I think he craves that control as much as part of me craves giving it up.
But this time, I snatch it out of his hands, desperate to feel him. All of him. Everywhere.
Buttons fly from his shirt, landing against the tile floor as I rip through them. He doesn't stop me. He lets me do what I want, watching me from hooded, curious eyes.
I strip him from his jacket and tie and then pull the tattered remains of his shirt from his body. My lips land against the mass of scar tissue on his side.
"Fuck," he growls, his head thumping against the door.
I kiss my way down his abdomen, lavishing attention on every perfect ridge. His body is a marvel. It was made for war. No, that's not true. He was made for more than that. War is only part of his story. Peace is where it ends. That's what he deserves. Peace. I don't think he's had much of that in his life.
I tug his belt free of the loops, ripping it free.
"What are you doing, angel baby?" he drawls.
"Taking what's mine." I unzip his pants, reaching inside.
He growls a curse, his hips bucking into my hand.
I pull his cock out, fascinated by how hard he is. By how smooth the skin is. I can't even close my hand around him, but I work my fist up and down his shaft anyway, doing my best to set him ablaze like he does to me.
"Jesus Christ," he pants, his hands in fists against the door as he fights to let me have this moment. Every instinct he has demands he take over and take control, but he fights his nature just to give me what I want.
I sink to my knees in front of him, intent on taking something else.
"You want my dick in your mouth, Makenzie?"
"No. I want it down my throat."
Maybe I shouldn't talk like this. Maybe I should be a scared little virgin, too shy to ask for what I want. But that isn't me. It's never been me. I may not be experienced, but I know my own mind. I know my heart. And I want him with the ferocity he awoke in me when he touched me for the first time yesterday.
"Then open that smart-ass mouth and take what you want, beautiful."
I could do that, but I don't. I toy with him first, teasing him the same way he did me tonight. I run my hands up and down his shaft, rub it against my face. I brush my closed lips back and forth over the head until he's the one writhing this time, his hips moving restlessly.
He grows more and more bossy by the minute.
"Get my fucking cock down your throat, Makenzie," he growls, plunging his hand into my hair. "Or you'll be wearing my Fuck!"
I take him deep, plunging down on him in one quick move. He hits the back of my throat, gagging me. I instinctively start to pull back, but he picks this moment to pay me back for toying with him. His hand tightens in my hair. He holds me in place, letting me choke on him.
I press my thighs together, so turned on I might not survive this.
"You wanted me down your throat, be a good girl and take it." He pumps his hips in shallow thrusts until my eyes water. Only then does he pull back, allowing me to breathe. "Is this what you had in mind, Makenzie?"
He knows it is, damn him. Somehow, he can read me like a book. He knows every dirty thought in my head as if he's thinking them too. Maybe he is. Maybe that's why we fit so well together.
He plunges into my mouth again, using his grip on my head to give me exactly what I wanted. He takes my mouth, claiming it as his own. I bob on his cock, my eyes watering, my heart pounding. Freer than I think I've ever been in my life.
I slip my hand between my thighs, dipping into my panties to touch myself.
"Fuck yeah. Play with that hard little clit while you ruin me with that smart mouth, Makenzie." He plunges forward again, grunting and cursing. I choke again, but I fight to take more, wanting as much of him in my mouth as possible.
My fingers dance across my clit without rhythm. I need to come too badly.
"I knew you'd make me fall the minute I set eyes on you," he says. "But I didn't know you'd wrap those lips around me and suck the soul from my body. Jesus, baby. I might not ever leave this perfect fucking mouth."
I shatter into pieces, choking on his cock.
It's the best orgasm of my life.
He roars, pulling out of my mouth. Before I can even miss the taste of him, he's got me in his arms, stalking toward the bedroom. Somehow, he gets his hand down my panties while he goes. Two fingers plunge into me.
"Zion!"
He presses me up against the wall in the hallway, his mouth covering mine as he fingers me to the brink of another orgasm. As soon as my inner muscles start to flutter, he peels me away from the wall, finishing the short walk to the bedroom.
I'm flat on my back on the bed within seconds. And he's between my legs.
He doesn't give me time to prepare. He just rips the crotch out of my panties and attacks me with his mouth. Those same two fingers plunge into me again, working right alongside his magical mouth to drive me wild.
I claw and bite, feral in my need for him. I don't even feel like myself. I'm someone else something else. So damn desperate to get him inside me, to embed him as deeply as I can get him. I didn't know love could feel like this.
So exhilarating. So terrifying. So damn good.
"Zion!" I cry, pissed when he leaves me tottering on the edge again. As soon as I'm about to tip over the side, he drags his mouth away from me. A yawning pit of despair opens in my stomach, growing bigger by the minute.
"You aren't coming again until I'm inside you," he growls, lifting me higher up the bed. "And you aren't doing that until this pretty little dress is on the floor where it belongs. Tell me how to get it off."
"Laces," I gasp. "Up the back."
He flips me over, quietly examining the laces before he gently pulls, unraveling them. The bodice falls forward, pinned between my body and the bed.
"Now, the skirt."
"Hooks at the waist."
It takes him a little bit longer this time, but he finds the hooks pinning the skirt to the bodice and fumbles them loose, allowing him to slip the skirt down my body. Once it's gone, I expect him to roll me back over, but he crawls on top of me instead, seaming his body to mine.
His erection slips between my legs from behind, the head pressing against my clit. He holds me right there with a hand on my shoulder as he grinds against me, sliding his cock between my folds again and again.
His lips run all over the back of my neck, his breath pelting me.
"I should take you just like this," he mutters. "That way you can bite the pillow when I'm fucking my way into your soul."
"You're already there."
He goes completely still. For a five count, he doesn't even breathe. And then he flips me again. Those piercing green eyes come into focus, blazing with emotion.
"You shouldn't have told me that, angel baby," he says, his voice somber.
"W-why not?"
"Because you'll never get rid of me now."
"What if I don't want to get rid of you?"
"Don't say it unless you mean it, Makenzie."
My heart races, fear threatening to close my throat. But I fight through it, refusing to run now. We've come this far. I'm seeing this through all the way to the end.
"I love you, Zion."
"Jesus."
"You made it impossible not to love you."
"Stop talking."
"I might mess it up. I probably will mess it up. But I want everything you'll give me." I swallow hard. "No returns, refunds, or exchanges."
He growls my name, falling on top of me. His mouth slants down over mine, his kiss punishing as he lines up at my entrance. I moan against his lips, tasting myself on him.
He surges forward, claiming what's his. He isn't gentle. I don't want him to be. I'm not delicate. I'm not fragile. And this man knows it. He knows me better than anyone ever has. He doesn't hurt me. He can't. There isn't a single part of him capable of it.
I claw down his back, shouting his name into the room as my barrier gives way, and I become his in every single way. There is no pain. There's only surrender.
He falls still anyway, kissing me again and again and again. As if he can't stop. As if he's breathing his soul into me. I take it, greedy for it. I want to consume him. I want to wreck and ruin and own him.
I want to love him, too.
Only when he's sure I'm okay does he start to move. He pulls almost all the way out before snapping his hips forward. We shout together, our sounds mingling as we discover exactly what we were made for. This. Each other. Pleasure.
There's so much of it, I'm not sure I'll survive it as he pounds into me, grunting curses and praise in my ear.
You're such a good fucking girl.
Do you feel that, Makenzie? Do you feel how goddamn good you feel wrapped around me?
Goddamn, angel baby. This tight little pussy.
He growls the last like he's pissed. Like it's my fault he went and got himself addicted. That's his problem. I've got ninety-nine of my own.
I forget every single one of them when he rolls me on top of him and demands that I ride him. Somehow, I work out the mechanics. I lift and drop, taking him deep. He growls and curses, his eyes on fire as he watches his dick disappearing only to reappear covered in me a moment later.
He bucks his hips each time I land on his lap, forcing himself deeper. I scratch down his thighs and stomach, sobbing his name as he pinches my nipples, adding a new level of rapture to my torment.
"You better fucking come," he orders, slipping one hand between our bodies. "I want you dripping all over me, Makenzie."
That's right, he did say he wanted to wear me.
I make every effort to give him exactly what he asked for, riding him harder and faster. Until I feel like I'm flying. He's writhing in torment beneath me, desperate to go over as he pinches my clit, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger.
I lose the rhythm. I lose my mind.
"I love you," I cry, slamming myself down on him as the first waves crest and I break.
"Makenzie!" My name echoes in the corners as he holds me down on him, bucking his hips. He comes hard, his seed warming me as he spills into me and then trickles out, leaving us a sticky, sweaty mess.
"We didn't talk about birth control," he says a while later, running his fingers up and down my spine as we soak in the tub. He carried me here as soon as he could move, insisting I needed to soak so I wouldn't be sore. I didn't tell him that I'd be sore anyway. I have a feeling that news would only distress him. "Are you on anything, angel baby?"
"No," I whisper.
He grunts as if he's satisfied.
I turn my head to peek at him over my shoulder, confirming my suspicion.
"You want to get me pregnant."
"I want you tied to me in every way possible," he says, completely unrepentant. "The thought of watching you grow round with my kid makes my fucking cock ache."
"What if I don't want kids?" I ask, only teasing.
"Then I'll tell you it's a goddamn shame and make sure you're protected next time." He brushes damp strands of hair from my face. "You'd be an incredible mother, angel baby. This world deserves to know what that's like."
My heart flutters.
"I want kids," I confess, running my fingers through the rapidly dissolving bubbles. "I've always wanted them. I'm just terrified I'll damage them."
"Your mom really did a number on you, huh?"
"I spent my whole life listening to all the ways I didn't measure up." I shrug. "At some point, I started to believe it."
"What changed?"
"Her third husband."
He tenses. "Did he put his fucking hands on you?"
"No, nothing like that," I promise, allowing him to relax again. "He was actually pretty decent. But his sister was amazing. She was about ten years older than him and never married. She owned her own business and had this great life that had nothing to do with men. She just lived on her terms. For the first time, I realized that I didn't have to live my life trying to live up to my mom's standards. I just had to live it."
"She sounds great. The sister, I mean. Not your mom."
I smile at the clarification. "She was. She treated me like who I was and what I wanted mattered. We still keep in touch."
"Are your mom and her brother still together?"
I laugh loudly. "God no. He divorced her like six months after they married. Honestly, he was way too good for her. I don't know how she managed to trap him."
"You and your mom still aren't on great terms."
It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "I see her at Christmas, and that's about it. It works better for both of us that way. She spends the whole time criticizing every aspect of my life."
"Not anymore," he says, a dark thread in his voice. "If she wants to keep seeing you on Christmas, she'll learn to treat you with respect."
"Fine by me. I'd much rather spend Christmas with Olive anyway."
"You'll be spending it with me now, angel baby. My Ma is going to love you. She always wanted daughters to dote on. She got stuck with heathen sons instead."
"Are you guys close?"
"We are. She's mean as hell to me and my brothers, but we love her anyway."
"She is not mean to you," I say with a laugh, not believing him for a second.
"She is," he protests, an indulgent smile in his voice that lets me know he loves every dang minute of it. "She terrorizes the shit out of us. She says it's payback for all the gray hair we gave her."
"You probably deserve it."
"Yeah, probably."
I giggle, unable to help myself. I bet he was a handful as a kid. He's a handful now. He and his brothers probably drove his poor mom crazy.
"What about your dad?"
"He tells us to keep our damn mouths shut and keep her happy. He coddles the hell out of her."
"That's where you get it from, then."
"What?"
"Your protectiveness."
"Maybe." He slips his hands around my waist, anchoring me to him. "Or maybe I just like being the man you lean on. Taking care of you is satisfying as hell."
"Says the man getting orgasms out of the deal."
"No." He turns me to face him, his expression suddenly serious. "The orgasms are fucking phenomenal. But taking care of you is a reward in and of itself, angel baby. You don't trust many people. I doubt you lean on anyone. Knowing you trust me with that part of you means something to me. Don't ever think it doesn't."
"I know," I whisper, cupping his cheek. "I was only teasing."
He turns his face, nipping at my palm. "I don't joke when it comes to you."
"I'm beginning to get that."
"Yeah?" He grins. "Well, it's about fucking time."