Chapter 39
A BETTER TIME
The look in his eyes when she said that.
He stood up and held out a hand. He wasn’t smiling. She put her hand in his, and something passed between them. A current, except that wasn’t possible. She rose to her feet, and he led the way out of the bar.
Even that. Even following his broad back. It was reprehensible, probably. Too primitive. Too …
By the lifts now, and she said, “I’ve always wanted to … to have a man grab me in a lift. Well, not any man, obviously. But it’s seemed—”
Another look, and he said, “Three stories. Won’t take long enough. Cameras, too. Come on.” And pushed through the stairwell door, his duffel over his shoulder.
She thought, OK. OK. Her breath was already coming harder. What were they—
“Cameras,” Zane said. “Bugger.” She looked in the direction he was facing. Well, yeh. A camera pointed down the stairs, and another pointed up. Thrilling as the idea might be …
He looked at her again and asked, “Do you trust me?”
It felt like her heart stopped beating. “Yes,” she said. It didn’t come out very strongly.
He stepped closer, there on the landing, and put a hand on her cheek. His thumb brushed over her skin, and he said, “You want to be thrilled, eh. Do something you haven’t done.”
Oh, bloody hell. She was in so far over her head.
Then tell him no.
“Yes,” she said.
He bent his head and kissed her. His hands at her waist, and hers on his shoulders.
His mouth wasn’t rough, but it was so possessive, and she was falling fast. Then she was gasping, because his hand had gone under her thighs, and he was lifting her straight off her feet. And heading down the stairs.
“They’ll think you’re … abducting me,” she managed to say, her head whirling a bit as he rounded corners, because he was practically running.
“No, they won’t,” he said, not out of breath a bit.
“They’ll think I’m carrying you to bed.” A door, and he was juggling her, then opening it.
Her arms were around his neck, because how could they not be?
She’d never been carried like this in her life, or not since she was very small.
Not since she remembered. She had her face turned into his neck, was kissing him there, because he’d shaved after the match. For her? How she wanted to think so.
He said, “Door. Bugger.” Not sounding quite as controlled as he had before. She prepared to be set on her feet, but instead, he was tossing her over his shoulder. She landed with an “Oof!” and said, “Zane.”
“One sec.” Some juggling, and she heard the click of the lock.
He was pushing through, and the second the door closed behind him, he had his hand on her bum.
Which he could feel, because the couch-fabric wasn’t actually couch fabric, but some kind of silky stuff.
Which meant she could feel that hand just fine, even over the blood that had long since rushed to her head.
It was also dark in here, because he hadn’t turned on the light.
“You have the most gorgeous arse,” he told her, stroking it some more. “That day in your classroom …”
“Uh … what? With—with Georgia?” It was getting a bit hard to talk. That was because his hand was inside the trousers now—jeans wouldn’t have had an elastic waist, would they?—and encountering … well, bare flesh.
“Oh, bloody hell,” he said.
“The first day in my—” She sucked in a breath, because his hand was diving now. “What?”
“Your voice,” he said. “And this arse. You were wearing trousers, and you turned around and bent over. Getting out that puzzle. I wanted to put my hands on you.”
“You could …” It was a little hard to get the words out. Possibly because she’d been upside down so long. “Turn me right-side up while you do it.”
“Oh. Whoops.” The world tilted, her head swam, and he was holding her in his arms again. “Felt too good, that’s all. And, sorry, but I need to see what’s under here.” He set her on her feet at last, and she was glad, but she was sorry.
She would have turned to face him, but his hands were on her shoulders again.
Gentle now, sliding down her arms and back up them again.
His lips at her temple, his hands on her upper arms, holding her.
She was shuddering, and then his hands were in her hair, searching, finding the clips and undoing them.
Her hair brushed against her skin as it fell to her shoulders, and she felt even that, as if somebody had lit up her body.
His lips at her neck, his hand taking the shirt and pulling it up. “Lift your arms,” he said, and she did, and the top was gone.
Then he was gone, and she turned, searching for him. Some swearing, and then a click. The bedside light, and she could see him. Big, bruised, tough, and unsmiling. Looking like every dark fantasy she’d ever had.
He wasn’t looking at her, though. Or more specifically, he wasn’t looking at her face.
“That the new one?” he asked.
“Uh … yes.” Everything in her wanted to cross her hands over her chest. The bra was, well … obvious. Lace, balconette, unlined, and pale green. Too skimpy a style for her breasts, and yet here they were.
“Bloody hell,” he said. “Wait, though.” A step closer, his hands under the elastic of the terrible trousers, and they were falling down her legs. “Step out,” he said, and she did. And he sighed.
“My shoes,” she said, because she had to say something.
“Yeh,” he said. “Yeh. They’re nice, too. We’ll leave those on for a bit, eh.”
Oh, she felt stupid. He was fully dressed, and she was standing here in a skimpy lace bra, matching Brazilian-cut panties, and black heels with ankle straps. “I should …” she began, then had no idea how to go on.
His face softened, and he came closer. His hand under her chin, fingers stroking along her throat.
A vulnerable position, and her heart was pounding again.
“You don’t have to do anything,” he said.
“You don’t have to know anything, not tonight.
Tonight is for letting me please you. Letting me give you a better time.
But first …” His hands on her shoulders again, and he was turning her around. And sighing again.
“Come over here,” he said. “Let me show you what you look like.”
Oh. The mirror. She said, “I don’t really want to look at my—” My thighs, she wanted to say.
“Don’t you see,” he said, “that you’re beautiful? Stand there. Let me show you.”
He did. His hands stroking over her shoulders as she watched.
Big, scarred, strong hands, so much darker than her pale skin.
Gliding over her sides, then coming up to cup her breasts in the green bra.
His eyes holding hers in the mirror, and his hands reaching inside.
Gentle, still. Caressing her breasts, pinching her nipples. Greedy for her, but holding back.
“Yeh,” he said, when her head went back onto his shoulder and her eyes wanted to close. “Yeh. That’s what you are.”
A jolt, then, because his hand was sliding down her body. Over her ribs, her belly. Going inside that tiny panty, and touching her again. She knew she was wet, and that he was feeling all of it, but how could you … how could you …
She was stiffening, panting. He said, “Shit.” Softly, and then he’d flicked the clasp of her bra and it was falling down her arms. “Open your eyes,” he said. “Watch this.”
She’d seen her body in mirrors all her life. She’d never seen it like this. One of his hands on her breast, pinching a nipple again, and his other hand inside that triangle of lace.
Big hands. Scarred hands. Clever hands. His eyes holding hers, and his hand seeming to know how she liked it, how she needed it.
She watched in the mirror as he stroked her all the way to orgasm, and when she was gasping, stiffening, and couldn’t hold herself up anymore?
His arm was wrapped around her torso, hauling her back against him, and she was gone.
Her mouth opening, her face twisting, the electric shock of pleasure filling every bit of her.
She whimpered, and then she moaned, and then she made those noises that said, “This woman is having one hell of an orgasm.”
She knew somebody could have heard. Unfortunately, that only made it hotter.
And he watched her do it all.
He’d forgotten to breathe halfway through that. As for her? She had her head flung back against his shoulder and was drawing in deep, shuddering breaths. His hand was still inside those little panties, but he needed to see her. Right the hell now.
A tug, and they were sliding down her legs.
A step, two, and she was out of them. Still in those black heels with the ankle straps, her wild curls of hair around her face, the pink orgasmic flush spread over her chest. The only sound was the faint hum of the heat pump and their breathing, and then she said, “I want to take your clothes off.”
“Next time,” he said, because he’d already started, his hands impatient on his shirt buttons.
She didn’t listen. She was dropping to her knees, taking off his shoes and socks, then shaking those curls back, looking up into his eyes, and getting her hands on his belt buckle.
The tongue of leather catching, then releasing, and it was open.
A pop, and that was the button of his trousers unfastened. A slow rasp that was his zip.
Oh. Shirt. It was hanging open over his chest, and he grabbed the two sides and pulled them off as she got those soft hands under his waistband and pulled everything down. He stepped out, and she took him in her hand.
On her knees.
“No,” he said. “Not—not tonight.”
“Oh,” she said, and let go. As if she’d done something wrong. As if that were possible.
He didn’t laugh, because he couldn’t. He said, “One sec.” Back to the door for his duffel, and a fossick inside. He turned to see her standing there watching him. Looking confused. Looking alarmed?
“It’s for you,” he said, wishing he had better words. “Just for you. Get on the bed, baby. Sit at the foot.”
Some hesitation, and she did it. He said, as she lowered herself onto the high white bed, “Nothing you don’t want. Nothing that doesn’t feel good. I promise.”
She nodded, then put her hands to her cheeks as if to feel the burning there. Feeling vulnerable. Feeling unsure.
He strode back to the bed, put the things he’d brought on the bed beside her, then knelt before her. “Lie back, sweetheart,” he said. Overwhelming lust, and too much tenderness. Too much to feel.
She did it. Bracing with her hands, then her head was on the bed, her legs dangling over the end.
He took an ankle in his hand, and she tensed.
He set her foot on his thigh, worked the strap, and undid it, then rubbed the pink spot where the strap had been.
The same as the pink spots where her bra straps had been, because her skin somehow seemed made of finer stuff than his.
He rubbed the spot a bit more, then did the same thing to the other shoe, and there she was. All the way naked.
He rose to his feet and took a pillow from the bed. “Put your feet on the edge and lift up.” The pillow under her bum, and he had to stroke her a bit more. The need was pulling at him, but he was going to make this last today. He was going to make it good.
When he got the condom on and settled the cock ring into place, her eyes widened. She said, “Zane.”
Oh. Phone. He grabbed it from his trouser pocket, found the app, and started it up. The compression was still there, but so was the buzz. He said, “We’re trying it, that’s all. Going to see if it feels, uh …” It was getting a bit hard to focus. “Good.”
Getting on the bed, then. Getting closer, until he was straddling her. A hand on her ankle, and pushing her leg up straight until he met resistance from her hamstrings. “OK?” he asked, with the last of his patience.
“Y-yes.” Her eyes on him the same way they’d been in the mirror. Excitement in those eyes. And trust.
It was the trust that did it.
When he pushed slowly inside, she gasped. When she felt the buzz of the vibrator, she squirmed and said, “Zane.”
He stopped. It wasn’t easy. “No … good?” he managed.
“Zane.” Her eyes had gone a little unfocused. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop.”
He did her that way. Slowly, because it was better when you started slowly.
Thrusting, and then grinding some, because when he did that with that vibrator on her, she squirmed and moaned.
He changed the setting so the buzz came in pulses, she started to whimper, and he was moving faster.
Her hands clutching the white sheet, her face twisting again.
Oh, bloody hell. He put her foot against his chest, and he was in deeper.
He grabbed the other ankle, put that foot beside the other, and went deeper still.
Those vibrator shocks were racking her now, so he changed the setting again to the one that rose and fell, upped the intensity once more, then dropped the phone, reached for her upper arms, and wrapped his hands around them.
Her feet against his chest. Her arms in his hands. His body over hers while he held her tight. He was shoving to the heart of her, that vibrator was buzzing, and she was calling out.
“I can’t,” she said. “I can’t.” Head starting to thrash, legs starting to stiffen.
“You can,” he said, the power filling him. “Take it there. Take it right there.” Not knowing what he was saying, because she was squeezing around him, and his eyes wanted to roll back in his head.
When the contractions took her this time, she wailed. Still held tight. Still not able to move, except that her head was banging. Over and over again against the mattress, while she cried out.
Too hard. Too much. Too deep.
He lost it all.
Skylar was in Zane’s arms now, his weight, as before, a comfort. They were under the duvet, the light turned out, and she was so warm and contented, she just wanted to go to sleep.
He said, “That OK, then? A better time? Not too much?”
She hummed, then realized she’d actually have to rouse herself to speak.
“Too much, yeh. But so good.” She rolled enough that she could kiss his chest, stroke her hand over the muscle there.
“And a better time?” She had to laugh a little, sleepy as she was.
“Well, yeh. I’ve never done any of that before. You were careful, though. You asked.”
He sighed. It seemed to come from all the way down deep. “Seemed wise, if I wanted to do it again.”
“Again? Boy, I’m used up. You wore me out.”
They were both laughing now. “Nah,” he said. “If you want a marathon, it’ll have to be on a night when I haven’t just played a match.” He rolled so he was on his side, but kept an arm across her chest. “Sleeping with you works too.”
He said it, and then he didn’t say anything more. His breathing deepened, and he was asleep. And she thought, Jess, I’m never going to tell you about this. But bloody hell, would part of me like to. And fell asleep with a smile on her lips.