He slid down the straps of her dress, undid the catch of her bra, dragging it over her arms, baring her breasts to his heated gaze. “Ah, God,” he whispered. So fucking beautiful.” He cupped her left breast in his palm, kneading it gently as he ravaged her mouth with sensual kisses. White-hot heat sizzled down to her core and she moaned.
“I remember that sound,” he murmured. “I remember everything about that night in the forest, the softness of your skin, your breath on my cheek, your hard little nipples, the slickness of your pussy. I remember what it feels like to be inside you. That night ruined me for other women, Evie. I’ve only ever wanted you.”
He held her arms behind her, pinning her wrists with one hand while he kissed her breasts, sucked gently on her nipples, tasting, devouring her. She tugged against his grip, wanting to touch him, slide her hands over his broad chest, work her fingers through his hair, and caress those broad shoulders. But he held her fast, and the restraint aroused her, made her more wanton, more desperate to have him inside her.
“Are you wet for me, sweetheart?” He slid one hand up her thigh under her dress. Far from the shame and disgust she’d felt when Viper had done the same, passion suffused her. Sweet desire. And when he shoved aside her panties, slid his finger through her wet folds, she almost came right then.
“Tell me, Evie.” His voice dropped to a husky growl, and he thrust one finger deep inside her. “Tell me you want me.”
“I want you,” she whispered, trembling at the exquisite intrusion. “It was always you.”
A dog barked. A man shouted. She heard the low rumble of a quad in the field and suddenly the fog in her brain lifted. She was a mom. Ty was sleeping inside. Her neighbors were sleeping only fifty feet away. She’d just ditched the man she’d been dating for the last four weeks. What was she doing only hours later in her backyard with the man who had broken her heart? A man who had walked away and would no doubt leave her again. A biker. Living the biker life.
Steeling herself, she forced herself to meet his gaze. “But when I gave up hoping you would ever come back, I let you go. I’m sorry, Zane. I’m not ready to open that door again.”
He released her so abruptly she almost lost her balance, but if she’d thought to push him away, she was gravely mistaken.
“Whatever it takes for you to trust me, I’ll do.” He wrapped his hand around her neck and leaned down to kiss her cheek. “If you want me to go slow, I’ll go slow. If you need gentle, I’ll be gentle. I will do what it takes, however long it takes. But I won’t let anyone else have you. You are mine, Evie. You’ve been mine since you were eight years old. And now that I’ve found you again, I’m not gonna let you go.”
ELEVEN
Sometimes the most difficult problems can be easily fixed with teamwork.
—SINNER’S TRIBE MOTORCYCLE REPAIR MANUAL
Zane usually enjoyed watching Dax work—especially during the first half hour of a torture session. Not because he was into blood and pain—he wasn’t—but because Dax could get even the most hardened of men to talk without laying a hand on them. No wonder the CIA, FBI, and every covert organization in the U.S. had offered Dax a job after he completed his PhD thesis on psychological terror at Yale.
And he turned them all down for a piece of tail.
Zane couldn’t understand it. Sure, Dax’s old lady, Sandy, was attractive in a honey-blond goddess kind of way. And she had to be good in bed since they had five kids—or maybe he was Catholic, although who ever heard of a Catholic Sinner?—but still it seemed a lot to give up for good sex and a career as an outlaw biker, especially since torture was in his blood. Why else would he have joined the Sinners with the stipulation that he be given free rein to practice his craft?
“Haven’t had a woman under my knife for a long time,” Dax said as they descended the stairs to the clubhouse basement. “I’m surprised Jagger allowed it.”
“No harm.” Zane skirted around the pool table and grabbed a set of keys from the wet bar in the corner. The vast, poured concrete basement served as a games room and wet bar, as well as housing three cells for prisoners and interrogations. “Terror only. That’s why I’m here.”
Better here than driving the roads around Evie’s house looking for Jacks. Or in his room thinking about her. He’d told her Viper was the kind of man who took what he wanted—as if it were a bad thing. But hell, he was that kind of man, too.
And he wanted Evie.