Chapter 22 #2
Since Zane got hurt, she reported to his room at least three times a day.
Morning visits with carefully chosen "comfort gifts"—sometimes a flower from the garden, sometimes one of her drawings, sometimes a piece of chocolate she couldn't bear to eat.
Lunch visits to supervise his eating—"Zane, you have to eat more meat so you can get better fast!
" And bedtime visits for a goodnight kiss before running back to her room satisfied.
I stood in the doorway watching Zane sit on the bed, storybook spread across his lap, Lily sprawled beside him listening intently. His voice was still weak, but he read with feeling, changing his tone for different characters, making Lily giggle.
Sunlight streamed through the window, bathing them in golden light.
That scene—that damn, heartwarming scene—made something in my chest ache.
Zane looked up and saw me.
His gaze rested on my face for a second, then his lips curved into a gentle smile—not that kingly, polite smile, but something real, unguarded.
"Mommy!" Lily jumped off the bed, ran to me, and grabbed my hand. "Zane is reading Winnie-the-Pooh! It's so good! Mommy, come listen too!"
She pulled me to the bed. Zane shifted over, making room.
I hesitated, then sat on the edge.
Lily climbed between us, settled contentedly against the pillows, and patted the space beside her. "Mommy, lie here! Zane, keep reading!"
I lay down with a four-year-old buffer between me and Zane. Lily shoved the book into Zane's hands, then grabbed one hand from each of us and closed her eyes.
"Keep reading, Zane."
Zane cleared his throat and continued. His voice was low and gentle, flowing through the afternoon sunlight.
I closed my eyes, feeling the warmth of Lily's small hand, the sunlight on my face, Zane's voice in my ears.
That empty place inside me didn't feel so hollow anymore.
Maybe—
Maybe I could try believing again.
Maybe some people deserved a second chance.
I opened my eyes and looked at Zane. He was looking back, those gray-blue eyes holding a careful, tentative hope.
I didn't speak.
But I didn't look away.
Outside the window, the sunlight was perfect, a breeze gently stirring the curtains, carrying the scent of roses from the garden.
Zane suddenly leaned closer, his breath falling on my face.
"Mia..." he said my name, voice rough, thick with desire, and in that instant, my face flushed.
"Wait, Lily's sleeping..."
Zane immediately sat up, gently lifted Lily, carried her to the next room, and handed her to a maid. Then he came back, looking at me with those intense eyes.
He moved slowly at first, like he was afraid I'd bolt. His hand came up to cup my face, thumb brushing my cheekbone with a tenderness that made my breath catch. "Tell me to stop," he whispered, voice rough. "If you don't want this—"
"Shut up," I breathed, and pulled him down.
The kiss was nothing like our first. That had been duty, performance.
This was hunger. His mouth moved against mine with a desperation that sent heat flooding through my veins.
When his tongue swept across my lower lip, I opened for him without thinking, and the groan that rumbled in his chest went straight between my legs.
His hands shook as they traced down my sides. "Mia," he breathed against my lips, "I've wanted... Fuck, I've wanted you so badly."
"Then take me." The words came out before I could stop them, shameless and needy. But I didn't care anymore. My body was making decisions my mind had been fighting for weeks.
He pulled back just enough to look at me, eyes dark with lust but still careful. "Are you sure? Because once I start—"
"If you ask me one more time, I swear to God—"
He kissed me again, harder this time, claiming.
His hand slid under my dress, fingers tracing up my thigh with agonizing slowness.
When he finally cupped me through my underwear, we both groaned.
I was already wet, embarrassingly so, and the knowing smirk that curved his lips made me want to slap him and beg him at the same time.
"So ready for me," he murmured, circling his thumb over the fabric. The friction was maddening, not nearly enough. "Tell me what you need."
"You know what I need." My hips rolled against his hand, chasing more pressure.
"Say it." His thumb pressed harder, right where I needed it. "I want to hear you say it."
"Fuck me," I gasped, past caring about pride. "Zane, please—"
Something feral flashed in his eyes. In one smooth motion, he hooked his fingers in my underwear and dragged them down my legs. The cool air hitting my heated skin made me shiver. His hand returned, fingers sliding through my wetness, and I couldn't stop the moan that tore from my throat.
"So fucking perfect," he groaned, circling my clit with just enough pressure to make me crazy. "I've dreamed about this. About tasting you, feeling you come apart—"
"Then stop talking and do it."
He actually laughed, the bastard, but then he was moving down my body, pushing my dress up around my waist. When his breath hit my inner thigh, my whole body tensed in anticipation. His hands gripped my hips, holding me still.
"Look at me," he commanded.
I met his eyes—those gray-blue depths now almost black with want. Then he lowered his mouth and licked.
The first stroke of his tongue ripped a cry from my throat. He groaned like I was the best thing he'd ever tasted, the vibration sending shocks through my core. His tongue worked me with devastating skill—circling, flicking, then flattening to lick long stripes that made my thighs shake.
"Oh God—" My hands fisted in his hair, not sure if I was trying to push him away or pull him closer. The pleasure was almost too much, building too fast.
He slid one finger inside me, then another, curling them perfectly while his mouth stayed focused on my clit. The dual sensation sent me spiraling. I was babbling, saying things I'd never said before—begging him, cursing him, praising him.
"That's it," he growled against me. "Let me hear you. Tell me how good it feels."
"So good—fuck, Zane, don't stop—"
He added a third finger, stretching me, and the slight burn mixed with pleasure pushed me right to the edge. His fingers pumped faster while his tongue worked ruthlessly, and then he sucked—hard—and I shattered.
The orgasm tore through me like lightning. I cried out, back arching off the bed, thighs clamping around his head. He worked me through it, gentling his touch as I came down, pressing soft kisses to my inner thighs.
When I finally opened my eyes, he was watching me with pure male satisfaction. His lips were wet and swollen, and the sight sent another pulse of heat through me.
"Come here," I managed, voice wrecked.
He crawled up my body, and I could taste myself when I kissed him. My hands went to his pants, fumbling with the laces, and he hissed when I finally freed him. He was hard, heavy in my hand, and when I stroked him, his head fell to my shoulder with a groan.
"Mia, I need—" His voice broke when I squeezed. "I need to be inside you."
"Then what are you waiting for?"
He positioned himself, the head of his cock pressing against my entrance, and looked at me one more time. "This changes everything."
"I know."
He pushed in slowly, letting me adjust to his size. The stretch burned in the best way, filling an emptiness I hadn't known existed. When he was fully seated, we both stilled, breathing hard.
"Okay?" he asked, voice strained.
"Move. Please move."
He withdrew almost completely, then thrust back in, setting a slow, deep rhythm that had me clawing at his back. Each stroke hit something devastating inside me, building the pressure again impossibly fast.
"Harder," I demanded. "Stop being so fucking careful—"
He growled and snapped his hips, driving deeper. The new angle made stars burst behind my eyelids. He fucked me like he was trying to prove something, each thrust claiming, branding.
But then he winced, face going pale, and I felt the warm trickle against my hand where it rested on his chest.
"You opened your wound," I said, pushing at his shoulders. "Zane—"
"I don't care—"
"Well, I do." I shoved him onto his back, ignoring his protest. His wound was seeping blood through the bandages, and he was sweating from pain. "Let me."
Before he could argue, I straddled him, sinking back down onto his cock. From this angle, he went even deeper, and we both groaned.
"Mia—" His hands gripped my hips as I started to move, rolling my hips in slow circles. "Fuck, that feels—"
I set my own pace, rising and falling, watching his face contort with pleasure. His hands roamed my body—squeezing my breasts, thumbing my nipples until they were stiff peaks. The power of it, of watching him fall apart beneath me, was intoxicating.
"Touch yourself," he demanded, voice rough. "I want to watch you make yourself come on my cock."
I'd never done that in front of anyone. But the heat in his eyes made me bold. I slid my hand between us, fingers finding my clit, and started to circle.
"That's it," he groaned, hips bucking up to meet my movements. "So fucking beautiful. I could watch you like this forever."
The combination of his cock filling me and my own fingers brought me to the edge fast. My movements became erratic, chasing that high.
"Come for me," he urged. "Let me feel you—"
The orgasm slammed into me, even stronger than the first. I cried out, clenching around him, and his hands tightened on my hips as he thrust up once, twice, then followed me over with a shout.
I collapsed onto his chest, both of us breathing hard, hearts racing. His arms came around me, holding me close even as we both trembled with aftershocks.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke. Then his hand came up to stroke my hair, and I felt his lips press to my temple.
"Stay," he whispered. "Please stay."
I didn't answer. But I didn't pull away either.
Everything was slowly getting better.
And I was finally starting to believe—maybe this time, the ending would be different.