Zane is standing at the kitchen counter, dressed only in draw-string pants, making coffee. As for myself, I’m sitting at the kitchen table, getting an eyeful of his long, strong legs, his muscled ass, and his bare, inked back.

The sight never gets old.

I savor it, even as the images of last night replay before my eyes, and I shiver. Zane’s strangled shouts from the other bedroom. The sound of the bathroom door slamming open and him retching. The way he crawled away from me, as if he didn’t recognize me. As if he was seeing someone else.

He has to talk to someone about this, I think, as he turns and places two mugs of coffee on the table. What he revealed about his memories is horrifying. He should see a specialist, someone who can help him.

Because I don’t know how. Don’t know if I can. All I can do is hold him and tell him he’ll be okay. I have a feeling he doesn’t believe it, and it’s important he does.

Last night he told me he hasn’t mentioned this to anyone else. About the nightmares, or the memories of how his back was burned. Never had to explain all this to anyone before, because he never had a girlfriend before.

Am I his girlfriend? Is he my boyfriend?

“Sugar, no milk,” he says and pushes one mug toward me.

“How did you know?”

He shrugs. “Good memory. I remember stuff.” He swallows hard, and my heart breaks for him. He shouldn’t have to remember certain things at all. They shouldn’t have happened to him. He deserves to be happy.

“Thanks.” I sip at the hot liquid. It’s strong even with the milk, and I grimace. “What else do you know about me?”

He stands at the counter, mug halfway to his lips, considering my question. “You mean, apart from yellow being your favorite color, your fear of water and falling, your preference for strawberry popsicles and lollypops and the fact that you need to see my face when we’re together?”

I swallow hard. “Yeah. Apart from that.”

He shakes his head and gulps down some coffee. “Your family lives out of town. You study graphic design. You are good friends with Audrey. You like orange juice and fruit loops.” He hooks his thumb at the fridge. “Have you checked out the popsicles? I hope they’re the ones you like.”

A silly grin is spreading over my face. “You got me popsicles?” I want to check the fridge, but don’t dare move, not when he might open up to me a bit more.

He shrugs. “You said it was a condition for you coming here.”

A condition for staying here, but I don’t correct him, my chest warm because he thought of me. Because he bought me stuff to make me stay. “What else?”

He looks up and gives me a sexy grin. “You love it when I eat your pussy and fuck you with my fingers.”

I choke on my coffee and slam the mug down as I cough.

Zane winks at me. Ten points to the hot guy with the Mohawk. Damn.

I can’t deny it. I do love it. Heat seeps into my cheeks and spreads through my body. “Is all that in the folder you have on me?”

He doesn’t answer, but chuckles instead, a deep, throaty sound that makes my toes curl.

I drink more coffee, trying to gather my thoughts—not easy when he’s around. “You like your coffee black, no sugar. You like the color blue, and your favorite food is seafood spaghetti.” I asked Erin. So sue me. “You care for your friends as if they’re your brothers and sisters. You don’t like water and hate having your back touched during sex.” He shifts uneasily, and his lips press together in a line. “But you like watching me lick popsicles. You like having me half-dressed, without underwear. And you love being inside me.”

The corners of his mouth lift, and his eyes darken. “I do.”

Warmth spreads on my cheeks, and I bow over my mug. “I, um. You never told me why you hate water so much.” He says nothing, and I forge on. “That day, at the park, when the guys dropped you into the lake, and you…”

I lift my head to find him staring at me, his face pale. His eyes are flat and empty. Oh God, why am I asking this now, after the bad night he’s had?

“Go on. They dropped me, and I went batshit,” he grinds out. “That what you meant?”

Damn. I shift on my seat and turn the mug in my hands. Time passes. He’s still standing at the counter, gazing at me.

“I don’t hate water,” he says finally, and I nod, because God, I’ve gone too far, and I know it. But he sits down across from me, holding his mug, and says quietly, “I used to love it.”

Caught by surprise, I search for something to say. “What changed?”

He winces and pushes his mug to the side, so he can fold his arms on the table. “There were some kids in a group home I was staying at. I must have been ten or so. They tried to drown me in a bathtub.”

I open my mouth, then snap it closed. Try again. “Are you serious?”

He looks up and just stares at me, a tired expression on his face.

My chair screeches as I push it back and march around the table. I know better than to hug him from behind, so I lean in his side and put my arms around him. He looks startled and stays still as I hold him.

“You were not joking,” I murmur into his shoulder. “You were serious.”

“I don’t joke about such things,” he says, then reaches and encircles my waist, pulling me into his lap. “Why would I?”

I shake my head and tighten my hold, resting my head on his shoulder. I feel like he came close to dying, came close to giving up many times. Like there is so much pain inside him, and I’ve only just scratched the surface.

I hope he won’t give up. I hope he’ll let me hold him when he feels like he’s falling.

“What about you?” he asks after a while. “I think my folder may be incomplete. What do you hate?”

He wants to change the topic, and I let him without protest.

“I hate pearls,” I whisper. “I hate high places. And I hate hospitals.” I spent so much time in them that I’d rather avoid them.

“I’ll pen that in, then,” he says and rocks me slightly, back and forth—as if I’m the one who needs comforting after what he told me.

Maybe I am.

* * *

I’ve only been staying with Zane for three days now, but we already have a routine. A pleasant routine. He makes coffee in the morning. I have dinner ready when he comes home at night. We kiss, we explore each other’s bodies, learning how and where to touch. Where not to touch and what not to do.

It’s been pretty simple so far. He’ll touch me with his fingers or mouth until I come, and then he’ll enter me until we both come. Like a tried recipe, the positions change marginally on occasion. Zane likes routine. He likes safe. No surprises.

Although it’s odd that we don’t sleep in the same bed, it feels good to see him smile. He has a beautiful smile that lights up his eyes. He really should smile more.

Then it’s Saturday morning, and he’s not smiling. At all. As I wander into the kitchen, I find him slouched in his chair, his cell in his hand. It’s off, the screen black.

“Hey.” I slide into the seat next to him. I’m dressed in another of his T-shirts and normally—in the routine we’ve established—this is something that drives him crazy.

Not today. He nods but says nothing. Doesn’t look up.

Worried, I squeeze his arm. “Are you all right?”

He nods again, an automatic motion. “Yeah. I have to go.”

I blink. “Go where?”

He frowns, then pockets the phone. He’s dressed in T-shirt and long jeans. Ready to leave. “Visit my sister.”

“Okay.” I wet my lips, trying to think. “Can I come with you?”

“No.”

His curt reply stings. But why should it? It’s not like I’m his girlfriend or anything. We don’t even sleep together in the same bed. “I could help.”

“You can’t.” He pushes off the table and stands up, his face set in hard lines. “Got to go.”

“Wait.” I scramble to my feet, panicking. “Where will you be? Are you sure I shouldn’t come? I could drive, wherever it is, and I could bring you coffee and sandwiches, and—”

“I said no.” His gaze softens for a moment. “Not this time.”

My heart hurts, but I force myself to nod.

“I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon. Will you be okay?”

“Yeah. I’m meeting Audrey for coffee today, and Tessa is organizing another picnic in the park tomorrow. Besides, I have some work to finish.”

It’s all true, and yet I don’t want him to go. I like being with him, having his attention on me, his teasing, his hands on me… I’ll miss him, I realize with a jolt.

“Do you mind if I stay a few more days here?” I whisper, wiggling my bare toes on the floor. I need to repaint my nails, I think randomly. “I may have something lined up, but it’s not sure yet.”

“Come here.” He opens his arms, and I walk into them with relief. “You can stay here as long as you need. I wish…”

I wait for him to finish, but he doesn’t. He holds me against his chest, his arms strong and secure around me.

I wish we could stay like this forever.

“Need to get going,” he whispers.

I let him go, though I hate it. I hate being apart from him. I hate seeing him so stressed and sad.

I’d tell him to write down all these things I hate in my folder, but he’s already leaving.

* * *

After Zane is gone, I wander the empty apartment. I don’t know why I’m in such a funk. I want to know what’s wrong with his sister, but I’m scared to ask. Scared I’ll press him too much, too soon, and he’ll push me away. Scared to make him relive the pain. That everything I do hurts him, when all I want is to see that smile on his face.

Zane is complicated. This is complicated. But I’ve never felt more alive. Never felt happier than when I’m with him.

And now I’m scaring myself, because it is too much, too soon.

I meet Audrey at a new cafe downtown. She’s all smiles, happiness radiating from her face like the freaking sun. She’s been that way ever since Asher moved in with her. They’re such a cute couple.

“Where is your other half?” I nudge her with my elbow as I take my seat and grab the menu. “Is he hiding under your chair?”

She laughs. “Yeah, right.” Like the rest of the Brotherhood, Asher is over six foot of muscled hawtness. Hard to miss in a room, really.

“How is he?”

“Great. Passed his GED.”

“That’s awesome!” It really is. Audrey told me Asher missed so much school he thought he’d never catch up. “We should celebrate.”

“What did you think tomorrow’s picnic in the park was about?” She falls silent when the waiter arrives to take my order, then leans forward again. “How’s Zane?”

I don’t even know how to begin answering this. Hot? Awesome? Sex on legs? Funny and charming? Sad, damaged, dark and brooding… Hurting. “He’s fine.”

“Tess says you’re staying with him.” I swear her green eyes frigging twinkle. God, I’m like Grumpy Cat. “What’s going on? Are you guys, like, officially together?”

Couldn’t be any further from ‘officially’ than we are now. I mean, sex and joking around don’t count, do they?

“I’m just staying with him until I find a new roommate.” I pray the coffee comes soon to give me something to do with my hands. I was looking forward to meeting Audrey, and now I feel like running.

“I see.” She’s still smiling though, and I wonder what exactly it is she sees. “Do you like him?”

Like him? I freaking love him.

Oh sweet Jesus. “He’s okay, I guess.”

“He’s hot.”

I laugh. Audrey is watching me like I’m Santa. Like she’s expecting more. More joy. More surprises. More magic.

“He’s hot,” I agree. How can anyone deny it? “And nice.”

“Ah.” Looking pleased, she leans back as the waiter brings my coffee.

Sugar, no milk. As it’s written in my folder.

A pang goes through my chest. I shouldn’t be missing Zane so much already. He’s only been gone a couple of hours.

“Audrey… what do you know about Zane’s sister?”

Her cinnamon brows lift, and she pushes a fiery-red strand of hair behind her ear. “His sister? Not much. I’m not that close to Zane. You should ask Erin.”

I shake my head. “I don’t know Erin that well.”

“What’s wrong?”

“His sister is sick. I don’t know what she has, but it must be bad. Zane is concerned.”

The understatement of the year.

“Maybe Ash knows. Shall we ask him now?”

I take a deep breath. “See, I knew he was hiding under your chair.”

She laughs and pulls out her cell phone. “He and the guys are hanging out at Damage Control. They’re…” She presses her lips together, and I don’t like the concern tightening her fine features.

“Audrey?”

“Sorry. They’re worried about Dylan. Tessa is beside herself with frustration, but as long as Dylan doesn’t tell us what exactly is the problem, there’s not much we can do.”

“What happened?”

“Just that his dad seems to have gone off the rails again… and his little brother, Teo, isn’t doing well.”

Off the rails. Sounds bad. “Is his brother sick?”

“Yes, but Dylan won’t say more. Seriously, we’ve asked a thousand times, but we won’t tell us what the problem is. It’s driving everyone crazy. But he looks bad. His grades are slipping. He’s already lost his scholarship, and now he may even lose his job.”

Christ. “What can I do?”

“Nothing until we find out more. The only person Dylan might open up to is Zane. He needs to talk to Dylan.” She shakes her head. “Let me call Ash.”

I sip my coffee and look around the cafe, not really seeing anything, my thoughts wandering from Dylan to Zane and back. The whole Inked Brotherhood is built on pain. I knew that from the moment Audrey explained to me the thing about the dragon tattoos—the moment I decided I deserved one, too. But they hide their pain well. It’s not until they break down and everything collapses that we others get to see the festering wound.

I put down my coffee when Audrey passes me her phone. “It’s Ash.”

Suddenly nervous, I wipe my palms on my jeans before I grab it and answer. “Hi, Ash.”

“Hey.” His deep voice vibrates through the phone. “Auds says you wanna ask me about something?”

“Yeah.” And now I feel like a busybody, asking him this, especially when he’s in the middle of trying to figure out what is happening to Dylan. “It’s about Zane’s sister.”

“Emma?”

Emma. She has a name. “Yes.”

“You have news about her?”

He sounds like he knows something, and I forge on. “I just wanted to ask what you know about her. She’s sick, right?”

A silence greets my words. Ash is probably thinking about hanging up on me.

Shit. “Look, Zane told me she’s sick, and he’s off to visit her. I just want to know what is wrong with her. I want to help Zane, but it’s hard without knowing stuff.”

Not sure I’m making much sense, but maybe he hears my worry in my voice, because he says, “Okay.”

Okay what?

“Emma has cancer.”

I blink. My stomach cramps. I’d feared this but had hoped against all hope it was something else. “What sort?” I croak. “Will she live?”

“Breast cancer. I thought she was in remission. Haven’t been able to get a single fucking word about it from Zane in months now, though.”

Cancer. No wonder Zane is so worried.

“Do you know something I don’t?” Ash asks.

“Nope. Sorry.”

“Never mind,” he says, sounding tired. “Got to go now.”

Like Zane said this morning. “Thank you. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help Dylan.”

“Thanks.” There’s more warmth in his voice when he says this. “Take care.”

I should take care of Zane, I think, as I pass the cell back to Audrey. Everyone is so focused on Dylan right now I have the impression they don’t see how close to breaking Zane is.

But how can I help him? Can’t do much when he’s not here. When he clearly stated he didn’t want my company this weekend.

Do you give a person you care for what they want, or what they need? Do I know what Zane needs?

Debatable. I’m not wiser than other girls my age. Not all-knowing. Still, I’ve been somewhere most girls my age haven’t been: close to death, close to utter despair. So maybe I do know what Zane needs. Maybe even more so than Zane himself.

* * *

It’s late when I return to the apartment. I stand in the living room, feeling out of sorts without Zane there. The silence is oppressive. So I undress and go to bed, but can’t sleep. After tossing and turning for hours, I give up. My feet take me to his bedroom, and I sit on his bed. His dark scent wafts around me, and I curl up over the sheets, burying my nose in his pillow.

I wish he were here with me. Tomorrow can’t come fast enough.

I drift off like that, waking up at some point to burrow under the covers, his scent surrounding me like his embrace, lulling me back to sleep.

And wake up with a scream caught in my throat, flailing. Falling. I expect to feel the impact on my back, I expect water to fill my mouth, and my body to lose all sensation as I sink lower and lower, unable to move.

No. I can move. I’m okay. My hands shake so badly I can barely grip the covers, but I do, and I throw them off me. I wiggle my toes, then lift my feet, first the one, then the other. I can move. I’m okay now.

Trembling, I get up and walk to the kitchen. My heart is beating so fast I’m dizzy. Cold. Shaky. I need something warm. Grabbing a filter, I set about making coffee.

If Zane was here, he’d have held me until I forgot all about the damn dream. The damn memory.

I could call him.

The idea stills me. He’s with his sick sister. Why disturb him for a dream?

Then again… I glance at the gurgling coffee machine, then at his empty seat. If he doesn’t want to answer the phone, he doesn’t have to. Tears are stinging my eyes, and for some reason, of all the people I know, it’s his voice I need to hear.

Because he promised not to let me fall.

Chewing savagely on the inside of my cheek, I go in search of my cell. I find it in my purse. It looks dead. What the hell? I shake it and curse at it. The battery can’t be empty. I charged it yesterday, before meeting Audrey for coffee.

Dammit. I plug it in again and watch as it lights up.

And then powers down again.

Oh no. I so don’t need this. As I move around so much, this is my one steady number where my parents and everyone can reach me. I check the port, check the socket and the plug, jiggle it, making sure it’s connected. The screen flashes on again, and I see a text from my mom.

Shit.

It’s about my Aunt Carolina. She’s at the hospital. She wasn’t feeling well, and she had some more analyses done. They’d have the results in a few days.

What to do? If Mom calls and my phone is dead, then… Then she’ll call Bella, or Audrey. She has their numbers. But perhaps I can give her Zane’s number, too. He’ll be back tomorrow, and if she calls, he’ll pass the phone to me.

Quickly, before my phone dies again, I send Mom his phone number and tell her to ask for me if she needs to talk, until I get my own phone fixed.

I barely manage to hit send before the phone dies again. Not even sure the text went through, I stare at my crappy phone.

Not a good start to this Sunday.

Suddenly I’m desperate to get out of the house. I’m not supposed to meet the guys at the park before noon, but I shower and dress quickly in a white sundress and sandals and head out. The sun warms my face and bare shoulders, the warmth slowly seeping deeper.

But I’m still cold.

I pass by Bella’s apartment, but nobody answers the doorbell. I wander the sleepy town and buy ice cream, because life without ice cream is plain sad, and I want to shake the sad off me.

Zane loves watching me lick popsicles. So I buy a chocolate cone instead. Doesn’t feel fair to eat a popsicle without him watching.

That’s it. I’m officially sick. Hooked. Smitten. Nuts about this boy.

Jesus.

‘Just call me Zane,’ I think I hear his teasing voice in my ears, and my body tightens down low just as my mouth tugs into a smile.

Yep. Officially in love.

* * *

The day drags. The picnic drags. Time drags. My cell is on, and I hope it stays on. I left it charging all morning. It says the time is four in the afternoon, and although the park is beautiful in the golden sunlight, the guys are talking about Dylan, and I want to go home. I cooked earlier, and I want to set up the table. Make it look nice for when he arrives.

I start when I realize what I mean by home is Zane’s apartment.

Get real, Dakota. You’ve only been staying with him, what, four days?

The next thought is even more absurd.

Home is where Zane is.

How crazy is that?

I get up and grab my purse. “Hey, guys, got to go.”

“Why so soon?” Tessa whines and makes a grab for me.

“Stay a bit longer,” Tyler agrees, his arms around Erin.

“Cut it out, guys.” Audrey gives me a shrewd glance from her perch on Asher’s lap. “Zane may be back by now, right?”

I let out a long breath, shifting from foot to foot. God, I hope so.

“How is he?” Erin leans forward, her dark eyes narrowing. “It’s like he fell off the face of the earth. I’ve called him many times to do something together, but he either doesn’t answer or says he’s busy.”

Torn, I look from her to Audrey. Erin is Zane’s friend, and maybe I should tell her about my worries—then again, if Zane doesn’t want to tell her, who am I to spill his secrets? Besides, I really want to go home in case he’s back.

“He’s okay,” Audrey says.

“His sister’s sick,” Asher says at the same time. “Dakota will tell us if there’s anything to be worried about. Right, Dakota?”

“Yeah, of course.” And I leave as fast as my feet can take me.

* * *

As soon as I enter the apartment, I know Zane is back. There’s a jacket thrown on the sofa, a bottle of amber liquid on the table and a half-empty glass.

I frown as I pad inside and close the door behind me with a soft click. I approach the sofa. Drinking already? This doesn’t look good.

A noise makes me look up, and there he is, standing at the kitchen door. He’s dressed only in his worn jeans and his ink, looking tired and drop-dead gorgeous. His almond-shaped eyes light up when he sees me.

“Missed you, girl,” he says quietly and pushes off the doorjamb.

Missed you, too, I think, but my lips won’t move. My gaze snags on his bare chest.

Is he doing it on purpose? Taking off his shirt to render me speechless? All that smooth, inked skin stretched over taut muscle, the studs glinting in his brown nipples, the thin, dark trail of hairs leading into his low-slung waistband…

Whoa. I suddenly feel in desperate need of a cold shower.

I force myself to snap out of the eye-candy feast. “The guys were asking about you. About your sister. How is she?”

He flinches, a tiny recoil, and the blood drains from his face. Instead of replying, he moves toward the coffee table and grabs the whiskey bottle.

“Have you been drinking?”

“Just a glass or two.”

“Have you eaten today?” I take a step toward him, and he freezes in the process of unscrewing the bottle.

“Can’t remember,” he whispers.

Worry makes my gut clench. “I made food. You need to eat to sober up.”

His hand tightens around the bottle, as if he wants to crush it in his fist. “Maybe I don’t wanna fucking sober up.”

I swallow hard, studying him more carefully. His face is drawn with exhaustion, as if he hasn’t slept since he left the apartment yesterday morning, and there’s a familiar shadow in his eyes. I’ve seen it before—after the episode at the park, after his flashbacks, after his nightmares. A shadow of pain.

I clench my hands, unclench them. Take a step in his direction, and another. He watches me warily as I reach for his hand and clasp it in mine.

“I made you seafood risotto,” I whisper. “Erin said you like seafood.”

He’s still as if made of stone, his dark eyes on my lips, his body tense.

I inch my other hand up his arm and grip his bicep. I don’t know why, but I think he’s not ready for a hug right now. Not ready for anyone to get too close. He’s like a wild animal, trapped and about to bolt.

“It’s spicy,” I go on, pretending I haven’t noticed anything. “I hope not too much. I got yogurt to mild it down, just in case.”

A small sigh escapes him, the steel-corded muscles under my fingers relaxing a fraction. “A spicy risotto?” he rumbles.

“Yeah. Southern recipe. Courtesy of my Grand-grandmother Louisiana.”

“Louisiana?” he chokes out, managing to sound both horrified and amused. He puts the bottle back down, though, and that little detail makes me bolder.

“Yes, but the one who taught me about using yogurt to mild it down is Aunt Nebraska.”

He chuckles, a deep, dark sound that sends butterflies swarming in my stomach.

I tug on his hand, intent on pulling him into the kitchen where I can get some food into him, but he doesn’t move. His dark gaze glides over my skin, heating it.

“Come on, Zane. You need to—”

Turning, he pushes me until my back slams into the wall, and the air leaves my lungs. “Need to what?” He grabs my wrists and brings them together over my head, holding them there with one hand. His eyes are black with want. “Lemme show you what I need.”

A thrill of fear goes through me. His grip is like titanium around my wrists, and a sting of pain goes through my bones. Gone is the softness in his eyes. What remains is heat and darkness, and I’m not sure what kind of darkness that is. Not sure he’s one hundred percent here with me.

He gives me no time to ponder this or ask anything. He bends his head to my neck, grazing his teeth over my skin, lightly tugging on my earrings with his teeth, licking the spot behind my ear— while his other hand unties the thin strap on my shoulder and pushes down the fabric, baring my breast. My nipple instantly hardens, and he flicks his thumb back and forth, teasing me, sending liquid heat straight to my core.

I want to kiss him, touch him, smooth my palm over the hard planes of his body, close my fingers around his arousal, watch his face as he comes undone.

But he holds himself just far enough that even though my back arches off the wall, we don’t touch. He doesn’t kiss me, doesn’t allow me any freedom of movement. As if he’s gone backward in time, undoing all the trust we’ve shared.

“Zane…” Frustrated, I twist my hands, trying to break free.

His hold tightens, grinding my bones together, making me yelp. God, he’s strong. “My way.”

Then he’s grabbing my hips and spinning me around, so that I’m facing the wall, and I turn my head not to crash my nose into the plaster.

“Zane, stop.”

His hands still on my waist. I can feel the heat of his body, even though no other part of him is touching me. He’s like a wall of fire, kept at bay by an invisible barrier. A barrier about to shatter at any moment.

Seconds drag by. His breathing is harsh and uneven. His hands tighten under my ribs. “Are you sure you want me to stop?”

His voice is low and rough, and it does crazy things to my insides. His breath washes over my neck, lifting the fine hairs there, and Jesus, his hard-on presses into the small of my back, searing hot through my dress.

“I won’t hurt you,” he says, his voice rumbling in my ear, his firm chest covering my back.

“Let me turn around, Zane.” I want to see him, touch him. Can’t do this…

“You know it’s me, don’t you? You can tell. You can trust me.” He releases my waist and places his hands flat on the wall, on either side of me. I can see the colorful ink on his arms, covering his skin all the way to his wrists. And I can see… Shit, I can see fine, silvery scars on the inside of his forearms.

“Why?” I whisper.

“Rough day.” His voice breaks a little on the two words, and although that’s not what I was asking—those scars, oh God, I think I know what they mean– my heart hurts for him.

“What happened? Is your sister—?”

“Don’t.” His hands tighten into fists on the wall, his knuckles white. “Not now, not tonight. I can’t.” He shudders. “Please.”

His arms shake.

Crap, is this about him, or about me? Because I can’t force myself to do it this way? Can’t force myself to put faith in anyone anymore?

I feel my resolve crack. This is a challenge, and I’ll take it. After all, I wouldn’t be a survivor without being a fighter, would I?

I push back against him. “Do it,” I breathe. “I trust you.”

“Dakota…” He presses himself closer to me, his cock a line of fire on my back, his mouth on the sensitive skin of my neck.

His cock becomes more insistent in the small of my back, and I moan helplessly. With my sensitized breasts squeezed against the wall, my hands splayed, right next to Zane’s, I can only feel as he trails his mouth on my bare shoulder, along my arm. It makes me want his touch, his mouth on other places where I throb with need.

His hands are back on my body, smoothing over my sides. I gasp when he lifts my dress and tears my panties clear off me. He strokes the curve of my ass, dips his fingers between my legs, thrusting into me, and I shiver all over, about to come apart.

“I know what you need,” he whispers as he pumps his fingers in and out, ratcheting up the pressure inside me. “Move with me. Ride my hand. Come for me.”

“Oh God.” My hips roll. I can’t believe I’m about to come like this, standing, braced against the wall of his living room. My body is a roaring rollercoaster of pleasure, the pressure mounting to the point of pain, and something inside me uncoils.

I sob as the pleasure takes me apart, shatters me to a thousand pieces. My knees buckle, but he’s there, holding me up, his arm around my waist—crushing me to him so that I can feel how excited he is. He groans, and I clench again, gasping with aftershocks.

“That was so hot,” he whispers, and I can hear the sound of a foil crinkling.

That’s it, I think, my thoughts still hazy. He’ll enter me here and now, fuck me against the wall, and strangely the thought excites me, although a tiny voice in my head whispers that it’s probably how he fucks all those girls in bars and clubs. That now I’m turning into one more anonymous fuck for him, faceless. Run-of-the-mill.

But as if reading my mind, he whispers in my ear, “There’s no one like you.” He shifts behind me. “I know you, too. Your scent. Your taste. Your hair. The moth on your back.”

His hand nudges my legs apart, lifting my ass, and I squirm uneasily. “I trust you,” I whisper. “But I still want to see you. I want to see your face when you come.” And Jesus, I’ve never said things like that to anyone before. Never felt things like that.

He says nothing, and my eyes sting. Then something large and thick slides over my seam. His cock sends delicious tremors through me as it strokes me on the outside. I want him inside me.

Then he pushes into me, breaching me. “Hold on tight,” he whispers, and I bend my head, pressing my hands into the wall, as he plunges into me all the way. His thick length fills me up completely.

I cry out.

Pain. Pleasure. Pain. Pleasure.

I’m going mad, my body shaking as I try to separate the sensations, but they keep mixing, confusing me.

“Hold still,” he says and thrusts inside me, again and again, erasing the pain, turning it into mind-numbing pleasure.

“I’ll fall,” I choke out, my muscles locking and quivering, my arms shaking.

“You won’t.” His arm around my waist tightens. “I’ve got you.”

Small explosions start in my core, ripples spreading, rolling over me, rising into waves, cresting and crashing.

“Zane!” I come hard, the pleasure burning a fiery path up my spine.

“That’s it,” he whispers, thrusting inside me, prolonging my orgasm. “Fly and let me catch you.”

It does feel like flying. It’s as if my body is a cloud of shiny particles, hanging in dark space, the only sound my heartbeat and my ragged breathing. My head swims.

His thrusts slow down. His arm around my waist tightens.

“Zane?” He’s still fully hard. He still hasn’t come, and I expect him to start moving again. Find his pleasure.

But he stills completely, the only movement the throbbing and twitching of his thick cock inside me.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters.

“What is it?” I want to turn, but he’s holding me so tightly pressed to his chest that I’m effectively immobilized. The haze is lifting off my mind, and several scenarios flash through my head. He realized he forgot to put on the condom. He’s caught in a flashback and doesn’t know who I am. He pulled a muscle in his back and can’t move. He got a cramp.

Shut up, mind.

Slowly Zane starts to pull out of me, and I moan at the friction inside, where I’m still super sensitive.

Pain and pleasure. That could be the definition of what I have with Zane.

When he’s finally out, he releases me, and I slump against the wall. I turn to face him, at long last, and find him standing there, hands fisted at his sides, his hard-on still sheathed in a condom.

He glances down at it, then up at me, and his eyes are wide. “I… I need…” He makes a choking sound at the back of his throat, and worry turns my insides into ice.

“What, Zane?”

“Dammit. I need to see you, too.” He wets his lips with the tip of his tongue. “See your face.”

He stalks closer to me, cups my cheeks, his gaze dark with desire. Then he grabs my hips and starts walking me backward—toward his bedroom.

My eyes blur. I stumble, and he catches me, always catches me when I’m about to fall. He lifts me, holds me up. I should be scared by the way I feel—this raw emotion filling my chest from side to side—but my heart feels strangely light.