Chapter 8 Gage #2
I bring her back down from her release, still slowly rubbing her clit.
She starts bucking her hips to rub her pussy against my cock, and I know she’s ready.
“You still okay?” She nods frantically, so I grab my cock at the base and notch it at her entrance.
I slide forward and almost lose it right there.
“Oh fuck,” I choke out. I forgot how hot and wet she could get.
Her moan mixes with my groan at the long, slow slide inside her.
When I’m fully seated, I stop to make sure she’s still good.
Her eyes are closed, and I can’t have that.
“Let me see your eyes,” I tell her, causing them to flutter back open, and I’m struck by the raw honesty in them.
There is so much emotion floating in those blue orbs, and she’s not trying to hide any of it.
I slowly move in and out of her pussy; it clutches around me whenever I try to pull out, trying to hold me in.
“Gage,” she moans, clutching me closer to her. I start to roll her onto her back, and I see panic flair in her eyes, so I stop moving altogether.
“Talk to me, Pretty girl.”
“Not my back. I can’t…” she whispers; she shoves at my shoulder until I roll us, so she’s on top.
I throw all the negative thoughts from my mind and grip her hips.
I want to take anything bad that happened to her away, replacing it with only thoughts of me, thoughts of us.
Gazing into my eyes, I can see the real Les poking through, the one who takes what she wants.
She’s buried deep, but she’s still there.
“Beautiful,” I whisper, sitting up, so we’re chest to chest, wrapping my arms around her.
She wraps her arms around my neck, rocking and rotating her hips.
Her eyes latch onto mine again, and I can’t look away.
She’s showing me how much she still trusts me by giving me her body for the first time since everything happened to her, trusting me to take care of her.
I don’t know what I did to deserve the honor, but I’m not going to take it for granted.
We move in that sensual dance until we’re both covered in sweat, breathing heavily, not wanting this moment to end. Her hips start moving faster, and I know she’s about to come; I’m not going to be far behind.
I pull her head down until her forehead is resting against mine. “I love you,” I whisper, and her whole body shivers.
“I love you too,” she whispers back. I feel her clench around me, and she moans, deep and throaty, finally letting herself go. Like she just needed to hear those words before she could.
“Pretty girl,” I groan, emptying myself into her. My release feels like it lasts forever, causing my whole body to tingle.
She relaxes against me, softly kissing my lips. I lay back and roll over, still buried inside of her. I arrange her head on my chest, so she’s more comfortable. Wrapping both arms around her, she snuggles in closer, letting out a contented sigh.
I didn’t know how much I needed this until this moment. All the anger and guilt I feel fade into the background, just a low hum.
It doesn’t take long before her breathing evens out, signaling she fell asleep.
I know she needs to clean up, but I don’t have the heart to wake her for a bath.
Slowly and carefully pulling my arm from under her, I go to the bathroom to grab a wet washcloth.
I pad softly back to the bed and gently clean between her legs.
Tossing the cloth back into the bathroom, I gather her back in my arms.
I just hope this helps her sleep better.
“NO! Please stop!”
Les’ screams wake me from a dead sleep. She’s still wrapped in my arms, but she’s thrashing around.
“Pretty girl, wake up,” I say, smoothing my hand down her arm.
“No! He can’t be dead!”
“Les. Wake up,” I say more forcefully, pulling her hands away from her hair where she’s pulling at it.
“No! ZANE!” she screams, trying to pull away from me.
“Les!” I say louder, shaking her shoulders.
She sits up with a gasp, her head snapping to me. When she sees me lying there, she dissolves into tears.
I sit up and gather her in my arms. “Shhhh. It’s okay. We’re okay.” She shakes her head frantically. “Pretty girl. We’re fine.”
“You don’t get it,” she sobs. “Every dream he kills him. He’s dead!”
“Who?” I ask, pulling back from her to look at her face. She shakes her head again. “Who?” I ask again. I heard her scream his name, so I knew who. I just need her to say it so I know how to help.
“Zane,” she cries. The noises coming from her are ripping me to shreds. Her sobs are coming from deep in her chest, and I know she’ll have a complete meltdown if I don’t get it under control.
“He’s fine, too. He got you out, remember?” She just starts sobbing harder. At a loss, I clutch her back to my chest. “What do you need?” I ask miserably. I would give anything at this moment to make her feel better.
“I can’t,” she cries.
“You can’t what, Pretty girl? Talk to me.”
“I can’t tell you what I need.”
She doesn’t know or doesn’t want to?
I pull her back again, clutching her wet cheeks in my hands. “If you don’t tell me, I can’t fix it.”
She shuts her eyes, her whole face falling. “Zane.”
“What about him?”
“I need Zane,” she whispers, trying to pull away from me.
I won’t let her; I pull her closer. “There isn’t anything wrong with that,” I tell her honestly. As much as I hated him before, he got her out. He was there for her when we weren’t.
“I shouldn’t.”
I pull her back to lie on the bed. “You went through something horrific with him. It’s only natural.” I don’t know how much of that is true, but I need to soothe her.
She doesn’t answer, just silently cries, and I let her. Before long, her cries turn to hiccups, then her breathing evens out again.
If Zane is what she needs, Zane is what she’ll get.
“Zane!” I yell, banging on his apartment door for the thirtieth time. I know this asshole is home; his truck is in a melted heap in one of our shipping containers.
The door jerks open, and I’m hit with the overwhelming stench of whiskey.
“Holy shit,” I say, looking at him. He looks like crap.
His hair still hasn’t been cut from the six weeks of growth, so it’s falling over his eyes.
He still has the full beard and he reeks of alcohol.
“When’s the last time you showered?” I ask, shoving him back into his apartment and shutting the door behind me.
“Why the fuck do you care?” he slurs and almost loses his balance.
“Whoa,” I say, grabbing his arms to steady him.
He narrows his eyes. “What do you want?”
“Nice to see you too,” I say dryly.
He jerks his arm away and staggers to the couch, flopping down. He snatches a bottle of whiskey from the coffee table, and before he can tip it up, I take it from his hands, earning me another glare.
“You need a shower,” I tell him, trying not to grimace. “And a haircut.”
“Fuck off,” he says, grabbing for the bottle again; I pull it from his reach.
“Nope,” I say, shaking my finger at him. I walk to the kitchen and upend the bottle, pouring it down the drain. “I need you sober for this.”
“For what?” he snorts. “You going to kill me now?”
What the fuck?
“Why the hell would I kill you, dumbass?” I ask, moving to the coffee pot. I get it started before turning around. He’s completely passed out on the couch. “Fuck my life,” I mutter. I should have brought Leo with me. Leo is going to be pissed when he realizes I left the house. Alone.
I dig through his cabinets until I find a coffee mug, filling it to the brim with black coffee. I don’t know how he takes his fucking coffee, but he looks like a black coffee guy to me.
“Zane!” I yell when I get back to him, making him jerk up on the couch.
I grin before I can stop myself. “Wake up, asshole. We have shit to do,” I tell him, thrusting the coffee cup in his hands.
Before he can push it back, I push it to his lips, not giving him a choice but to drink or have hot coffee poured down his bare chest. His whole chest and torso are covered in scars, ugly deep ones.
I can’t imagine what these two went through. I don’t want to push him, but I need him sober and cleaned up. Someone needs him, and I’m going to deliver.
“Fuck! That’s hot, you dick,” he splutters.
I ignore him. “Drink up. Then get your nasty ass in the shower.”
“What the fuck for?” he asks but takes another sip. “I don’t have a fucking job to go to or anyone that wants to see me. Get the fuck out.”
“No can do, Zaney,” I answer and then pause. “What do you mean that you don’t have a job?”
“I fucking quit,” he growls. “Out,” he says, pointing to the door.
Filing that away to ask about later.
I shake my head. “Nope. Drink, damn it. You do have someone who wants to see you.”
His eyes clear a little at that. “What?”
“Don’t play dumb. Get your shit together.”
“Are you fucking with me?” he accuses, glaring over the rim of his cup.
“No,” I answer before looking around his apartment. “You live in a pig pen.”
His apartment is littered with trash, dirty dishes, and empty whiskey bottles. Has he been drinking like this for two weeks?
He just grunts and polishes off his coffee. I take the cup and jerk him to his feet. “Shower. You reek.” If he were sober, I wouldn’t be able to manhandle him like this, but it’s fun while I can.
He doesn’t comment, but he heads toward the back of the apartment.
I check my phone to see twelve messages from Leo and six missed calls.
I told Dex what I was doing because we’d already talked about Zane, and he was actually on my side.
I sent Dex in there with Les when I left, but I’m guessing Leo realizes I’m gone.
I fire off an “I’m fine” message before pocketing my phone.
I at least need to let him know I’m not dead.
Grabbing Zane’s trash can, I start raking trash into it from the counters. I set the dishes in the sink because that asshole could wash his own shit. I can only go so far to help him; that’s my limit.