Zeke’s silent as we dress and head upstairs. He’s silent in the shower when he washes my skin clean, and even as he slips an oversized T-shirt over my head afterward. Nothing is said as he cooks us dinner, when we eat, not even as we do the dishes. For the next two hours, nothing can be heard except the sounds of us going about our business, and even though it’s killing me, I refuse to break the quiet because he clearly needs time to process.
Sigh.
My gravest fear is that he regrets what happened in the studio. I wonder if our chemistry freaked him out and now he needs time to regroup before finding a way to tell me it’s over. Not that we’re together or anything. I have no delusions about white picket fences and two-point-four kids, especially since Zeke made it clear he’s not interested in love. However, I know our connection isn’t commonplace. Even in my limited experience, I’ve never felt anything like it. And it’s because our connection is unique that I find his reserve so frustrating. It reeks of a guitarist discovering an instrument that fits them just right, only to panic at the phenomenal sound.
With a shake of my head, I give him a small smile and go to bed. Alone. Zeke doesn’t respond to my half-hearted facial twitch, instead choosing to remain in the lounge room. And hours later, I’m still staring at the same spot on the ceiling, wondering what the heck’s going on.
“Enough.” I yank off the sheets and pad down the hallway, determined to figure this thing out. But when I reach it, the kitchen is empty. There’s an eerie stillness I don’t like, exacerbated by the dim light seeping from the digital clock on the state-of-the-art oven. My eyes dart to the couch; that’s empty too.
“Zeke?”
Nothing.
I flick the switch, almost blinding myself when the lights reflect off the marble benchtop.
“Gah!” Shielding my eyes, I stumble backward, bumping into the fridge before turning and stubbing my toe on the corner. “Ouch! Damnit!”
Rubbing my sore foot, I somehow manage to clear my vision, inspect the toe, and am thankful I didn’t break anything. When I straighten, I blow tendrils of hair out of my face and freeze. “There you are.”
Zeke’s on the balcony. His broad back is to me as he lounges on the outdoor furniture.
I move to the sliding door. The soft hush of the frame sliding along the track is drowned out by the wind. I step outside, closing the door behind me, and wrap my arms around my small frame in a futile attempt to keep warm.
“Hey,” I murmur, my voice stolen by the Anemoi the moment the words are spoken. Stepping closer, I speak louder despite my chattering teeth. “Are you okay?”
He refuses to glance my way. There’s something in his profile that worries me. Even in the semidarkness, I notice a strained tension in the lines on his forehead. There’s a tightness in his lips too.
Striding to where he sits immobile, I stare at him, shivering. His legs are wide, his arms are crossed, and he’s glaring at the night.
The man has had more than enough time to brood. It’s time we talk through whatever is on his mind before I lose mine. Steeling myself, I take a deep breath, exhale, and straddle his lap.
Blinking, his eyes dart to my face.
“Hi,” I murmur, shaking with cold.
“You shouldn’t be out here,” he growls, reaching for the wool blanket beside him. Zeke wraps it around my shoulders, the soft fibers warming my chilled skin. “It’s fucking freezing.”
I snuggle into the material. “Neither should you.”
He raises an eyebrow.
“You could get sick.”
He snorts, like the idea is ridiculous. “I’m all right.”
“You sure?” Tilting my head, I stare at him.
Zeke looks away. His silence is loaded, full of everything he’s not telling me.
Cupping his jaw in my cold hands, I turn him to me. “What is it?” When he doesn’t respond, I try for a different approach. “I might not be an expert, but out of the two guys I’ve slept with, neither refused to speak to me after oral sex. From what I can remember, they were pretty freaking chatty. Heck, I couldn’t shut one of them up until I agreed to do it again.”
It’s a pathetic attempt at a joke, an awkward bid to ease the coiled tension, only Zeke doesn’t find it amusing. In fact, his hands biting into my hips, the fingers bruising the soft flesh, tells me how unimpressed he is with my comedic skills.
His expression turns feral. “Let me give you a word of advice. When you’re in my house, wearing my T-shirt and sitting on my cock, don’t mention the fuckers you’ve blown before me. Better yet, don’t mention them at all. Got it?”
I bite back a smile, readjusting myself on his lap, not at all rattled by his outburst.
He grips my neck, the width of his palm taking up most of it, and pulls me in close until our foreheads touch. “Answer me.”
I rock against him, pleasure zapping my core. “Thought you didn’t want me to speak.”
“Smart-ass.”
I shrug, sobering. “Two minutes ago, you didn’t acknowledge my existence, and now you’re all up in my business.” I try to look away, only Zeke won’t let me. “I don’t get it. Why the sudden change?”
Pause. Swallow.
Pause.
Swallow.
… Pause.
Finally, he grumbles, “Nothing sudden about it. The thought of you with some fucker makes me want to lose my shit. I want to punch something—brick, concrete, oak. Don’t care.”
Warmth blooms inside me. Where there was uncertainty is now burgeoning confidence. Confidence that I mean more to this unpredictable, taciturn man than a casual fling. If Zeke didn’t have feelings for me—teeny-tiny feelings, a mere sapling in a rainforest—he wouldn’t care who I was with. He’d yawn, turn his back, and get on with his day. So the fact he wants to risk breaking every bone in his hand at the sheer mention of past hookups makes me very, very happy.
It also makes me horny.
After clutching the blanket in one hand, my other flits across his defined pecs. “Why does it bother you so much?”
His thumb presses down on the pulse in my neck, which hammers in response. “Because no one touches you but me.”
Be still my beating heart.
Blame it on human nature, on social expectations coupled with gender stereotypes, but his statement is everything. Zeke makes me feel like I belong, like I’m his. And after being adrift for so long, without a home, a functional parent, or the stability of a nine-to-five job, having someone to hold on to is exactly what I crave.
But I’m no swooning belle. I haven’t been searching the globe for the love of my life; I’ve been too busy making it something to be proud of. So, refusing to collapse in a sea of imaginary taffeta, I counter, “But what about Drake? Reid? Shiloh? They touch me all the time.”
“Not the way I do, they don’t.”
“Yeah? And how’s that?”
Zeke’s breath ghosts his lips. “Like you’re mine.”
Mine.
I breathe in the word, letting it settle in my bones. And it does, as though it was always meant to be there. That’s the power of Zeke, of our connection. It’s new yet ageless at the same time. There’s this spark of recognition when he speaks, a heady familiarity with each touch. It’s like our souls are realigning after being torn apart centuries ago. I savor the feeling, then open my mouth and ruin it.
“For how long?”
Zeke exhales and leans back, running an agitated hand through his hair. The distance is now palpable, the tension tangible, and my need for answers at a peak.
“I won’t lie to you,” he states flatly.
“Good. I don’t want you to.”
Despite the warmth from the blanket, a chill trembles down my spine. Yet I refuse to cower. Yeah, it’s awkward as hell. No one enjoys the whole so what are we and where are we headed? conversation. But if there’s one rule I live by, it’s that honesty comes from open communication. So this is me, open.
And terrified.
Zeke scrubs a hand down the side of his face. “I can’t guarantee a future. I don’t know what’s going to happen in a month’s time, let alone a year from now.”
“In a month’s time, I’ll be on tour.”
He blinks. “Forgot about that.”
I sigh. “Zeke, you’re all over the place. First, you go all caveman and say no one else can touch me, and now you can’t promise anything.” I poke him in the pec. “You want it both ways.” After taking a moment to collect my thoughts, I continue. “Look, we’re at the start of something pretty damn amazing here. And I know you feel it because I do too. No one else excites me, challenges me, or grounds me like you do. You’re the ultimate storm. But I’m not going to wait for you to make up your mind about whether you’re all in. If Mom’s illness has taught me anything, it’s that life’s too short for indecision. Either we give this a go and pour everything we have into making it work, or we don’t.”
“What’s wrong with keeping it casual?”
“You’re kidding me, right?”
His stare is hard.
I shake my head, my smile gentle. “There’s nothing casual about us, never has been. If you’re willing to break your hand when I mention past sexcapades, how are you going to be okay with a casual fling?”
His body tenses. “Thought I told you not to mention those pricks.”
I give a throaty chuckle. “See? My point exactly.” A gust of wind blows hair into my eyes, so I shift it away again. “Look, I’m not trying to pressure you. Whatever you decide is fine. But you can’t have it both ways. I’m not some toy you can use up and throw away when you’re finished. I deserve more than that.”
With a growl, Zeke averts his gaze and scowls into the darkness.
I hold my breath, waiting. I might talk a good game, but inside I’m a hot mess. My heart is pounding, my lungs are bursting, and my lips are probably purple. I really want him to give us a go. If he’s brave enough to open his arms to the hurricane, we can face it together.
After what feels like six eternities, Zeke turns to me. “I want to tell you something.”
Nodding, I clutch the blanket close to my chest, biting my bottom lip.
He reaches out, releasing it from my teeth, his eyes fixed on my mouth. “I haven’t fucked a woman since being hit with divorce papers.”
“What?” I exclaim. Even to my own ears the shriek is piercing. I grimace. “Sorry, you took me by surprise.” Glancing away, I ponder his words. Only, no matter which way I think about it, Zeke’s bombshell makes no sense.
My eyes meet his. “How is that even possible?” I gesture to his incredible body—the eight-pack, pecs, and biceps. “You’re gorgeous. Sometimes it hurts to look at you.”
He rolls his eyes. “I’m not saying I haven’t had opportunities. There’ve been plenty. Music, money, and connections attract gold diggers like shit attracts flies. But there’s too much to lose when it all goes ass up, so I’ve kept my dick to myself.”
“So.” I draw the word out. “You haven’t been with anyone?”
“No.”
“Like, at all?”
“No.”
“What about kissing? Surely you’ve kissed a woman?”
He sighs. “I haven’t kissed anyone. Haven’t wanted to.”
“Then what….” I shake my head, bewildered. “Then what are you doing with me?”
Zeke’s expression intensifies, and his whiskey gaze sears mine. It’s like he expects me to present him with a key that unlocks the answer. But I don’t have it. He does.
Strong hands delve into my hair, pulling me close. “I’ve got no fucking idea.” His breathing is ragged. “You crashed into my life like a goddamn tsunami. There was no warning, no way out. Rising Star offered me a contract, said I’d be working with the next big rock act.” He swallows. “Then you walked in. You smiled like the world was full of butterflies and motherfucking rainbows. You put up with my bullshit even when I acted like a bag of dicks. You play guitar like a goddess sent to torment me.” His lips hover above mine. “And I’m drowning. I’m fucking drowning because of you.”
“It’s okay,” I whisper, my hands cradling his face. “I’m drowning too.”
I don’t know who moves first, whether it’s him or me, but we kiss. It’s desperate, greedy, and not nearly satisfying enough. Zeke tilts my head, bites my lip, and forces his tongue inside. I open to him, wanting the intrusion, craving the ownership.
“Zeke,” I moan into his mouth. “I need—”
“I know what you need.” In one fluid movement Zeke stands, his hands cupping my ass. I wrap my legs around his waist, yanking him to me while devouring his lips. He mutters curses between my moaning sighs.
Somehow we move inside, make it to his bedroom, and I end up on my back with a god of a man on top of me.
Zeke licks and sucks his way down my neck, his palms kneading my breasts. The soft material of the T-shirt is a barrier between us. It has to go.
I squirm and writhe, my fingers digging into his shoulders. “Please,” I whimper, needing him closer, inside me. An elemental part of me, the part that acts on instinct alone, is crying out for its other half. And the fundamental part of him answers because two large hands skim my ribs. They trail over my hips—deliberate, teasing, so damn self-assured my core is on fire. When he reaches my bare thighs, he pauses.
“More,” I whisper, my voice cracking as the syllable is torn from me. “Zeke, I need more.”
“And you’re gonna get it,” he growls, his expression carnal. With a swift yank, the T-shirt is ripped over my head. It shocks the hell out of me.
“What the—”
Naked.
I’m naked in Zeke’s bed.
And he’s staring at me like a man possessed.
Kneeling between my parted legs, Zeke’s eyes are almost black.
The piercing gaze memorizes my face, neck, and collarbone. It lingers on my breasts, feasting on the freckles peppering pale skin, on the rosy nipples straining for his touch, on me. He shakes his head, muttering to himself.
Zeke’s hungry stare shifts lower, to my stomach and the curve of my hips. His nostrils flare when it finally lands on my pussy, the sight flooding my core with arousal.
“No panties.”
“After our shower you only gave me a T-shirt.” I shrug. “Figured you didn’t want me wearing them.”
He grunts his approval. Locking famished eyes with mine, the corner of his lips quirk in a dark promise as he lowers his head, slowly, slowly, between my parted thighs. When his nose touches my slick folds, he inhales.
I gasp.
“Fuck yeah.”
Holy. Freaking. Whoa.
Never has a man smelled my crotch. Never have his eyes rolled back in pleasure while doing it. And never has he sworn in appreciation afterward. The sight is so damn hot I’m surprised I don’t combust, leaving behind a pile of ash as the only proof I ever existed.
But then I realize our connection goes beyond electric touches. It’s an inherent need so primal, so absolute, there’s no other option but to surrender.
So, I do.
“Zeke,” I moan, my fingers grasping his short hair. “I need you inside me.”
“No.”
No? I freeze, shocked and confused.
“Already told you, I’m not fucking you till you’re better.” His tongue darts out to flick my clit, a necessary reminder of who’s in control.
The carnal touch almost launches me into the air, into the freaking stratosphere. There’s nothing that will bring me back. Nothing but him.
“You’re gonna ride my face.”
I sit up, all notions of space and time forgotten. “Wait. What?”
Zeke rolls onto his back, taking me with him, and soon I’m straddling his hips. The room sways. I don’t know if it’s my head trying to catch up with my body or the fact that Zeke’s about to own my pussy, but either way I’m a disoriented mess.
My palms are tiny as they lie flat against his chest, and waves of hair tumble over my shoulder when I shake my head. I nibble my bottom lip, nerves creeping in for the first time. “Um, I’ve never….”
Cupping the back of my neck, he pulls me in close until his low voice rumbles in my ear. “You’re gonna sit on my face, and I’m gonna fuck your cunt with my tongue.”
A delicious shiver rolls through me.
“Got it?”
Suppressing a moan, I nod.
He slaps my ass, and I yelp. “Good girl. Now, hurry up and feed me. I’m starving.”
Straightening, I do as instructed. Luckily, the upholstered headboard gives me something to hold on to because the minute Zeke spreads my pussy lips wide, his mouth clamps down on my clit. That masterful mouth licks, sucks, and bites. Holy Hera, does it bite.
Throwing my head back, I cry out.
The sound makes him suck harder, bite harsher, and I’m in such exquisite pain, there’s every chance I’m tearing holes in the fabric. However, with every flick of his tongue everything fades. My hands are no longer grasping the headboard, my knees are no longer pressed into the mattress. There’s nothing in existence except Zeke, me, and pleasure.
So. Much. Pleasure.
Dexterous fingers circle my entrance, and a low groan sounds when my juices coat Zeke’s skin. He thrusts two inside, and I moan, rocking my hips. Seconds later, he massages my sweet spot.
“Fuck. Yes, keep doing that,” I pant.
He does. Another hand slides up my stomach to cup my breast. His large palm molds flesh that’s oh so sensitive to his touch. I gasp when he teases my nipple, alternating between flicks, tweaks, and pinches. This, combined with the systematic thrust of his fingers and his mouth gorging on my clit, is too much. Every ministration pushes me closer, sends me higher, and a void of darkness forms. Builds. Peaks. Crashes.
Oblivion.
“Zeke.” The throaty cry is ripped from my soul.
“There she is,” he growls against oversensitive skin. “There’s my fuckin’ siren.”
The vibration of his deep voice between my thighs lengthens the orgasm, my pussy contracting around his fingers as I come, and come, and come.
“Can feel you choking me. Fucking love watching you fall apart.”
When the shudders finally subside, I flop forward, resting my sweaty forehead against the padded headboard. “Oh my God. I can’t even…. That was….” I don’t bother trying to finish my sentences, just resort to shaking my head in disbelief.
“Not finished with you yet.”
“What?” I half mumble, half exclaim, too dazed to pick a tone and stick with it.
The deliberate opening of my pussy lips is the only warning I get before that devil of a tongue delves deep within me.
“Sweet Eros, you’re killing me.”
“Only way to die.”
Zeke’s tongue laps, swirls, and dives inside. “Fuck, you taste good.” His thumb works my clit, circling it with just enough pressure to make my vision blur and equilibrium shift. His other hand roams further back, taking my release with it. In a methodical sweep of his finger, he rubs the juices over my asshole.
Everything stops.
Sensing my unease, Zeke redoubles his efforts on my swollen clit. Pleasure builds and anxiety slowly fades as I yield to his worshipful mouth. My body grows soft, pliant, ready for his ownership. I crave it. I need him to claim every inch of me, for there to be no patch of skin left without his brand. It’s the only way I’ll know I’m alive.
“Take me,” I whisper. “I’m yours anyway.”
With a rumbling growl, he presses against my puckered hole.
My moan is loud.
His groan is louder.
A finger pushes inside.
I’ve never felt so full, so bursting with sensation. “Zeke, I can’t—”
“You can, and you will.” He sucks on my clit.
It moves deeper.
My body is a live wire, ready to set the world aflame. “Fuck, I’m going to—”
Deeper. He bites my clit.
“Zeke.” The second orgasm takes me by surprise, its intensity blinding. A barrel wave bowls into me, knocks me over, and ruins any chance of survival. But it’s okay. I don’t want air; breathing is inconsequential. All I want is Zeke. My oxygen.
Movement.
Rustling.
Then a rhythmic heartbeat.
Strong arms wrap around me, cocooning my still trembling body. I’m guessing that somewhere between the earth-shattering orgasm and now, Zeke repositioned us so I’m resting under the blanket and against his chest. His naked chest. Blinking, I push myself onto a shaky elbow, my eyes wanting to take in every inch of tanned skin.
Muscles. So many muscles. Every ridge and groove is carefully honed perfection. Zeke’s so much bigger without a T-shirt. His upper body is enhanced, amplified, like it’s in high definition. I trace an index finger along the center of his chest, marveling when it twitches under my touch. I circle his belly button and smile when downy hair slows my progress the closer I get to his boxer briefs.
I stop, my gaze darting to his. “You’re hard.”
“I had my mouth on your cunt and my finger in your ass. Of course, I’m hard.”
“Want me to….” I slide under the elastic band, my teeth biting into my bottom lip at the thought of touching him again.
He grips my wrist, stopping any further progress. “No.”
“No?”
“No.”
I retract my hand and sit up, uncaring when the sheet falls to my waist. “But why not?”
Zeke moves toward me, his lips clamping down on my nipple. His tongue flicks the erect bud before he hollows his cheeks, releasing it with a pop. “That was for you.” His gaze never wavers from mine as he lies down again, one hand resting behind his head.
And then it hits me.
My voice is soft, reverent. “We’re really doing this, aren’t we?”
Zeke swallows. “It’s already done.” He guides me back to his chest, and I nuzzle against a broad shoulder. When he exhales, wisps of hair tickle my face, but I ignore them.
Despite the warmth, despite knowing in my very bones that this is where I’m meant to be, there’s a niggling uncertainty teasing my subconscious. And I don’t know what gives away my thoughts, but Zeke shifts his large frame until we’re facing each other. He tips my chin until our eyes meet. “It’s already done, little siren.”
Nodding, I trace the contours of his jaw before kissing full lips, breathing in his addictive scent. And as I do, I keep my eyes tightly shut, coveting the darkness I can see.