Four months later
Wolf glared at the accountant that he’d hired just two weeks ago, who had started just the past Monday, sighed heavily.
“Why are you givin’ me notice?” he growled. “What’s the issue?”
“Uh, well,” the man stuttered, adjusting his tie. “I just – I feel that – this work environment’s problematic…”
Wolf looked around the office, bemused. Yeah, OK, it wasn’t the world’s best office, he could agree with that. It was just above the garage work areas, so every time anyone opened the door, a wave of heat and noise, and the smell of steam, gasoline and paint rolled on in. But c’mon, it wasn’t exactly a slum, it was fully air-conditioned, had double-glazed windows, had soundproofing, and Wolf knew that he was paying way over market rate for the work. Besides, this little idiot had been interviewed by him, Kansas, and Silver in the very office that they were currently standing, and he hadn’t said a peep about a problematic work environment.
“What’s the problem, exactly?” Wolf asked, already testy. They didn’t have time to waste here, he was itching to get the tattoo parlor up and running, and the garage and Satan’s were both being audited at the same goddamn time, and God knows, it had taken him four weeks to even find and hire this guy, whose name he didn’t even remember now. Seemed that not too many people were rushing to work for an MC, one that still had a criminal reputation, one that had just recently had a business blown up.
Well, Wolf could certainly see why prospective freelance accountants were hesitating. He guessed that guys like this – with educations and experience – had a choice of places to set up their high-end laptops and park their trim little business-suited-butts for a few months. Nice office buildings, with elevators and espresso machines and other people in suits wandering around, speaking in full sentences about money and budgets and all the shit that Wolf had no clue about.
Which is why I hire a fuckin’ accountant.
Yet again, he thought longingly of Edward Crawley, his former accountant. For twenty-six years, Eddie had happily taken the money that every Road Devils President had thrown his way, and never said one word about the slightly sub-par office space – or anything else, for that matter. But the man had retired and moved to Florida, living far better than a small-time accountant’s regular paycheck could possibly explain, and now here they were. Wolf wondered if Eddie would come back for six months, if Wolf flew him over and paid him mucho bucks for coming out of retirement and dragging his ass away from the ocean. On the whole, though, he thought not. Damn shame.
“Well, Mr. Connor,” the man began bravely, wondering if his decapitated body would be discovered quickly. “I have just come to understand that this isn’t a very good for for me. I’m not – I feel that your men and I aren’t very compatible.”
“What men?” Wolf demanded.
“The men – the men who get information to me upon my request,” he said faintly. “Hard copies of documents and spreadsheets and projections and tax returns from the past three years.”
“Yeah, well.” Wolf scratched his head. “That’d be pretty much everyone, right? Because you need everythin’ from the bar, the garage, and the parlor.”
“Yes.”
“OK, so…” Wolf shut his eyes for a second, already pissed off, and trying to decide where to target his rage. “So they don’t give you what you need for you to do your job accounting for the rebuild projections, and doin’ the audits? I can speak to them. Kick their asses up between their shoulder-blades.”
“No, no,” the man said hastily, blanching a bit. “They get it to me.”
“OK, so…” Wolf stared at the accountant. “If you ask, and they give it, then what’s the problem?”
“Their – their demeanors.”
“Huh?” Wolf cocked his head. “How they act towards you?”
“No, not exactly. It’s not how they act towards me. It’s more… how they act, in general. How they just are.”
“Oh, right,” Wolf said, the penny finally dropping. “You mean, they don’t talk educated enough for you, huh? They don’t dress right, act right, live right? You don’t like the leather cuts, the shit that goes down in the bar back rooms, the rough language, the criminal pasts? My shit grammar offends you too, huh, man?”
The man looked like he was about to pee his perfectly-tailored pants. “I didn’t fully understand – when I took the job, I thought my exposure would be limited –”
“Forget it,” Wolf said brusquely. “I don’t give a flyin’ fuck what you thought then, or what you think about me and the boys now. I know they’ve been as good to you as they know how to be, and if that ain’t good enough for you, then we’re better off without you, frankly. My boys don’t deserve to be looked down on by some guy with a nice tie and shiny shoes. It ain’t a good fit, and that’s that. Don’t bother comin’ back.”
“I – my –” the man stammered. “The contract –”
“I remember the contract,” Wolf snarled. “I can read, you know. You give two weeks’ notice, I pay you for that time. Well, I don’t want to see your snotty little face ever again, but I’ll transfer you two weeks’ pay tomorrow mornin’, first thing, and I’ll be happy to get you out of my hair. Now, beat it.”
The office door slammed behind the man as he fled, and Wolf sighed.
Back to square one. Back to looking for an accountant who’d be willing to work with a bunch of MC guys, on MC property, on MC accounts, dealing with some questionable documents and information from the MC’s past.
Maybe Wolf had to start thinking outside the box here. Look for someone less Traditional Prep Business School, and more street-smart and savvy, who just had a knack for numbers. A maverick type. A wild card.
Yeah. A wild card would fit in with The Road Devils just fine.
**
Zoe sat on the porch of her cute little rental house, breathing in the tangy salt air. It was a cold and drizzly October night, but she didn’t care much: compared to Denver and Fargo, autumn in Los Angeles felt pretty damn balmy to her, and she’d sit on this porch and look at and listen to the Pacific crashing away until she froze to the porch swing seat.
It had been this very porch that had decided her on this house, actually. She’d been stunned at the luxurious rental selection offered when she’d started looking around four months earlier, and she was still grateful that Wolf and the club had given her and Scars an incredibly generous budget for rent.
Oh, she’d been stubborn at first, quite naturally. Insisted to Wolf that she was going to pay her own way, find a place on her budget and using her savings, and she’d left Keira with Willa, Jimmy, Maria, and Wolf, and flown on over to L.A. to house-hunt. She’d given herself a week, and she’d been so confident.
Wolf had placidly agreed to let her foot the bill, without protest or argument, which should have made her suspicious, but didn’t. What she knew now that she hadn’t then was that Wolf had been to L.A. a few times, and had a much better sense of rental prices than she did – he knew that she wasn’t going to get far in terms of finding a place to live, but as with everything to do with Zoe, it was better to let her figure it out for herself. Telling her anything was a waste of time and breath; she’d since decided that this was something that she needed to start to work on.
So she’d rolled on into town, all sassy and la-la-la, looked at some lower-rent places, and almost run screaming from the cockroaches, the smell, the shady neighborhoods, or the sketchy landlords. In quite a few cases, all four of those non-starter issues had been firmly in place. She’d been horrified beyond belief at what she was seriously being expected to pay for dumps, and had snapped pretty quickly to the fact that if she wanted Keira someplace safe to play, Scars someplace quiet to recover between treatments and skin grafts, and herself someplace with an ocean view that didn’t include the smell of raw sewage floating on that water, then she needed more cash. Pronto.
So she’d taken her reality check with good grace – well, good for her, which meant that she’d downed a glass of cheap rosé – and called Wolf. He’d been expecting her call, of course, and told her that he’d already sent her a transfer. She’d stared down at her cell phone when she’d heard that.
“You what?” she’d said in astonishment. “A transfer? When?”
“Check your bank account, baby girl,” he’d growled at her. “It arrived this mornin’. Twenty thousand. Use it however you have to, and there’s plenty more comin’ when you say the word.”
“But – how’d you know that I’d be in over my head? I mean – you knew it before I did…”
“‘Cause there ain’t no way you’re gettin’ anythin’ better than a one-bedroom, roach-infested hell-hole of a dive for what you’re payin’ over here to Silver. I knew you wouldn’t ask Scars for help, I knew you’d wouldn’t want to worry his mind with everythin’ he’s got goin’ on right now. I knew you’d come to me, and he knew it too.”
“You guys talked about me?” she’d asked.
“Relax,” he’d said, amused. “Me and Scars know you better than anyone else on the damn planet – you think we don’t know how your pretty little head works?”
“Argh,” Zoe had muttered, sucking back more wine. “You got me. Thanks, Wolf.”
“You got it, baby girl. Now, go find a nice place for you and your sweet angel and your man. Clear?”
So back to the drawing board she’d gone, with a huge chunk of ready cash on hand this time around, and suddenly, she had a property agent eager to help her. Drove her around to look at properties, and they weren’t even apartments to rent, if you please. The agent took Zoe to houses. Little houses, naturally, but damn – they were cute houses.
Zoe had a list of ‘wishes’ for the house: on the beach, with a guest room for Willa, Jimmy, Wolf, whoever might have wanted to come and visit, or for nights when Scars needed some space. A big kitchen. Large windows. Flowers surrounding it would be nice, because Keira liked them.
Oh – and a porch with a view.
The second that she’d laid eyes on this place, with its sunny yellow paint trim, and a white fence with flowers growing up on and over it all wild and fiercely vibrant in the summer sun, and a wooden porch swing, and a bright turquoise front door, she’d been charmed. Plunked down the cash on the spot, made it temporarily hers within ten minutes of walking in the door.
She and Keira had been happy here, happy every single day, even the bad days. And God knows, there had been bad days. Too many to count.
When she’d left Denver, she hadn’t had any illusions that it was going to be hard. She’d known that Scars was going to struggle with pain and anger and having to ask for help. She’d known that she’d struggle with her own anger, and having to balance things with Keira, and patience to do things on Scars’ timeline, not her own.
She’d known that he’d be gone for days on end, either physically as he recovered in the hospital from a skin graft, or emotionally as he occupied the same space as her, but was sunk deep in thought. She’d worked harder than she ever thought she would at being cheery and positive and supportive – and even when it was damn near impossible to take his brooding or testiness, she’d done it. She really had.
And she’d thought that the worst was over. Scars body hadn’t rejected a single donor skin graft, and he’d fought his way through physiotherapy, building his mobility and strength steadily and daily. He’d opened up to her so much when he was flailing, and he’d let her be there for him. Sure, it took him some time to really be vulnerable, really talk to her, but she’d waited, and he’d eventually opened his mouth and told her what was on his mind. She’d learned to read his expressions, hear words in his silences, and she’d responded by loving him as hard as she knew how – but all without touching him. He’d permitted some kisses, quick, light ones, and very gentle hugs, so gentle that she barely made contact.
This was the last really big issue between them, and it was the one that was now weighing on her mind, thanks to what had happened that morning. That morning was why she was so damn grateful for her porch right at this moment, as she sat here, wondering and worried.
The porch was her little reprieve, her tiny bit of sanity and calm, her oasis of breath and heartbeat… she had spent hours and hours sitting right here in this swing every single evening, Keira’s baby monitor on the cushion next to her. Pushing back and forth with a bare foot, watching the sun set over the ocean, letting the endless crashing and murmuring waves soothe her troubled spirit and mind. It always worked, though some nights it took a bit longer for her center to hold.
Not tonight, though. Tonight, she wondered – truly wondered, for the first time – if she and Scars were going to make it through this latest upheaval.
As if she’d summoned him with her thoughts, a taxi pulled up a few doors down. She watched as he climbed out carefully, and even though she couldn’t see his face, she winced automatically, sure that his skin grafts were sensitive. He was always a bit sore after physio, but he was improving at a rate and speed that stunned the doctors.
Seeing him arrive in a taxi was still a shock, in a way. She was so used to seeing Scars on his motorcycle, driving the club van, walking under his own power. Knowing that he was dependent on someone to drop him off home was weird, and it reminded her yet again that the man was healing. He wasn’t at full strength, and he needed help, and despite her own inner turmoil, she softened.
As her chest loosened, opened up a bit, Zoe took a breath, and tried to push down on her hurt and humiliation about what had happened that morning. They needed to talk about it, not fight.
Scars walked up the sidewalk to the house, happy to be home, even though he was dreading the conversation that he knew was sitting between them. He didn’t look up; he knew Zoe would be on the porch. She was there every night clearing her head, and he was positive that after the scene that morning, she’d need to hold a safe space tightly.
He’d hurt her feelings. Deeply. Yeah, sure, he had his reasons, and he was certain that she understood them, but still… he’d hurt the woman who had stood by him, propped him up, pulled him through. She’d given parts of herself to him over the past four months, given parts of herself that he could tell were a surprise to her, given them selflessly and generously, even when it was fucking hard for her because she’d had nothing much left to give at the end of the day – and this morning was the one time that she’d reached for him for affection, the one time that she’d given in to her own shrieking cravings and needs for closeness. For the first time, she’d asked him for something that she needed, badly.
And Scars had freaked out.
Worse… he’d pushed her away. Physically and emotionally.
God, the look on her beautiful face when he’d done that. The pain and hurt was so breathtaking, he’d blindly turned and left the house, just because he couldn’t look at that raw, ragged emotion for one second longer.
So not only was he a prick who shoved Zoe away when she wanted physical affection and a simple human touch, he was also a fucking coward who ran when faced with her crushed spirit.
He’d shut up and stopped using his words and run away. The exact things that he’d accused her of doing to him all those times. God, he was a hypocrite.
Well. Time to fix this. If he could.
Jesus Christ. Please tell me that I can.
He opened the gate, walked up the path, then the porch steps. He moved the baby monitor a bit, then sat next to Zoe on the swing.
They sat quietly, then Scars said, “Hi, baby.”
“Hi.” She gave him a quick look, then turned her eyes back to the inky sky. “How was physio today?”
“Great, actually.”
“Good.”
Silence fell again, and Scars took a deep breath.
“I’m so sorry, Zoe. I’m sorry that I shoved you away.”
Her eyes fell to the porch floor now, and he took her hand, felt only slight resistance. He tightened his grip a bit, determined to not deprive her of his touch this time.
“I shouldn’t have done that, baby,” he said. “I know you know why I did, but it should never have happened. I should have stayed and talked to you.”
“Don’t you –” She paused and cleared her throat. “Do you miss touching me?”
“Oh, God. Zoe. So goddamn much. You have no idea. It’s all I can think about sometimes, how your skin and hair feel and smell. You’re silk and honey, baby, moonlight and sunset, and I’m addicted to you. Not touching you, kissing you… I miss it like I’d miss air.”
“Do you – do you miss me touching you?”
“That’s a bit more complicated to answer.” Scars took a deep breath. “Short answer: fuck, yes. Long answer: I miss the way that my body was before when you touched it. How it moved under you, on you, in you. How it experienced sensation when you ran your fingers over it. I – right now, I have almost no feeling at all in large parts of my back. When you put your arms right around me this morning and really held on, it was – a shock. I knew you were touching me and holding me, but I didn’t feel it.”
“So… is that why you pushed me away?”
“Yes and no. I mean – it was unnerving. Freaky. I knew that the skin grafts would mean lack of feeling and nerve damage. Of course I did. I’ve been poked and prodded by doctors, and my physiotherapist is always moving my body into position, and twisting and turning me, and you and Keira give me little kisses and nice cuddles, so it’s not like nobody has touched me for four months. I was fully aware that my back and legs are mostly numb. But what really kinda jolted me was…” His voice trailed off.
“What?”
“I – oh, God, baby. I felt your need behind your hug and kiss this morning. I could tell – I knew you wanted to make love. I could hear it, as sure as if you’d whispered it against my lips, and begged me to take you right there in our bed.”
Zoe’s eyes filled with tears, and she looked away, hoping he wouldn’t see them. He did, of course, and so gently, so carefully, he used his fingers under her chin to lift her luminous gaze to his hungry one.
“Nobody’s touched me like that for months, beautiful,” he rasped. “Hell, nobody has touched me like that ever, before you. And it – well. It scared the crap out of me. I panicked, and I bolted the hell out of there, and I’ve felt like an asshole all day about leaving you lying there like that, feeling so rejected, all because I’m a goddamn idiot sometimes who doesn’t talk to you enough. I’m so, so sorry.”
“So I guess you’re not ready,” Zoe said, trying to be cheerful and optimistic. “It’s OK.”
“But see, that’s the thing,” Scars said slowly. “I am ready.”
Zoe’s emerald eyes found his blue ones, and once again, for the millionth time, she though of endless sky and perfect ocean. “You – you are?”
“Short answer –”
“Fuck yes?”
He laughed, and she giggled back, feeling like she knew him again. “Yes, fuck yes. Long answer: I’m worried about you.”
“Me?” Zoe stared at him, astonished. “Me? Scars, come on! I’m terrified of hurting you, like leaning on you wrong, or scratching your back, or putting pressure on your legs in some weird way. I’m worried about you straining or, I don’t know, ripping something in your back. But I think that’s all natural to be worried about, considering the extent of your damage. What on earth have you got to be worried about?”
“That you won’t…” He closed his eyes, shook his head, dug deep. He looked at her again now, ready to be honest with the woman that gave his life meaning, and a center, and a home. “That you won’t find me as attractive as you used to.”
“Holy Lord,” she sputtered. “You have got to be kidding me. Are we back here?”
“Yeah. We are. But not in the way that you might be thinking.” He sighed. “I’ve put you through hell these past few months, Zoe, just like I said I would, that day in the hospital that I first woke up. I promised you that I’d be a miserable, grumpy, glowering, irritable bastard, and that I’d be withdrawn and I’d shut you out sometimes. I promised that I’d be hard to live with, and a real, all-around pain in the ass – and I’ve come through.”
“You really have,” she agreed. “But then again, you are a man of your word.”
He cracked a grin at that. “You getting snarky and sassy with me?”
“You bet.”
“I know you’ve stood by me through it all,” he said quietly. “And what I need to ask you is this: have you done that out of a sense of duty, because you made me a promise, and you couldn’t just walk away and leave me here alone to cope? Or have you done it because – despite my being a miserable bastard who didn’t talk to you for days on end sometimes – you still love me, and want me? If you’ve done this all to keep your word, I love and respect you for it… and I’m letting you know that if that’s the case, you’re now free to go.”
She froze. “What?”
“Today, the doctor gave me the all-clear to go back to Denver, if I want. I’ll need to carry on with my physio for another two months, but I can do that back there. Sam already said that he’d arrange it.”
“So… so we can go home? We can be back home with family and friends for Christmas?”
“We can go any time we want, baby. But I need to hear you say it – you need to tell me that you’re still sitting here with me because you want me and need me. You’re not still here because of duty, not because you’re the most amazing person I’ve ever known, not because you wanted to see this through to the end, however it was going to end up. You’re here because you love me. Because you want a life with me, the man that I am now. You want long-term and long-haul, and mess and stress, and wild and gentle. You want everything, and you want it with just me.”
Her answer was a kiss. Her answer was always a kiss, he’d come to understand, and it was one more reason that he loved her the way that he did.
“Three minutes,” he whispered against her perfect pink lips, and he hardened as he imagined another set of perfect pink lips on his woman. “You know how I want you.”
She shuddered as memory washed over her skin, memory from that night at Satan’s, when Scars had ordered her to the back room to strip, ordered her to hold position no matter what.
That had been their last night making love together, though they’d had no idea of that at the time.
“I know how you want me,” she said, already feeling seconds from coming. “I remember.”
“Then off you go, baby,” he said, tugging her to her feet, giving her a little tap on the ass for good measure. “Your three minutes start now. Go.”
Zoe stumbled through the living room and down the hallway, already unbuttoning and unzipping as she went. She paused briefly, checked on Keira in her crib. The baby was sleeping peacefully, beautifully, and as she always did now, as she was sure she always would, Zoe silently thanked God that she still had a daughter.
She thanked God, and she thanked Scars.
With a sense of time passing, she hurried to the bedroom now, flung open the dresser drawer, frantically sifting through all her worn cotton panties and Mom bras… and there they were, as stunning and sexy as she remembered them. She ripped off her white underwear with the saggy elastic waistband, flung her graying bra under the bed, and stepped into the silk and lace. It felt cool and smooth against her skin, and she shivered as memory slipped its hands over her body once more.
She didn’t have time to fix her face or hair, but she knew that she’d be a tousled, tangled mess after he was done with her, anyway. Burns, skin grafts, soreness – none of this was going to stop Scars Innis from ravishing her. Devouring her. Leaving her used and gasping on the floor. Satisfied, yet still aching for more, her makeup running off her eyes and mouth in sweat and streaks, her hair wild and tumbling over her face.
Zoe hit the floor beside the bed, went on all fours. She adjusted the rug under her knees – she knew that she’d have bruises tomorrow, no matter what, but a cushion never hurt – and placed her palms flat on the floor in front of her. She arched her back, extended her neck, closed her eyes.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
She’d just finished her little mantra when she heard his footsteps approaching. She bit her full lip, trying to quiet her excitement, but she knew that her body was going to give her away, anyway. The second he dipped a finger inside her, he was going to find nothing but arousal and readiness.
The footsteps stopped, and she knew that he was standing in the doorway looking at her. He was standing very still, barely breathing, and she longed to open her eyes and just take a peek at him. But she didn’t – she knew that he’d leave her there, maybe for an hour, waiting. So she screwed her eyes shut tighter, and prayed that he didn’t stand there much longer, gazing at her.
Footsteps again now, moving into the room. She heard him shut the door, and she tensed. Oh, God, oh, God… it had been too long. She was so ready for him, but the man was a master of patience when he wanted to be. If she moved a muscle, or a baby finger, or made the slightest sound, Scars was capable of self-control and -denial, just to make his point.
Zoe, not so much.
He walked around her, a slow circle, paused behind her. She tensed, longing and hoping for a touch.
“You brought the silk and lace from Denver,” he observed.
She fought the urge to respond, to nod. Did neither.
“Good girl,” he said. “It looks as beautiful on you as I remember.”
She flushed with pleasure, both at his words and his approval, and then she bit back a gasp when his large hands cupped her ass. Squeezing, testing, moulding. She ached to push back into his touch, but she didn’t move.
Turn to stone, Zoe, become a statue. Just. Don’t. Move.
Those amazing hands slipped between her thighs now, delicately, lightly, stroking her through the material. Her clit was pulsing, and she knew that he felt it. How could he not, with the throbbing being as strong and steady as a heartbeat?
“You’re soaked, baby,” he murmured. “Is that for me?”
Again, she resisted the urge to say yes, or to nod.
“I think it’s for me,” he said in a conversational tone.”I think this is all for me.”
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he lowered the panties down her hips, down her thighs, down her calves. He gently lifted her bare feet one at a time, pulled the delicate underwear off. Then he knelt between her legs, nudging her knees apart with his own, and leaned forward.
Zoe couldn’t stop her intake of breath when his tongue started to lap at her pussy, but he didn’t seem to object to that noise. The moans rose in her chest and throat, and she wrestled to not utter a single one – but the man was making it seriously difficult.
He was kneeling behind her, and he was worshiping her with his mouth. He was tasting her sweetness, devouring her like a starving man, feasting on her like she was a rare delicacy. He was enjoying her, rolling her clit between his lips, nibbling her pussy, holding her open with his thumbs so that not one inch of her sex was neglected, overlooked, missed.
She was trembling with the effort of trying not to cry out. That was when Scars lifted himself up and over her body, his hands braced on the floor beside hers, and she jolted when she realized that he was naked. He kissed the tattoo on her lower back, kissed his way up her spine, slowly and lazily, like he had nothing but time. She wanted to squirm, to rub against his burning erection… not moving was hell. He kissed her neck, her cheek, placed his lips next to her ear.
“Don’t you break position.”
She took a deep breath, released, sucked in another one when his hands moved to her bra now, undid it. It fell on the floor under her, and he left it there. His fingers caressed her breasts, then pinched her pink nipples. The sharp pleasure-pain made her whole body spasm, and he gave a low, heated laugh that drifted over her skin.
“You like that, huh? I think you have a bit of a thing for rough play, baby, and for taking orders.”
Another little pinch on her sensitive buds, then he was gone. She wanted to cry out and look around, but she stayed silent and still.
“Hands behind you, baby. On your lower back.”
Right away, without a thought, she did as he commanded. Her wrists were bound together with what felt like her silk and lace panties, and she was immediately, instantly, faint with lust.
He paused now, turned her face to his.
“Open your eyes, Zoe.”
She did, and she almost sobbed at all of that dark, almost violent desire that was written across his handsome, rugged face.
“Is this OK?” he said, tracing the panties around her wrists. “You feel OK?”
She was confused about if she was allowed to speak or move, so she stared at him, hoping that he saw the assent in her eyes. He smiled.
“I need to hear the words, baby. You can talk this one time… and then no more noise. Now… are you OK?”
“I’m totally OK,” she said. “I trust you.”
“That’s what I wanted to hear.” He turned her around again, gripped both of her bound wrists in his one, massive hand, and pushed her forehead to the floor. He kept his hand on the back of her head, forcing her ass and hips higher in the air. “Don’t break position, and don’t talk.”
She was just about take a deep breath when suddenly, he was inside her, and her breath left her body. The hand on the back of her head was strong, insistent, powerful, the one gripping her wrists was commanding and dominant, and she was small and helpless under Scars. Unable to move or raise herself up; not allowed to move or talk.
And she loved it. All of it.
He started slowly, gently. But it had been so long for both of them, and she was so wet and hot, and he was so hard and ready… very quickly, he was thrusting into her deep and fast, and she was mutely taking it, loving him taking her, stunned at how good it felt to be taken this way.
Zoe’s whole body was moving like a rag doll: his thrusts threw her forward, then back. His hands on her head and her wrists guided her for his pleasure, and all she could do was go where he wanted her to, do what he wanted her to do. Her vulnerability and helplessness added layers of feeling to the experience, and layers of trust too, and she knew that she was seconds away from coming.
She then wondered if she was allowed to come, and how she was meant to ask permission.
“Baby,” he grated out now, his movements becoming almost savage. “I’m so fucking close. Nod if you are too.”
Frantically, Zoe nodded, her forehead rubbing against the soft carpet.
“You want to come, beautiful?”
She nodded again.
“Go ahead then, baby. Come for me. Not one sound, though.”
She bit back her sobs of relief and release, as the longest, strongest orgasm of her life crashed over her, through her. Her back arched impossibly from the force of it, and Scars growled as his cock went deeper than ever before. Her muscles were clutching his cock, clenching and then releasing like hands, and he gritted his teeth to hold on until she finished.
She sagged a bit, her weight falling forward on her knees and forehead more heavily, and he knew that she was floating. His own release was dancing just beyond his reach, so he held her head in place by her hair, by her wrists, and he thrust, and thrust, and thrust, and Zoe couldn’t move an inch anymore, so she just moaned quietly into the rug and reveled in being used thoroughly, completely.
She reveled in being owned.
“Oh, baby… I’m gonna come.” Scars’ fingers dug into her wrists, and she loved the small bite of pain. “Tell me you love me… please, baby.”
“I love you,” she whispered brokenly between gasps and moans. “Scars, I love you so much. I love you.”
“God!”
He threw his head back, his massive body turning to stardust with the force of his approaching, rushing orgasm. He pushed as deep inside her body as he could, held himself there, and just came. Came like he didn’t know was humanly possible, sure that his heart was going to explode out of his chest.
He collapsed forward, stopped himself from crushing her with his hands on the floor again. Her whole body was trembling, and he knew that she desperately needed to be held, kissed, praised for giving so much. Scars fumbled with the knots around her wrists, got her loose. Gently, carefully, he moved her arms to her sides, saw her wince, and knew that she had pulled against the restraints when she’d come.
He hated to leave her warm, slick pussy, but she needed his warmth now. He slid out, and she moaned again, maybe with a bit of regret, maybe a bit of discomfort, and Scars stood up, pulling her with him. She was unsteady on her feet, her knees were red and marked, and he nudged her to the bed.
“Lie down, beautiful,” he said, pulling the covers back. “Curl up with me. C’mon now.”
She lay on her side, blinking and blurry, looking for all the world like a sleepy kitten. Scars smiled at her sated expression, went to the bathroom for a warm, damp towel, and he cleaned her. She murmured happily at the sweet, loving care, watched him go to the bathroom to return the towel, then watched him join her. He gathered her in his arms, and she burrowed into his chest with a deep breath.
“You OK?” he asked her, stroking her hair.”Your arms and knees?”
“Mmmm-hmmm,” she said throatily. “What about you? Your back and legs?”
“Never better.” He stretched his legs a bit, felt a slight tug on the backs of them, but no pain. “It’s one of the reasons that I wanted you on all fours again, baby.”
“Hmmmm?” she asked, puzzled.
“It was the only position where I could be sure you wouldn’t scratch my back by accident, in a moment of passion.” Scars grinned. “Give me two more weeks or so before you start leaving your claw marks on me, OK? I need a bit of a mental adjustment and preparation.”
“Awww…” she muttered, even as her eyes fluttered shut. “I like leaving claw marks your back. It’s such a sexy back when it’s all scratched up.”
“I know it, baby.” He gently pulled her drooping head closer to his chest, dropped a tiny kiss on her hair. “You can scratch me up all you want soon enough. Deal?”
But Zoe didn’t answer. She had fallen asleep. Just tumbled without a word to sleep in his arms.
The one thing that she said that she’d never done in her life, and the one thing that she claimed that she never would or could do, not ever.
With Scars, she did it.
With Scars, she could do anything.