Chapter Four
Sloane
I feel the tear widening even as I desperately try to pack the open cavity in front of me. Shit.
Fuck, shit, motherfucker.
The guy on my operating table is eighteen years old, and he’s been suffering from bowel cancer since he was thirteen. I’m not even his regular doctor. Since I came back to work, I’ve been making headway in the trauma department, forging a serious name for myself. I was always steady before, but now, after spending so much time with Zeth, dealing with psychotic mob bosses, human traffickers, and DEA agents, it’s like I’m bomb proof. Unshakable. People have started noticing, especially the chief.
So when Miles Rosenblat, eighteen, was rushed into the emergency room an hour ago complaining of severe stomach pains and Dr Wishall, his oncologist, wasn’t on shift, I was handed his patient and told to save his life.
“His father donates a huge amount of money to this hospital, Dr. Romera. Better not let his son die on your table,” were the chief’s exact words, in fact.
At this point, I’m not so sure I’ll be able to accomplish that. The kid’s bowels are a mess. He was supposed to be in remission, but it’s very clear that the cancer snuck back in and made itself right at home while no one was looking. His colon has just torn so badly there’s no way I’m going to be able to repair it. Best case scenario: I’m gonna be giving this kid a colostomy before I can close him up and his life changes forever. Worst case scenario: I give him the colostomy, close him up, he gets an infection, and then he dies in a couple of days’ time.
Either way, it’s not the bright and shiny outcome the chief’s waiting on up in the observatory. I’m sure she can see what I’m dealing with though.
Oliver Massey, my closest friend at the hospital, leans over the patient’s body and shakes his head. “Fuck.”
“Yeah. My thoughts exactly.”
“There’s too much to resect. You’ll have to take the whole thing.”
“I know.” I’m working quickly as I say this, already preparing to remove all of the damaged, necrotic tissue. Some doctors might be irritated by being told something so obvious by their colleagues, but I don’t mind Oliver giving his opinion. It makes me feel better about the decision I’ve made.
For the next three hours we work tirelessly over Miles, doing our best to remove anything that might be even faintly cancerous. When we’re done, Miles Rosenblat has a brand new stoma. He’s a fit, good-looking kid with a perky blonde girlfriend waiting for him out in the hallway. I already know he is going to hate having a stoma.
“Poor bastard,” Oliver says, ripping off his gown and tossing into the HAZMAT as we clear the OR. “I think the chief said he’s on his high school football team. Football jocks are assholes when it comes to this sort of thing.”
I scrub my hands over my face, my eyes stinging and tired from concentrating so hard. “But he’s alive.”
Oliver pulls a cautiously optimistic face. He knows Miles isn’t out of the woods yet. Not by a long shot. He doesn’t say anything, though. He knows I don’t want to hear it right now. Instead, he says, “Damn. It’s ten thirty. You wanna grab a beer before all the bars shut?”
My stomach rolls when I hear the time. Oh, boy. Zeth knew my shift was ending at eight. He was coming to get me. He’s either been waiting for me in the parking lot for two and a half hours or he’s already left. Neither of those options are good. “Ahh, crap. I can’t tonight, Ol. Maybe tomorrow?”
Oliver doesn’t even look surprised. I’ve bailed on him more times than I can count over the past few months. I’m a terrible friend. “Sure, Romera. Tomorrow it is. I’ll just head on over and pay Grace a visit instead.” He winks, leaving no doubt as to why he’s going over to see some girl called Grace. He holds the door to the residents’ locker room open for me, and I duck inside.
“Who’s Grace? What happened to Melanie?”
“Melanie decided she wanted to get married. Grace is happy for me to come over whenever we both feel the need to release some tension.” Another wink. Obviously code for sex.
“What? Melanie did not want to get married. You guys were dating for, what, six weeks?”
“Seven. And she wanted to introduce me to her parents. That’s what chicks do when they wanna get married.”
I stifle laughter as I remove my dirty scrubs, shrugging out of my shirt and kicking out of my pants. I bundle everything up so I can dump it in yet another HAZMAT bin. In just my camisole and the lycra shorts I wear underneath my scrubs, I place my hands on my hips, facing Oliver. “I never had you pegged as a player. Here was me thinking you wanted a steady girlfriend. You used to talk about that all the time.”
Oliver smirks, stripping off his own scrubs to reveal a tight white wife beater underneath. He’s gotten bigger over the last six months. He has always worked out, but now he looks like he could be a fitness model or something. Clearly all of his random five-minute hook-ups have kept him in shape. “Yeah, well,” he says, rummaging in his locker. “Things change. The girl I was interested in having a proper relationship with went and got herself attached to someone else, didn’t she?” He doesn’t look at me. Taking out a clean t-shirt, he pulls it on over his head, not saying anything else.
My cheeks feel like they’re on fire. Oliver’s always treated me as a friend, but I’ve known he cared about me for a long time. Recently things have been different, though. Used to be that he’d give me the odd playful shove or pull on my hair when we were walking through the hallways. There were many times when he’d give me a hug after I’d lost someone, or I was gripped by panic over my missing sister. But not now. Not anymore. As I get dressed, pulling jeans and a sweater on, it hits me that he’s avoided all forms of physical contact with me for a long time now.
Sadness wells up inside me, making my throat tight. I don’t have feelings for Oliver; I never have. Yet, the change in our dynamic is saddening. I feel like he’s pulling back as a friend, which is ridiculous since I’m the one turning him down every time he asks to hang out. I guess with Zeth being, well, Zeth, I haven’t wanted a moment away from him. Being in his very presence is like a drug I can’t get enough of. Is that healthy? I can’t remember the last time I saw Pippa. Maybe three weeks ago when we caught up for coffee at Fresco’s?
“Oliver, I mean it. I really do want to go for a drink with you after work tomorrow. You think you can skip Grace for one night?”
Oliver gives me a tight smile, swinging his backpack onto his shoulder. “Of course, Romera. I’ll make time for you whenever you need me, you know that.” He makes a gun out of his right hand and fires it at me. If only he knew how many times I’ve had the real thing pointed at me. “I’ll see you in the morning, yeah?” he says.
“Yeah. Night, Oliver.”
I check my phone as soon as he’s gone. I have one missed call and one text message, both from Zeth. The call came in at eight thirty. The text fifteen minutes later.
I hear you’re wrist-deep in some kid or something. Come home soon so I can be balls deep inside you.
I shouldn’t be turned on by such a blatant text, but I am. Sue me. The idea of Zeth inside me right now is enough to make me shiver in anticipation. After the stress of such a huge surgery, I need to unwind, and there is no better way to do that than to let my boyfriend have his dark, deviant way with me.
I grab my stuff and hurry out of the hospital before I can get caught up in any new patients, wondering if there will be any taxis available at this time of night. I don’t get four feet out of the building before I realize I won’t need one, though. Michael’s black sedan is parked right next to the entrance. Of course, I should have known. The driver’s door opens and Michael climbs out, smoothing his hands down the front of his pristine grey suit. The man is always so well turned out. Today, however, his look is ruined by the fact that he’s sporting a black eye and a nasty split lip.
“What the hell happened to you?”
He shrugs, smiling. “Ask your boyfriend.”
“Oh god, he didn’t try and kill you, did he?”
“Only a little.” Michael opens the passenger door for me and then climbs back into the car himself. As he drives, heading in the direction of our house on the hill as Zeth calls it, I prod my finger at the gash I can now see on the side of his head.
“You guys are really gonna hurt each other one of these days.”
“Probably.”
“Why did he make you wait for me? Has something happened?” You never know what’s around the corner when you’re dating a guy like Zeth Mayfair. Seems as though trouble follows him around like a bad smell. I’m used to the concept that people don’t like him living here in Seattle. Criminals all over the city know exactly who he is and what he’s capable of. According to Michael, no one can really believe he’s retired from the life. They’re just waiting for him to step up and claim what they presume is rightly his.
“No, everything’s fine,” Michael says. “He told me to go home, that you’d be okay, but I had to go see someone anyway. I was passing by here and thought I’d check in on you.”
“You had to see someone, huh?” I let my amusement color my voice. I’ve had a sneaking suspicion Michael has been seeing someone for a while now, but he’s a private guy. He hasn’t cracked, even under the most intense questioning. I guess, amongst other, more violent reasons, that’s why Zeth likes to keep him around.
“It was business,” he says, biting back a smile.
“Yeah. I bet it was.”
“Seriously.”
“I bet it was dirty business.”
“Which involves?”
“Your penis. And paddles. Maybe a hard-core dominatrix called Madame Payne. And probably a lot of sweat.”
“I think you’re confusing my sex life with yours.”
“Are you calling Zeth a hard-core dominatrix?”
“Not within earshot.”
I laugh, not pushing him any further. One of these days he’ll tell me. Or maybe he won’t. Maybe there’s always going to be a side to Michael I don’t know. I doubt he tells Zeth anything either.
We drive in comfortable silence up the winding roads that lead to the house; when we pull up outside, the place is dark, not a single light on inside. I can already hear the rhythmic thwack, thwack, thwack that tells me my antsy other half is out the back, indulging in his favorite pastime while I’m not around. I sigh, leaning across the car to give Michael a swift kiss on the cheek. “Thank you for bringing me home.”
“No problem. Have a good night, Ms. Romera.”
I wish he would call me Sloane. No matter how many times I tell him, it never seems to stick. Instead of letting myself inside the house, I skirt around the side, heading for the woods out back. He’s there, shirtless and sweating, a gas lamp burning at his feet, as he brings up the ax in his hands and swings it down onto the block of wood in front of him.
I don’t even have an open fire. Zeth just likes hitting things with axes.
“There she is,” he rumbles. I’ve been silent as a mouse, but of course he knows I’m behind him. He rests the ax head on the ground, angling his head toward me. I’m a hopeless case. No matter how many times I see this man partially undressed, I can’t help but stare at him. He’s so perfect. His body is perfection. The sweat-slicked muscles in his back shift ever so slightly as he leans his weight to one side, waiting for me to reach him. If I were capable of controlling myself around him, I would maybe kiss him lightly on the mouth in greeting and ask him what he’s been doing all day. The embarrassing thing is that I’m not capable of controlling myself around him, though. I find myself slowly licking the groove in between his shoulder blades, my tongue exploding with the taste of the salt in his sweat, my hands itching to touch him as he rocks his head back and groans.
“I liked your text message,” I whisper.
“Thought you might.” Zeth spins around grabs hold of me before I have a chance to say anything else. I like being tall, but I also love the way Zeth makes me feel small when he takes hold of me. Small and protected. Completely overpowered. Giving myself over to him, so that he knows he has dominion over me, wasn’t an easy task, but when he grabs hold of me like this and makes me feel like I’m his, now I feel complete. He wraps his strong arms around me and growls into the curve of skin where my neck meets my collarbone.
“You smell like sin,” he whispers.
“Mmm?”
“You want me. I can fucking smell it on you.” He nips me with his teeth, hard enough to make me gasp.
“Maybe I do.”
“You want me to fuck you, angry girl? ‘Cause I’m not opposed to the idea. And neither is my dick.” His hot breath sends searing vibrations shooting through my body. The sound I make in the back of my throat is loud and embarrassing, but it seems to spur Zeth on. His hands work their way underneath my sweater, his fingers skating over the skin of my belly, up, up, up until he reaches the swell of my breast.
“You have to say it, Sloane. I want to hear you tell me how badly you want me.”
“I do want you. I need you. I need you inside me. Please…”
Zeth traces the line of my jaw with his free hand, and then he tilts my head back with his thumb, so that I’m looking up into his dark, fierce eyes. “Are you going to do what I tell you to?” he asks. “Because I need you to be a good girl for me, Sloane.”
He brushes his thumb over my bottom lip, staring at my mouth. He constantly surprises me with what dark, sexual things run through his head. I can never guess what he’s thinking. If he were another guy, I’d assume he was thinking about me wrapping my mouth around his cock right now, but it’s never that simple with Zeth. He’s complicated in his desires. A small frown flickers across that savagely beautiful face of his. Pain rockets through me as he pinches and rolls my nipple through the thin lace of my bra.
“You haven’t answered me, Sloane. Are you going to do what I tell you?”
“Yes. Yes, I’ll do what you tell me.” Two days. We haven’t slept with each other in two days, and it’s just too long. I’ve been wanting him, needing him, fantasizing about him every moment I haven’t been focused on saving someone’s life. And I’m betting he’s been focused on all the things he wants to do to me too, especially while he’s been smashing his fist into things.
Zeth leans forward and bites my lower lip, hard, still pinching my nipple. I suck in a sharp breath, letting the bright sensation of pain cascade through me. He stops biting me, but runs his tongue over my lip instead, tasting me in that highly sexual way he has. The way he licks at my mouth is the same way he licks at my clitoris when he first goes down on me—slow and drawn out. His eyes are locked onto mine, burning and intense, and I can’t help the strangled noise that comes out of me.
“Fuck, Zeth.”
He instantly stops what he’s doing, removing himself from me, taking a step back. My nipple throbs with the ache that he’s left behind, begging for more of the same. There was a time when I would have shied away from the strange urge to let him own me, to let him have complete power over me, but not anymore. Now, I crave it in the same way my body craves oxygen.
No one else knows this side of me. My friends, my family my work colleagues…everyone knows the strong, resilient, commanding Sloane. They would never imagine me to be like this with anyone. But being strong, resilient and commanding at all times is exhausting, especially when I feel like I’m making things up as I go along most days. Zeth takes the pressure of being me of my shoulders when he owns me like this. He gives me permission to be vulnerable.
The night air teases at the loose strands of hair that have fallen out of my ponytail, as I stand completely still. Zeth stalks around me, looking me up and down with hungry eyes. I can see the goose bumps on his shoulders, and I know it’s not because it’s cold. It’s because he’s turned on and he’s thinking about what he’s going to do to me.
He circles me once, twice, and I resist the urge to reach out and touch him. My hands stay by my sides, though it takes everything I’ve got to hold back. He stops behind me, close enough that I can feel his hot breath on the back of my neck. “Take your clothes off for me, Sloane. I want to watch.”
My breathing stutters out of me in one long, broken sigh. Zeth circles me one last time before he takes a seat on the tree stump he was using as a base to chop the wood on. Even though he’s only five feet away, he still doesn’t feel close enough. I want his hands on my body again. I want to feel him growing more and more impatient as he teases his fingers across my burning skin. I know I won’t get any of that until I’ve done what he wants me to do, though.
I start with my sweater. It’s warm enough in Seattle right now to not need a coat. I don’t have anything on under the sweater, either, so when I slowly, carefully lift it over my head, I’m left standing there in nothing but my bra.
Zeth’s eyelids lower a little, looking heavy as he watches me. The power of his gaze on my skin is enough to put fire in my veins. I love the way he looks at me. Love the way his eyes travel over my body like he’s imagining consuming me in the most erotic ways possible.
I kick off my shoes, not caring that the grass is slightly damp on my bare feet. My jeans are next. I don’t even attempt to make a show out of it. I’d end up tripping over my own pants, and besides, trying to put on a striptease for him would look porny and fake. That’s not what he wants. He just wants to see me. I can’t tear my eyes off him as he watches my hands move over my body, removing my clothes one piece at a time. He looks fascinated by the process. I’m not even mildly embarrassed as I slip out of my bra and panties. I feel liberated. I feel alive. My body aches for him as he considers me, lit only by the soft glow of the gas lamp that sits on the ground between us.
“You’re so fucking perfect,” he whispers. “Come here.”
I go to him, and he opens his legs so I can stand between them. Carefully, reverently, he raises his right hand and strokes his fingers across my stomach, coming to rest on my hip. His hands aren’t soft. They’ve been used to fight his whole life. He’s built so many things for the gym and for the house in the last few months, and he’s chopped about three truckloads of wood just for fun. They’re calloused and rough, but the way he uses them to touch me is so very gentle.
With him still sitting down, he has to look up at me as he touches me. His left hand moves up my body, palming the heavy swell of my breast, one at a time; he straightens so that he can take the nipple he was pinching a moment ago into his mouth. He may have been staring at my lips not to long ago, but now it’s my turn to stare. His lips are incredible. Full and expressive and biteable. I’m already wet, but watching him lick and suck at me while his strong, demanding hands work their way over every part of my skin makes my body go wild.
I can’t touch him. I know I can’t, not yet, but I want to so badly, it’s killing me.
“Your body was made for me, Sloane,” he groans. “Turn around.”
I know better than to disobey. I’m still a girl, though. I still have my body hang-ups, and my ass is one of them. No one could ever accuse me of not having one, that’s for sure. With anyone else, I’d undoubtedly be self-conscious, but my brain is too crowded to even comprehend that right now. I just want to feel him touching me, enjoying me, exploring me. The way he worships my body, from the very first time we slept together, has always made me feel like I am perfect.
Zeth runs his hands up over the curve of my ass and then over my hips, taking hold of me so he can pull me back toward him. I feel his mouth, hot and insistent pressing into the skin of my lower back, and then even hotter when he uses his tongue. He travels down, licking and biting at my butt cheek, making me squirm.
“Open your legs, Sloane.” His voice is thick with lust, low and demanding. I open my legs, only slightly mortified that he’s about to discover what he’s done to me. His fingers trail painfully slowly up the inside of my thigh, until he eventually reaches the junction between my legs. He hovers just to the side of my pussy, knowing that it’s driving me absolutely insane to have him so close to touching me, and yet refraining. I’m panting, and my legs feel weak. The bastard knows exactly what he’s doing to me, and I could wring his neck for it, but I’m also enjoying it. Enjoying it way, way too much. This is part of our game. I can’t react. I can’t just jump him. If I do, he’ll torture me until I can’t bear it anymore. Sometimes that can be fun, but right now I need him so badly. My body needs to feel like it’s complete.
I hold my breath, careful not to move as he bites at me some more, on my hips, my ass, my thigh. The biting gets progressively harder, until I can barely stand anymore. It hurts, yes, but it also feels incredible. Zeth laughs mercilessly under his breath as my own kicks up a notch. Eventually he guides his fingers backward between my legs, sweeping them over my slick pussy, making my whole body lock up. His fingers…his fingers there…
I can barely form a coherent thought.
“My god, Sloane,” he sighs. “Look at you. You’re ready for me, aren’t you?”
I look back at him over my shoulder, my heart burning in my chest when I see the awe on his face. He looks almost stunned. I nod, feeling my cheeks burn that little bit hotter. “I need to wrap myself around you,” I whisper. “I need you inside me. I need you to hold onto me so tight I can’t breathe. I don’t want to know where you end and I start anymore.”
Zeth makes a guttural, sexual noise that sends chills through my body. It’s thrilling. “Lay down on the grass, Sloane.” His tone is soft, but it brooks no argument. I know there’ll be hell to pay if I object.
The grass is cold and tickles my skin, but my whole body is hypersensitive right now. It feels incredible. Zeth stands up, towering over me, every muscle in his body tensed. The tattoos, the black sweeping ink he’s worn for as long as I’ve known him, look stark against his skin in the half-light. The fleur de lis over his right pec rises and falls quickly along with his chest as he fights to control his breathing.
“Open your legs for me,” he commands.
I open them, my nipples hardening to painful buds as he drops to his knees. “You’re so wet for me, angry girl. That’s all for me. Now I’m going to claim it.” He drops to his knees and immediately falls between my legs, groaning as he licks at my pussy, licking me clean. Just as he said he would, he claims every single last drop of my moisture between my legs, replacing it with his saliva. My body reacts explosively. He is so good with his tongue. I feel like I’m going to pass out as he teases his mouth over me time and time again, slowly licking at first and then sucking, speeding up until I’m shamelessly rocking my hips against his face, begging him to let me come. It’s not until he slides his fingers inside me that I really lose it. I hitch my legs up, crushing my thighs around his head, barely aware of my surroundings as he fucks me with his fingers and his tongue.
When I come, I scream silently, unable to even make a sound. The intensity of the orgasm rips through me, my back arching off the ground as Zeth continues, regardless of the fact that my entire body is close to breaking point.
The sensation becomes too much. “Stop, stop, stop, fuck, please, stop,” I pant.
Zeth carefully withdraws his fingers, but he doesn’t remove his mouth. His movements become less demanding, though. When he runs his tongue over me, gently circling the swollen bundle of nerve endings there, it feels more affectionate than anything else. He’s not trying to bring me to another orgasm—I doubt I could take that right now. It’s more like he’s soothing me, and it feels wonderful.
When he does finally pull back, sitting on his heels, he takes his fingers into his mouth and sucks them clean. “It’s fucking criminal how good you taste,” he says.
I twist onto my side, wanting to hide, mortification catching up with me at last, but he takes hold of my hip and pushes me so that I’m on my back again. With one hand on either side of my head, he braces himself over me, staring own into my eyes. “Don’t you fucking hide from me. Don’t you fucking dare,” he whispers. “You’re amazing.”
I say the only thing I can think of that seems appropriate in this moment. The words come out nervously, barely audible. “I love you, Zeth. God, I love you so much.”
I can see the light from the gas lamp reflected in those deep brown, soulful, angry, wounded eyes of his. He told me that he loved me a while ago, and it’s been enough. He’s said it a couple of times since, but not very often. Most women would be freaked out by that fact, but I know how hard it was for him to admit it to me in the first place. He’s a thing of chaos, a thing of destruction. Chaos and ruin were the only things he knew for so long. It’s taking him time to move past that. Pressing his forehead against mine, he closes his eyes and nods slowly.
“Thank you,” he whispers.
Again, this might not be what a girl wants to hear when she tells a guy she’s in love with him, but the emotion on his face is clear. His thank you is filled with relief. Filled with love. Filled with so much hope and gratitude and sincerity that it takes my breath away all over again.
He says it like me loving him is the most precious gift anyone has ever given to him.