Chapter Sixteen
Zane
A man, who I assumed was Melina’s father, stepped gingerly onto the porch. The cane at his side was gripped tightly in his hand, and he leaned on it heavily for support.
They spoke in hushed tones for a minute, and even though I couldn’t see her face, her stress was obvious from the way she straightened her spine and tensed her shoulders.
Something inside me bristled at seeing her that way. Was her anxiety because of the looming car repair? The event at work? Or the way her father’s assessing gaze was trained directly on me?
As soon as she dashed inside the house, I decided to make my move. She’d object if she knew what I was up to, but it was a risk I was willing to take.
I shut the hood of her car and then strode purposefully toward the front porch and her expectant-looking father.
“Good morning,” I called, trying to act nonchalant despite the churning of my gut. I stopped at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the porch, giving him the height advantage and myself a better view of the man who I hoped didn’t already hate me on sight.
“Morning,” he returned, the word clipped and his voice low.
I stuffed my hands in my pockets, unsure what to do with them, and kicked a toe against the concrete step.
“You here to fix…the c-car?” His words were slow and calculated, the pronunciation clearly difficult for him. He cleared his throat, his eyes falling away from mine, and he swayed slightly on his feet.
The reality of Melina’s situation crashed down on me, and I struggled to breathe under all its weight.
My woman had a lot of responsibility riding on her shoulders, and it made her reliance on rules and structure so much easier to understand.
It also made her drive for that promotion crystal fucking clear.
She was the breadwinner of this house. With her mother gone and her father in this condition, there was no doubt in my mind she was the one taking care of it all.
And it showed. Maybe not at first glance, but standing on this porch, it was impossible to miss.
The peeling paint, the sagging porch rail, the cracked front step.
All of it was proof she was holding things together on a shoestring, and somehow still coming to work every single day like everything was fine. Like none of it was breaking her.
It made me feel like an asshole for every dollar I’d ever taken for granted.
“No, sir,” I answered with a light laugh. “I’m no good with auto repair, I’m afraid. But I am going to call a friend of mine to help Melina get it fixed.”
“You are?” He looked up at me, a mix of suspicion and determination seeping into his gaze. “And…w-who are you?”
So this was where she got it from. The dogged conviction. The spitfire attitude.
Warmth spread through me, and I moved up a couple of steps, hoping to make him see I was serious. To convince him I was even a little bit worthy. “My name’s Zane, sir. I’m her boyfriend.”
The word left my mouth without thought. But the second it was out there, it didn’t feel wrong. It actually felt kind of fucking great.
His laugh was dry and labored. “Does…she…know that?” he fought to say through his amusement, bringing a smile to my lips.
“No,” I admitted, laughing along with him, my insides settling. “But she’ll figure it out soon, I think. I’m still in the process of sweeping her off her feet.”
“Good.” He turned toward the door, and for a moment I worried he might fall over, but he held fast to his cane, using it to totter along.
“Mr. Marshall?” I called, suddenly losing my nerve.
“Victor,” he said, straining over his shoulder to look at me. “You…call me Vic.”
“Okay, Vic. Can you please not tell Melina I said that?”
“Tell me you said what?” She shouldered her way out the door while simultaneously slipping on a boot.
Vic gave me a clumsy-looking wink before shuffling toward her. “Your boyfriend’s gonna get your car fixed.”
Melina’s mouth dropped open, her eyes growing huge as she looked back and forth between the two of us. “He’s not my boyfriend,” she said, her argument sounding shaky.
Vic laughed louder, his voice growing in strength. “Yes, Meli…he definitely is.”
She stepped to the side, allowing him to pass, then silently closed the door behind him.
When she turned back to me, the look on her face was priceless.
Indignant, skeptical awe. There was no other way to describe it.
She might act pissed off, but the flush creeping up her neck told a different story.
Part of her liked the sound of it. Even if she didn’t trust it. Even if she didn’t fully trust me.
“Come on, firecracker.” I held out my hand to her, knowing I still had a mountain to climb before I’d convince her, and not entirely sure how to go about it. “You don’t want to be late.”
She closed her eyes on an arduous sigh and then, seeming to mentally prepare herself, opened her eyes and strode briskly forward. Her hand squeezed around mine as she descended the steps, her eyes laser-focused and her mouth a tight line.
For the first half of the drive, the healthy roll of my truck’s engine was the only sound between us. Maybe it should have felt awkward or unnerving, but just being in her presence gave me a sense of calm.
I still might not know what I was doing or where this thing between us was headed—if she even wanted it to go anywhere at all—but I was willing to persevere and find out.
“I’m nervous,” she said, breaking the silence, her voice strong and steady, and for a moment I thought she was talking about us, and that maybe she could read my goddamn mind.
“I’ve got this big presentation to give for the event I’ve been planning, and after the mess of this morning, I’m afraid I’m going to botch it. ”
I glanced at her, catching a worried expression on her face and noticing the way her fingers were twisting together in her lap. Reaching out, I placed a hand over both of hers, stilling her silent fussing.
“You’re not going to botch it,” I assured her. “You’ve been working like crazy on this project. There’s no one better prepared than you.”
She turned her hand in mine, lacing our fingers together, and leaned her body into the center console, getting as close to me as her seat belt and my truck’s design would safely allow.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “I feel like I’ve been working on it forever. It’s nice to know someone sees the effort I’ve put in.”
“Melina.” I pulled her hand to my lips. “Anyone who can’t see you’ve busted your ass for this hasn’t been watching. But I have, and trust me, your dedication to your job is commendable. Not to mention, your ass is pretty fucking exquisite, so it hasn’t been much of a hardship to watch.”
“Zane.” She laughed brightly. “You’re deplorable.”
“Fuck, I hope that’s a compliment,” I teased, relaxing into the sound of her distraction. “But you can let me know later tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“Well, someone needs to bring you home from work. I assumed that would be me since we already have a date.”
Instantly, she went silent, and the humor between us evaporated. Her hand drew away from mine, and reluctantly, I let go as she shifted in her seat, turning her body toward me.
“Pull over,” she demanded.
“What? We’re almost there. I promise to stop pressuring you, just let me—”
“Zane.” Her voice was soft, but her tone was urgent. “Pull over. Now.”
My heart beat wildly, and my hands trembled around the wheel. I didn’t know how the hell I’d fucked up this time, but whatever I’d done, I was prepared to grovel.
The truck bounced onto the road’s gravel shoulder, the recently plowed snow crunching under the tires. The minute I shifted the gear into park, she was on me.
But not the way I expected.
Her seat belt snapped open, and she started climbing over the console, attempting to wedge her luscious body between me and the steering wheel.
“Ah, fuck,” I grunted, fumbling for the button to lay back the seat and mentally cursing the electric motor for not moving fast enough.
She hesitated, one hand on my shoulder and a leg partway over the most inconveniently placed barrier ever.
“Get your gorgeous ass over here,” I growled, impatient to feel her close to me again.
The smile that graced her lips was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen. With the seat now almost fully reclined, she crawled over me, flattening her body to mine, and I let out a strangled groan at the feel of her curves molding against me.
“Kiss me,” she murmured, her lips hovering just above mine.
My mouth grazed hers in a teasing whisper. “You want it?”
She wriggled over me, and the friction nearly short-circuited my brain. “I want you so much it hurts. Are you going to make me beg again?”
Fuck me. “How much time do you have?”
“Just over forty minutes.” Her voice trembled before she bit down on her lower lip.
“That’s enough.” My hands smoothed over her back, down to her ass, and squeezed. “I won’t make you beg, but I am going to make you feel really fucking good.”
Her whimper undid the last thread of my restraint, and her mouth fell to mine. I kissed her back like I was starving—devouring every sigh, every gasp, every sound she gave me.
Without breaking the kiss, I urged her up to her knees, my hands sliding up her legs, under her dress, and straight to the damp silk between her thighs.
She gasped into my mouth when I pulled the material aside and dragged my fingers through her wetness.
“Fuck.” My cock strained against my zipper, begging for freedom. “You have no idea what I want to do to you right now. How badly I want to taste this pussy. But that’s going to have to wait.”
“Oh God,” she cried when I circled her clit, right before pushing a finger inside her. “Zane. I… Oh, fuck.”
“Yeah, my hot little firecracker. That’s it.” My voice was as wrecked as I fucking felt. “Push back against my hand. Just like that.”
She did, grinding down against my palm, her breathing ragged and her fingers digging into my shoulders hard enough to bruise. And fuck, I wanted those marks. Wanted proof this was real.
“You’re wound so fucking tight,” I murmured against her throat, pressing a second finger inside her. “You need this, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she gasped, her eyes wide and glazed. “Yes. I need it. I need—”
“I know.” I stroked her inner walls, the heel of my palm grinding against her clit until I felt her start to tighten around my fingers. “I know exactly what you need.”
Her whole body tensed, coiling like she was about to shatter, and I pressed my forehead to hers so I could watch it happen.
“Eyes on me,” I said, my voice rough and low. “Right here. Don’t look away.”
She nodded, her gaze locked to mine, her lip caught between her teeth. And then the tension snapped.
She came on a broken cry that I felt in every cell of my body. Her back arched, her pussy clenched around my fingers, and her thighs squeezed mine as the shudder tore through her.
I held her until the last tremor faded, my free hand pressed flat against her back, keeping her steady. Keeping her close.
And when it finally eased, and she collapsed against my chest, breathing hard, her heartbeat hammering against mine, I knew with absolute certainty that nothing in my life had ever come close to this.
Not the parties. Not the women. Not any adrenaline high I’d ever chased.
Just her. Undone, trembling, and trusting me enough to fall apart in my arms.
The best fucking moment of my life.