Goddammit all to hell.

I lean against the living room wall and try to get my shit together. Hard to do when I think I feel rough hands on my back, when I think I smell burnt flesh, when all I want to do is curl up and howl.

Fuck this shit. I’m not a kid anymore. Have to get over this. Working on it. Hell, I’ve done things with Dakota I never tried before, things I was sure would send me into la-la-land or rocking in a corner, but I’m okay. I was okay, until she touched my back.

Jesus fucking Christ. I wipe a hand over my mouth and suck in a deep breath. What am I doing? Having her here, having her stay. Am I out of my damn mind?

I hear soft footsteps, and I straighten, put on my poker face. My chest constricts as she walks out of the kitchen, barefoot, her hair messy, her eyes a bit wide. I scared her again. And I will keep on scaring her if she insists on sticking around.

Maybe after a few days with me she’ll change her mind and go. And I have no right to feel that sting inside when I think about it. She should go, find a sane person to be with.

“Zane?” She’s staring at me, her small hands clutching the hem of her blouse.

Guilt presses on my chest like a stone. Against my better judgment, I reach for her, draw her close. “Sorry.”

“I’m the one who’s sorry,” she whispers, placing her hands on my chest, and her lashes seem wet.

Shit. “You shouldn’t be. I’m the one who’s not normal.”

“I like you as you are,” she says, and some of the pressure lifts from my chest.

I nod, but can’t speak, my throat closing up. Why isn’t she running for the hills? How come she’s not scared of me?

“Let me show you your bedroom,” I say.

“My bedroom?” A flash of disappointment goes through her gaze.

We can’t sleep together. If she’s not scared now, she will be then.

I pull her along and open the door. “Here.”

It’s clean and empty, just the narrow bed, the closet and the shelves nailed to the wall. Just as Erin left it, and I feel a pang, remembering how good it was to have someone nearby who didn’t judge me and wasn’t scared of me.

Then again, I rarely saw Erin when she lived here, and besides, I shouldn’t be thinking of this. Dakota will be gone in a few days. She’ll find a roommate, and move out again, and I’ll have to decide what to do. Maybe I should move, too, find a studio to live in on my own.

The thought is like a kick in the guts. I lean on the doorjamb, watching without really seeing Dakota walk around the bedroom. I know I’m not easy to be around. But I don’t want to be alone forever. I’ve wished to be alone so many times in the past, when people only gave me pain, but I’m afraid that if I’m left alone, I won’t make it out of the tunnel sane.

Or even alive.

* * *

It’s late when I come home from work. I open the door to the apartment to find the lights on and a heavenly spicy smell in the air. I stand stock-still, key still in hand, warmth coursing through my veins, spreading in my limbs. A smile tugs at my lips as I hear a voice singing from the direction of the kitchen.

My feet carry me there, and I linger at the kitchen door, looking inside. Dakota is stirring something on the stove, humming and shaking her head. She’s wearing headphones, I realize, and she taps her hand on the counter to a beat only she can hear.

I could get used to coming home to this, I think, and shit, this isn’t a good line of thinking.

She’s dressed… Oh fuck, she’s dressed in one of my muscle shirts—sleeveless, and so big it’s slipping off her shoulders. It’s long enough to cover her ass, but as I zero in, I can see no panty outline.

She’s naked underneath. Following my rule.

Naked. Underneath my clothes. My T-shirt wrapped around her curves, her breasts, her ass, all around her silky skin.

Holy shitballs. My cock hardens so fast I gasp and have to steady myself on the doorframe. I’m dizzy from all the blood rushing south.

Mine. She’s mine.

Fucking crazy.

I round the table and reach for her. She’s singing again, her voice low and clear like a crystal bell. She’s shaking her hips to the rhythm, and her heart-shaped little ass is like a flashing beacon.

Grinning, I slap it.

She screams and jumps a foot off the ground, knocking into the counter. I grab her before she falls.

“Hey,” I say, pulling her to me. Can’t keep the stupid grin off my face.

“Jesus! You scared the crap out of me.” She pulls the earbuds out and glares.

“Zane. Just Zane.” I wink and am rewarded with her laughter, light and pure like water trickling over rocks and moss.

She’s still panting, but she comes to me willingly. She starts lifting her hands, to put them around my neck, but stops, uncertainty flashing across her face.

My jaw clenches. That uncertainty is my fault. “It’s okay,” I say. “Right now it’s okay.”

I tug on her hands, loop them around my neck and slip my arms around her waist, sighing in pleasure when her slight body presses along mine. Nothing so chaste and simple should have the right to feel so damn good.

Her mouth is so close, a sweet bow, that I lean in and lick it. “God, you taste good.” She tastes of strawberries, and I wonder if she was eating ice cream before I came in. “So good.” I press my lips to her, and she opens them, letting me in.

Our tongues twine together, and I groan, dragging her closer, until she’s pressed to my hard-on. God, kissing is awesome. I’ve been missing out all this time.

Then again, I also managed to keep the memories at bay, and now… Christ, don’t wanna think about sleeping tonight, if the previous nights are anything to go by. Fucking nightmares.

She pulls back, breathless, her lips red and puffy, and I swipe my tongue over them, unable to keep away.

Giggling, she puts a hand on my chest, pushing me off. “Slow down. I’m cooking. The food is going to burn.”

“Let it burn.” I attack her mouth again, and she gives in, kissing me back, scattering my thoughts, burying my memories. We kiss and kiss, and as she rubs against me, I know I have to stop, or I’ll come on the spot. “Fuck.”

She laughs again, and my lips twitch in response. “Let me turn off the heat. It’s ready, I think.”

She twists in my arms and takes off the lid of the pot, grabs a spoon and stirs. The heavenly smell hits me again, and my stomach growls like a rabid wolf.

Curiosity gets the better of me. I look over her shoulder at the brown mass inside the pot, and I trail my hands down her hips. “What is it?”

“Dakota special,” she says. “Aren’t you hungry?”

What, she didn’t hear my stomach growl? “Sure I am.”

“Then have a seat at the table.”

I nod, but I’m again distracted by the way her body moves under my palms, the smoothness of her skin and the fact my shirt is riding now high, baring her sexy ass to my eyes.

“Sit,” she says again, and I groan, letting her go and taking my seat. My hard-on swells, and I try to adjust it inside my pants. It’s hot that she gets all authoritative with me.

What the fuck, Zane, seriously? I lick my lips and try to figure this out as she brings the dishes to the table, filled with the brown mush that looks weird but smells delicious. She’s not taking control physically. She’s only telling me to sit, so she can serve me food.

Is it because she’s dressed in my T-shirt, naked underneath, that it’s so sexy that she orders me around? Or because this is a safe place—my kitchen, my pot, my spoon, my table?

Maybe it feels safe when she tells me what she wants—so I know I’m not hurting her? Could be. Who the hell knows how my fucked-up mind works?

“Eat before it gets cold,” she says, sitting across from me. The shirt has slipped off one shoulder. I can see her nipples, small tight buds, pressing through the fabric. Her lips close around the spoon.

I bite my lip as the pressure in my balls becomes unbearable. Jesus.

What if I grab her and fuck her right now? Right here, in my chair, with her on top, so that I can grip her ass, suck on her breasts and kiss her mouth?

She winks at me over her spoon, and I close my eyes, trying to get my body under control. Is this a game? Is she testing me, to see how much I can take? She’s playing along—no underwear, no physical pressure—and she seems curious, too, willing to try this.

I dig into my food, my thoughts spinning, and suddenly come down to earth as the taste explodes in my mouth.

“Whoa!” I look down at my plate, then up into Dakota’s bright eyes. “What’s this?”

“Curry. Recipe handed down to me by my Grandma Florida.”

“Your grandma’s name is Florida?” I swallow and shovel more curry into my mouth. It’s spicy, and my eyes water, but damn, it’s tasty.

“And Grandpa Washington.”

I laugh and put my spoon down. “Does your family cover the whole US territory?”

She shrugs and grins. “We try.”

“Really?”

“Well, let’s see. There’s my cousin, Iowa, and Aunt Georgia, then there’s my cousin Nevada… I even have an aunt named Dakota, like me, but she lives out of state.”

And she goes on, enumerating all those names, and I sit there, quietly laughing, and eating my curry, and it feels… perfect. Easy. Comfortable. Happy.

That should have set off the alarms in my head. It would have, not so long ago. Because when you start getting comfortable and happy, that’s when life decides to take a turn and bite you in the ass so hard you don’t know what hit you.

* * *

“You haven’t drawn on me recently,” Dakota says as she puts away the plates.

It takes me a moment to understand her words, my gaze following her bare pretty legs up to the hem of the T-shirt. I hope she lifts her arms, so it rides up, baring her ass. “Hm?”

“Ink. On me.” She turns her head and winks. “Tonight.”

Damn, she’s bossy again, and again it turns me on. Like I need more excitement. Dick the dick is desperately trying to drill a hole through my jeans.

“I’ll draw on you.” With my cock. All over you. Jesus.

“Come on.” She pads over to me and lifts my hand from the table. “Let’s go.”

Frowning, I let her pull me up and into the living room. “What? Where?”

“Here.” She grabs a pen from the table and sits on the sofa, pulling me down with her. She hands me the pen. “Go on.”

“Pushy, aren’t we?” I drawl, running my hand over her bare shoulder, and she shivers.

“I want…” Her voice catches when I pull the shirt completely off her shoulder and rub my mouth on her warm skin.

“What do you want?”

“A dragon.”

I try hard not to flinch. After all, it’s all part of our game. “No.” I think of the deathmoth tattoo on her back, the scar it hides, and I frown. “Why do you want a damn dragon?” Her family loves her, and she doesn’t have nightmares that I know of.

Or does she? Why did she freak out so badly when she was almost pushed into the pool? What is she hiding?

She shrugs, her delicate bones shifting under my lips. “Dragons aren’t for good luck. I know what they stand for in your book.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.” Her shoulders tense. “Survivors get a dragon.”

I freeze and let the pen drop from my hand. “And what did you survive?”

Her shoulders slump, and she bends forward. I follow her movement, grabbing her around the waist.

“It doesn’t matter. It’s over. I’m alive, and I’m perfectly fine, and that’s all that counts.”

I suck in a shaky breath. “Good,” I say and close my eyes for a second.

Yeah, she’s fine. She doesn’t want to tell me what happened to her, but whatever it is, it’s over and done with. I don’t ask again what it was. Call me a coward. Call me chicken-shit. But I can’t handle more pain right now. She’s like sunshine, happy and bright, and she’s all that’s keeping me afloat.

I don’t ask. Instead, I sidetrack her by reaching up under the shirt and cupping her breasts. She trembles, her head falling on my shoulder, and she arches her back, pushing into my hands. My thumbs flick over her nipples, and I muffle my own groan on her neck. My teeth sink in her soft flesh, marking her again, marking her every hour of every day, then lick the spot to soothe it.

Mine.

I pull off the T-shirt, letting it fall to the floor, and trail my hands down, between her legs. Shaved and smooth, slick and beautiful. She moans loudly as I dip a finger inside her. She’s wet and hot and tight, and holy fuck, I can’t wait any longer.

Condom. I have to let go to hunt for the damn thing, and of course, before I know it, she’s twisted around and is crawling on my lap.

“Dakota…” Oh shit.

She unzips my jeans as I tear the foil open and then helps me wiggle out of my clothes. Her hands travel up my chest, tickling my ribs, then flicking the studs in my nipples, almost making me shoot my load. I push her hand away and reach down for my aching cock, but she looks pleased with herself as she leans back, observing my movements.

I roll the condom carefully over the piercings, then grip the base and grit my teeth. I’m so fucking close.

She climbs on my thighs, hands on my chest, lowers herself on my hard-on, and I grip her hips and tug her down. Oh Christ, this is gonna blow my mind away. I’m loud when I’m having serious fun, and I can’t help shouting her name as she pulls me into her hot, tight pussy. God, feels so amazing. Wanna stay in her forever.

Then she starts moving, and it all goes up a notch—the pressure, the heat, the goddamn pleasure that’s wiping my mind clear. I slide my hands around, cupping her ass, taking control of her movement, her rhythm.

She looks down at me, her eyes dazed, and lifts one hand to my face, tracing my lips. The light sensation on my mouth mingles with the pressure in my gut, and the orgasm slams into me like a sledgehammer.

“Dakota,” I bite out her name, and I struggle to keep her still as my balls detonate, and my cock spasms with pleasure so intense it’s almost like pain.

But she keeps moving, moaning and rippling around me, and I come and come, falling back on the couch. “Fuuuck.”

She rocks on top of me, and her pussy contracts. I feel the moment she comes, calling out my name. I steady her, my hands on her waist, then grab her as she bends forward and curls on my chest. My hand feels right on her wild dark hair, the other on her back, tracing circles over her tattoo. Her weight feels perfect on my chest and thighs, her scent twining around me like ivy.

I should be terrified, but right now… Right now, I feel happy.

* * *

Burning pain. It spreads down my back, spreads inside me, so bad I want to puke. There’s no escape from this hell. There are fingers covering my mouth, digging between my lips, choking me. I try to twist and turn, end the pain, but I’m held in place, on my knees. Tears are running down my cheeks. I can’t escape. I can’t.

‘What are you scared of, boy?’

I think I see Emma’s face, her arms open for me, calling me to her. But I can’t move a single muscle.

Fucking useless.

‘My turn,’ a deep voice says, a voice that sends ice down my spine. ‘My turn now.’

My yell bounces off the walls as I come awake, gasping for breath. I’m lying in my bed, on my back. Alone. I’m alone, I’m conscious of that, but at the same time, I’m not sure. I can still hear the voices, feel the hands, feel the scorching pain, and my stomach finally decides it’s had enough and turns over.

I fall out of bed and stumble into the bathroom just in time. I hug the toilet and toss up my dinner and then some, heaving bitter bile that burns my throat.

Shit.

“Zane?” someone calls, and I wince as the voice mingles with the other voices in my head. I crawl back until my head thunks on the bathroom wall.

I can’t catch my damn breath. “Don’t.”

“Zane, it’s me. Dakota.”

I blink. She’s crouching in front of me, back in my borrowed T-shirt, her hair brushing her shoulders, falling in her large eyes.

Dakota.

Her hand lifts, then hovers between us without touching me. “Are you okay?”

I’m not fucking okay, but I nod anyway. I wince when she reaches over and closes the toilet lid, then flushes. The noise is like a hammer bouncing inside my head.

“Come here,” she whispers, and I look at her, uncomprehending, as she reaches for me.

Emma, opening her arms, calling my name. A faceless woman from child services. ‘What are you scared of?’

Fuck.

“Zane.” Dakota, it’s Dakota in front of me. In my bathroom. “Take my hand.”

I wrap my fingers around her smaller hand, and when she tugs on it, I steady myself on the toilet seat and make it to my feet. The room spins a little as she drags me out of the bathroom and back to my bedroom. The sheets are wet with my sweat. They smell of fear.

Dakota stares at the bed for a long moment, then pulls me out and into her bedroom. Pushes me onto the bed, then crawls next to me. I’m shivering now, and she pulls the covers over us, then curls by my side.

I lift my arm, so she can press her body to mine and rest her head on my shoulder. Fuck, I’m exhausted, but I feel calmer with her there. I feel warmer.

“Why aren’t you scared of me?” I mutter, my eyes closing. I don’t get it. Erin almost never saw me like this. I bet she’d have run away if she had.

“Why should I be? You never hurt me, not even when you flash back to bad things in your past. I think, deep inside, you know you can trust me.”

Do I? Maybe I do. “This happens a lot,” I warn her.

“You barfing in the toilet?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Nightmares?”

“Yeah.”

“Flashbacks?”

“Too.”

“Okay then,” she says, pushes up just enough to kiss my cheek and lies back down. “I can live with that, as long as you let me hold you afterward.”

It takes me a long, long time to fall asleep after that, her words playing over and over in my mind, and when I do, I’m still grinning like an idiot.