“Oh, fuck. Fuck, Zeth. I’m gonna—I can’t—”
“Ride it, angry girl. Do your worst,” he rasps out, and then I’m coming. I can’t stop myself. This orgasm is different to any he’s ever given me before. It’s so intense my eyes are literally watering. It doesn’t feel as though it’s overcoming me, but rather breaking me apart instead. Shattering me. I can feel the slickness of my come all over Zeth’s fingers, all over his pelvis, and I’m not ashamed. I’m so, so turned on, I can barely see straight.
“Oh, shit, Sloane, you’re so fucking tight. I’m gonna fucking come inside you.” Zeth’s muscles tense so hard, it feels like I’m being held in a vice. He roars, his body locked tight underneath me, his back curved up. It’s as though he’s lost complete control over himself; he rocks up and forward, wrapping his arms around my body, his forehead pressed against my shoulder.
My heart is still slamming in my chest. Zeth remains there, panting, and I have such an unbearable urge to reach forward and wrap my arms around him. To hold him to me. I can’t, though; my wrists are still cuffed behind my back. My post-orgasmic haze doesn’t last very long, either. It suddenly becomes very, very painful to have Zeth positioned where he’s still positioned. Still hard and still throbbing.
I wriggle, and Zeth instantly lifts me off him. Without saying a word, he uncuffs me and removes the collar from my neck. I collapse in a boneless heap on the bed, wincing at the strange and moderately unpleasant stinging that I now have to contend with.
Zeth just stares at me, his eyes a little distant. “Worth it?” he asks.
I feel laughter building in my chest, but I quickly stifle it; laughter seems like a very bad idea right now. God knows how much of a mess I’m in, and I sure as hell don’t want to make it worse. “Worth it,” I tell him.
I carefully get up, tensing my muscles against the unique discomfort I now find myself in, and I turn to look him over. I can’t see any blood pouring from his injury, but that doesn’t mean he’s not in a lot pain after that. “How about you?” I ask him. “Worth it?”
A faint grin spreads across his face. I doubt it’s a conscious thing—he probably has no idea how breathtakingly beautiful he is when he smiles like that. That might seem like a strange way to think of him, but it’s true. He’s beautiful in the same savage way that most of Mother Nature’s truly dangerous creations are. “Yes,” he tells me. “Worth a lot more.”
That makes me grin, too, but I manage to hide mine as I collect the towel that I abandoned on the floor an hour ago. It’s extremely gratifying to know that he enjoys being with me as much as I enjoy being with him. I never thought it would be so important to me, but it is. Zeth doesn’t ask me where I’m going when I head for the door. Suffice it to say I feel the need for another shower. I’m halfway out of the door when he says, “Hey, angry girl?”
“Yeah?” Oh, boy. I’m even answering to the name now. Zeth gives me one of his patented I’m-such-an-asshole smirks.
“Just so you know,” he says. “You’re very good at that game.”
First day back.
6:14 a.m.
Absolutely freaking perfect.
Since my car was towed to the wrecker’s yard after the crash, Zeth volunteered Michael to get me to work. The poor guy drove like a madman, but still…even early morning traffic heading into Seattle is a bitch, and now I’m late.
Pre-Zeth Sloane would be losing her cool right now, but as I walk through the doors of St. Peter’s, the me that takes risks and does things that could possibly land a person in jail isn’t all that bothered. Fourteen minutes in the history of my career as a doctor. Fourteen minutes won’t kill anyone. The niggly Pippa voice tuts at the back of my head, airing out its disapproval—fourteen minutes could kill someone. If there was an accident and you were late to work, and there was no one available to treat—