13. Chapter 13 #3
My body shakes through the last aftershocks. Zed keeps his fingers moving until the trembling subsides, then slows to gentle strokes and kisses across my chest. I finally slump back on the mattress, panting and dazed.
He stays above me, his chest moving a little harder now, his nose brushing once along my jaw.
“Welcome back.”
Heat rushes into my face all over again.
I blink up at the ceiling, then at him, and suddenly panic starts crawling in.
Because this is the part where men usually want more.
This is the part where I’ve always had to scramble away from more.
Backpedal and make excuses. Say I’m tired, or it’s late, or anything that might keep things from turning into the part I don’t want him seeing—the long, ugly scar running along my inner thigh, right up to my groin.
So the excuses start coming out of me on autopilot—a habit I’ve built.
“I, uh—I just…” My stuttering. “In the dream…I didn’t really think and—maybe we should just…”
“Lilly.”
I keep going.
“It’s late, and I know you probably—”
“Lilly.”
His voice isn’t sharp or annoyed. It’s just firm enough to cut clean through the mess in my head.
“Look at me.” He lowers himself onto me a little more, one hand coming up to touch my cheek.
And I realize he’s been hovering over me this whole time without crowding me the way Liam always used to. Without pressing or grinding into me. His body hasn’t touched mine once. Just his mouth and his fingers.
“Stop explaining yourself.”
The words are so foreign to me. I’m not used to not needing a reason. I study his face, the gentleness in his expression. His eyes are intense in their unwavering attention, but he isn’t waiting for me to talk him out of being angry.
My throat tightens a little, so used to the tension that comes after. The feeling of having to manage somebody else’s disappointment before it turns into resentment. Zed is just looking at me, completely there and somehow calm.
My T-shirt is still bunched above my breasts.
Heat rushes to my cheeks, but before I can pull it down, Zed catches the hem and gently draws it over me, covering my breasts and stomach.
I stare at him, still trying to make sense of what it feels like to be this wrung out and not immediately bracing for a fight.
“Is this where your dream ended?”
My heart stumbles, my mind recognizing the question for what it actually is.
Is this where you want this to stop?
I look up at him and then down at the space between his body and mine. He’s still fully dressed. His belt is still open. But he never rubbed himself against me. He’s focused on me the entire time.
I nod, then whisper, “Yes.”
His eyes search mine, making sure I mean it. Then he nods back.
“Then that’s where it ends.”
I let out a breath and just look at him.
“But you’re probably still…” I trail off and glance down.
His gaze follows mine and comes back to my face.
“I am,” he says simply.
I blink up at him, trying to process the fact that he’s somehow not making it my problem.
He seems to know exactly where my mind has gone because his mouth curves.
“I’m also a grown man who can handle it.”
I stare at him, stunned. At the dark hair falling a little over his light eyes. At the tattoos that look even darker in the moonlight.
“You’re really okay with just…stopping?”
The words sound stupid once they’re out, but he doesn’t laugh.
“Trust me, Lilly, when I fuck you, it’ll be with you begging me for it.” He leans down and presses a slow kiss to my lips.
A fresh wave of arousal sparks from his words. I almost tell him to do it, almost give in to what my body is begging for. But my mind blocks it because I’m too ashamed of the ugly scar that always holds me back.
“Without you breaking in through the window and giving me a heart attack?” I try for humor.
“Balcony,” he corrects. “And I’m not making any promises besides this.” His mouth brushes my ear. “I will fuck you. And you will beg me for it.”
Then he pulls away, straightening his arms to push himself up.
“It is late,” he says, echoing my earlier pathetic excuse with a hint of amusement. “You should try to sleep.”
“After that?” I blink up at him.
He chuckles low before dipping for one last kiss. His lips are so soft, so full as they glide across mine. He pushes off me, rising to his full height next to the bed. I watch him thread the leather strap back through the buckle on his belt, then turn and walk toward the balcony.
He pauses with one hand on the doorframe and looks back at me over his shoulder.
“Sweet dreams.”
My face goes hot.
“I’m locking the balcony door this time.”
“And I’ll break the fucking thing down. Don’t test me.”
He slips out, leaving the door half open behind him.
I stare after him, pulse still uneven and my body humming with the aftermath.
Blown away. That’s the only phrase for it. Not just by what he did. By what he didn’t do. I lie back down, listening to the ocean and trying to wrap my head around what Zed Mercer just did to me.
That sense that this man could ruin me six ways from Sunday if I let him.
But now I know something else too.
He can want.
He can burn for it.
And he can still stop.