Chapter 15
ZANE
The silence in Aria’s house is a predatory thing.
It isn’t a peaceful quiet; it’s a watchful, suffocating hush that presses in from the walls and the sloped ceilings.
Every whisper of silk, every footstep on the wooden floors, is swallowed by the vast, opulent emptiness.
It’s a cage, albeit a beautiful one, and its gilded bars are slowly crushing the life out of Ellie.
I can see it in the way she moves. She used to have a dancer’s grace, a lightness that was all her own.
Now, her shoulders are perpetually hunched, as if bracing for a blow.
She stares out the floor-to-ceiling windows of the living room, her reflection a ghost against the manicured grounds, but her eyes are vacant.
The fire, the glorious, chaotic spark that makes her Ellie is dimming. And that’s unacceptable.
“You will be making your first official debut as a goddess.”
Aria wants a puppet. A broken, obedient thing she can parade around. I refuse to let her have it. I will burn this entire world to the ground before I let her extinguish that light.
Right now, Ellie traces the intricate pattern of a floral blanket with her fingertip, her movements listless, her expression blank.
She hasn’t moved from her position on the sofa since Aria dropped her newest bombshell onto the four of us.
Beckett and Dominic went upstairs to change into the suits Aria provided, but Ellie… Ellie hasn’t moved.
The sight of it sends a sharp, possessive pang through my chest. That is my Ellie to break, if anyone’s. My light to guard. Aria’s suffocating influence is a disease, and I’m the only cure.
How long do we have until we need to leave for the stupid-ass party? An hour? Plenty of time.
I saunter over, flopping down onto the sofa beside her, making the cushions sigh dramatically. She doesn’t even flinch.
“Bored, princesa?” I ask, my voice laced with the theatrical cheerfulness I use as both a weapon and a shield.
She sighs, a small, weary sound. “Just tired, Zane.”
“Tired is boring,” I declare, jumping to my feet and pacing. “We don’t do boring in this relationship. It’s against the rules. I should know, I wrote them.” I stop in front of her, hands on my hips, striking a pose. “We are going to play a game.”
Her gaze finally lifts to mine, dull and unimpressed. “A game.”
“Yes, a game. It’s called Zane Says. It’s like Simon Says, but infinitely more entertaining, and the stakes are significantly higher.” I waggle my eyebrows. “And the prize is a genuine, unforced smile from the notoriously morose Miss Ellie.”
A flicker of something—annoyance, maybe—crosses her face. “Zane, I’m really not in the mood. Besides, I have to start getting ready and—”
“Perfect! Mood is irrelevant. It’s a construct, and I am deconstructing it.
” I grab her hands, pulling her to her feet.
Her skin is cool to the touch, though that doesn’t stop electric sparks from reverberating through me at the simple connection.
“Now, the rules are simple. When I say ‘Zane says,’ you do exactly as I say. If you mess up, there’s a penalty.
If you succeed, there’s a reward. Ready? ”
She rolls her eyes, a gesture so familiar and full of her old spirit that it makes my heart clench with hope.
“Fine. Whatever. Just make it quick. I need to change before we leave, and Aria doesn’t seem like the type to accept tardiness.”
“Zane says,” I begin, my voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper, “touch your nose.”
She does it, her movements stiff and sarcastic.
“Zane says, spin in a circle.”
She spins, a slow, graceful turn that’s more weary than whimsical.
“Zane says, stick out your tongue.”
She does, her pink tongue a flash of defiance that makes my cock stir in my pants.
There are other uses for that perfect tongue…
“Hop on one foot.”
She starts to hop, a clumsy, resentful motion. I let her go for a few seconds before I burst out laughing.
“Gotcha!” I crow.
She stops, planting both feet and glaring at me. “You didn’t say ‘Zane says.’”
“Exactly! Penalty time!” I rub my hands together with glee. “The penalty is…you have to tell me a secret. A deep, dark, embarrassing secret.”
Her face shutters. “No.”
“Oh, come on. It’s the rules.” I pout, leaning in close. “I’ll go first. When I was twelve, I tried to teach my grandmother’s parrot to swear, but it only learned to say ‘Zane is a little shit’ in her exact voice. Scared the hell out of me for weeks.”
The corner of her mouth twitches. It isn’t a smile, but it’s a start.
“Your turn,” I prompt.
She hesitates, then mumbles, “I used to think the characters in books were real and that if I read a book too many times, I’d wear out their world and they’d die.”
A genuine, surprised laugh escapes me. “Oh, Ellie. That’s simultaneously the most adorable and most depressing thing I’ve ever heard. See? Fun.” I clap my hands together. “Round two. Zane says, walk like a penguin.”
She shoots me a withering look, but then she does it, tucking her hands into her armpits and waddling across the marble floor. The sight is so absurd, so utterly out of place in this hellhole, that another real laugh bubbles up inside me. It’s working.
“Zane says, flap your arms like a chicken.”
She flaps, her waddle now a bizarre, flapping dance. I’m laughing so hard I have to brace myself on the back of a chair.
And then I see it.
As she flaps, a small, genuine, unguarded smile breaks across her face. It’s like the sun coming out from behind a storm cloud, brilliant and life-giving.
My laughter dies in my throat, replaced by a wave of something so intense it’s almost painful. Possessiveness. Pride. A raw, aching need.
This is it.
This is the prize.
And I’m not letting it go.
“Stop,” I say, my voice suddenly low and serious.
She stops, her arms falling to her sides, the smile fading as she looks at me, confused by the sudden shift in my tone.
I cross the space between us in three long strides, my eyes locked on hers. I don’t stop until I’m crowding her against the cold marble of the fireplace, my body a cage of my own making. I raise a hand, my knuckles gently brushing her cheek. Her skin is soft, warm.
“There it is,” I murmur, my thumb tracing the curve of her lips. “I knew it was in there. Hiding from me.”
“Zane…” she breathes, her voice uncertain.
“Shh.” I lean in, my lips hovering above hers, so close I can feel the warmth of her breath. “You won the game, Ellie. You get your reward.”
I close the remaining distance, kissing her. It isn’t a gentle kiss. It’s a claiming. A hungry, desperate press of my lips against hers, a silent promise that I will tear down the heavens to keep that smile on her face.
I pour all my chaotic, obsessive energy into it, all my rage at Aria, all my fierce, protective love for this one perfect, broken girl.
She responds instantly, her hands coming up to tangle in my hair, her mouth opening under mine with a soft sigh that’s fucking everything.
I deepen the kiss, my tongue sweeping against hers, tasting her, devouring her.
My hands roam her body, mapping the curves I know better than my own, pulling her flush against me so there’s no space left between us.
I can feel her heart hammering against my ribs, a frantic, wild rhythm that matches mine.
When I finally pull back, we’re both breathing hard. Her eyes are dark, the earlier vacancy replaced by a dazed, fiery light that’s all for me.
“Upstairs,” I command, my voice rough. “Now.”
I don’t wait for an answer. I scoop her into my arms, her legs automatically wrapping around my waist. I carry her out of the living room and up the sweeping staircase, my footsteps echoing with a new purpose.
I push open the bedroom door, making it bang against the wall, the sound like gunfire in the quiet of the house.
“What the fuck, Zane?” I hear Dominic snarl.
“What’s going on?” adds Beckett, sounding confused.
“Out. Now,” I hiss, not bothering to turn toward them. I hear their footsteps shuffling toward the door, the drag of their feet accompanied by annoyed mutters and curses.
“We have to leave soon,” Dominic reminds me, sounding pissed as all can be. Probably because I’m not inviting him to join.
“Out,” I repeat.
I kick the door shut behind us and lay her down on the king-size bed, the dark sheets a stark contrast to her pale skin. I follow her down, hovering over her, my hands planted on either side of her head.
“You’re going to laugh for me again, Ellie,” I say, my voice a low growl. “You’re going to scream for me. You’re going to forget that bitch’s name and every moment you’ve spent in this prison. The only thing you’re going to feel is me.”
I capture her mouth again, my hands making quick work of the simple dress she wears. I peel the fabric away, baring her to me. It seems as if my naughty girl hasn’t worn a bra. Fuck.
My gaze sweeps over her, over the smooth skin of her stomach, the dip of her waist, the swell of her breasts. She’s perfect.
Mine.
My mouth leaves hers, trailing a hot, wet path down her neck, my teeth scraping against her pulse point. She arches into me, a soft moan escaping her lips. I love those sounds. I collect them, hoard them, replay them in my mind all the fucking time.
My hands are everywhere, stroking, caressing, possessively marking every inch of her. I cup her breasts, my thumbs stroking her nipples.
“Zane, please,” she begs, her voice breathy.
I smirk, loving how she unravels for me.
But I'm not rushing this. I want her on the edge, teetering, begging for release that only I control.
I slide one hand down her stomach, dipping into her pink panties, fingers finding her already wet folds.
She moans as I stroke her clit, slow circles that make her hips buck.
I finger her pussy, two digits sliding in deep, curling to hit that spot that makes her cry out. She's soaking, clenching around me, but I pull back just as her breaths quicken, her body tensing toward climax.