Shredded:An Extreme Risk Novel

Chapter 21





Z


Motherf*cker.

Bastard.

Goddamned son of a motherf*cking bitch. If Remi was in front of me right now, I’d kill the a*shole myself. Slowly. Painfully. Deliberately, so that he knew I meant it.

What the hell was he thinking? What the hell was he thinking?

Letting Ophelia get in that car with him? Racing with her when he knew how f*cking dangerous it was? F*cking crashing that car with her in it? Totally irrational though it is, it’s killing me that he’s already dead. That I can’t tear the motherf*cker limb from f*cking limb.

I need to walk, need to move. Need to do something before the top of my head actually blows the f*ck off. But there’s Ophelia to think of. Ophelia, who he never thought of, is curled up in my arms, her whole body wrapped around mine.

I don’t think she realizes that she’s shaking, her body trembling so violently that she’s actually moving the bed. I pull her closer, wrap my arms around her more tightly … and that’s when I realize. She’s not the one who’s shaking.

I am.

Goddamn f*cking son-of-a-bitch motherf*cking shithead. How could he do that to her? How could he tell her he loved her and then do that to her? I’ve seen her scars. I’ve touched and kissed and caressed them. I know how badly she was injured, and to think that some f*cker with a death wish did that to her … I just can’t understand.

I may be on the brink of self-destructing, but if it happens, there’s no way I’m taking anybody with me. No way I’ll ever take the chance of hurting someone I care about again. Remi should have known better. He should have f*cking known better. If you have a girl like Ophelia, you protect her. You don’t f*cking put her in the line of fire. You f*cking treasure her.


Bastard.

The need to kick the shit out of something is riding me hard, as is the red haze of fury that’s all I can see. All I can think about. But that isn’t what she needs from me right now. No matter how much I want to rage. No matter how much I want to go back in time and kick that motherf*cker’s ass, I need to rein it in. Because Ophelia trusted me with something here. She told me why she’s scared, and now it’s my job to hold her and comfort her and make her unafraid. I may not know much about relationships, but I know that.

The only problem is, I don’t know how to do it. I’ve never comforted anybody in my life. Never even thought about it. But she needs it from me, so I’m going to f*cking figure it out. Right here. Right now. I refuse to be just another a*shole who let her down.

Not sure what else to do, I run a gentle hand down her back, stroke my fingers through her hair. Press my mouth against her ear and whisper a bunch of nonsense words that don’t seem to make much sense except that they soothe her. She relaxes against me, and I can feel her heartbeat finally start to settle as she cuddles even closer.

I want to hold her like this forever. Want to take away all the pain and bullshit she’s had to go through in the past and just make it all okay. She deserves more than what that bastard did to her, deserves so much more than the hand she’s been dealt.

Hell, she deserves so much more than me—a selfish prick who spends too much time playing around with his own f*cking death wish. But that’s just too damn bad because I’m not going to give her up. It’s obvious she has ridiculously f*cked-up taste in guys—present company totally included—so it’s not like I can turn her loose on the world and hope she ends up okay. Because she obviously won’t. Which means I’m going to have to do something more. I’m going to have to be something better. Because Ophelia f*cking deserves it. She f*cking deserves everything.

“That’s why I sent you away today,” she tells me, like I haven’t figured that much out already. “I saw that video and I just freaked out. It was like looking at Remi right before he died. All confidence and wildness and total commitment. You ride the line like he does, in the spot so narrow that life and death start to blend together.”

I clear my throat, start to answer. But what can I say? She’s right. We both know she’s right.

“I’m sorry. I know you’re not him. I know I shouldn’t compare you, but I watched so many videos of you tonight. Saw you doing so amazingly well and then just throwing it all away. Again and again and—”

“I love you.” The words slip out before I even know I’m going to say them. But once they’re out, I don’t want to take them back, because they’re true. Somehow, some way, I’ve managed to fall in love with this beautiful, beautiful girl when I didn’t think it was possible for me to love anyone. Ever.

“What did you say?” she asks after a minute, her voice broken and pupils blown wide with shock.

“I said I love you. And I’m sorry I’m such a f*cking a*shole.”

“You’re not.”

I laugh. “Yeah, I am. It’s just that since my—” I break off, not sure I’m ready to go there yet. Not sure I’ll ever be ready to go there.

“I know about your sister.”

“You do?” Shit. How? Did Cam tell her when she told her about the bet? Or Ash, maybe? My f*cking heart feels like it’s going to pound right out of my chest, and I swear I’m about two seconds from passing out like a total p-ssy.

“I’m sorry she and your mother died.”

Oh, right. She knows the sanitized version, the PR version that Mitch has made sure circulated ever since I became a pro snowboarder. She doesn’t know the real truth. If she did, she’d probably be running away from me as fast as she f*cking could. One destructive son of a bitch in her life is obviously enough.

If I were a better man, I’d tell her. Just so she’d know what she’s getting herself into. But I’m not and I’ve never claimed to be, so I don’t say another f*cking word. Instead I put my mouth to better use.

Her lips open under mine like they were meant for me, her tongue stroking along my own as I explore the recesses of her mouth. She tastes so good, like caramel and coffee and sweet, sweet whipped cream. I nibble at her upper lip, suck it between mine. Laugh a little as she gasps and trembles against me. If I could, I’d stay here forever. Right here, at this moment, with my girl in my arms and the nightmares still and silent within me.

Desperate for more of her, for all of her, I deepen the kiss. I run my tongue along the roof of her mouth, play with the almost imperceptible gap where one of her teeth is just a tiny bit crooked. Then, because I can—because she’s mine—I run my tongue under hers and play with her frenulum.

She gasps, trembles, her hands clutching at my shirt to pull me closer. “What are you doing?” she whispers.

“Do you like it?”

“Yes.” Her head falls back on a moan as I do it a second and then a third time.

I’ve just started sucking on her lower lip, nipping at it and then soothing the little sting with my tongue, when she pulls away.

“What’s wrong, baby? What do you need?”

She looks me straight in the eye. “I know it’s only been a few days, but I need to tell you. I love you, too, Z.”

Her words hit me with the power of a sledgehammer, even as I tell myself not to believe them. That she’s just trying to be nice. That she doesn’t want to leave me hanging. “You don’t have to say that.”

“Yes, I do.” She grabs my face between her hands and plants a fierce kiss on my mouth. “Because it’s true.”

“How can it be? I’m—” A loser. A bastard. A f*ck-up who can’t be trusted with anything. I’m a drunk and a manwhore and all the other things people say about me, not to mention a bunch of things they don’t. I know it. I’ve always known it. Why doesn’t she?

I open my mouth, start to say it to her. I need to say it to her—she has a right to know—but I just can’t. Because if I say it, then she’ll leave, just like everybody else. Everybody but Luc and Cam and Ash. And I can’t let her go. Not now. Not yet.

“You’re a pain in the ass, is what you are,” she tells me in between pressing kisses down my neck. “Too arrogant. Too talented. Too used to getting your own way. Too impulsive. Too handsome. Too protective.” She shakes her head, then kisses me right behind the ear. “Too kind. Who the hell knows what I see in you.”

She starts to pull away, but I cup the back of her head and press her mouth back down to my throat for more kisses. “I think you might have me confused with somebody else.”

“No, I’m pretty sure you’re the only egomaniac around here.”

“Wow, don’t hold back,” I tell her on a surprised laugh. Then I tug at her hair until she lifts her head so I can drop kisses along her jawline. “Tell me how you really feel.”

“How I really feel? I started falling for you about sixty seconds after I dumped that cup of coffee on your pants.”

I grin, because that might actually be my favorite memory of all time. “It was the abs, wasn’t it?”

She rolls her eyes. “God, you’re so arrogant. No, it wasn’t the abs. It was the way you laughed. I’d just dumped a drink on you in front of everyone, and you weren’t even mad. You just laughed and kept flirting with me. It was … nice.”


“Nice, huh?” I roll her beneath me. “You know what else is nice?”

“What?” she asks, and she’s a little breathless now—exactly the way I like her.

I push her sweater back, pull her tank top out of the waistband of her yoga pants, and shove it up, up, up until her breasts are right there in my face. All full and gorgeous and rosy-tipped. “This.”

I bend my head, lick my tongue over and around one sweet nipple. Then I blow on it, letting the combination of warm tongue and cool air send heat spiraling through her. It must work, because she thrusts her hands into my hair and arches beneath me, pressing her breast against my mouth. Exactly where I like it.

“More,” she murmurs, and the sound—so husky and aroused—shoots straight to my dick.

I give her more, sucking her nipple into my mouth and running my tongue over it hard, the way I’ve learned she likes. Ophelia moans and pulls me closer and I’m again faced with the knowledge that being with her turns me into a green kid with no chance of controlling his own body. If she moves her hips, if she so much as rubs her p-ssy against my dick, I’m done for.

With that thought in mind, I ease her off my lap, settle her on the bed. She moans a little, clutches at me, so I trail soft kisses over her breasts and down her stomach in an effort to soothe her. And to calm myself down.

It doesn’t work. She’s so gorgeous lying there, her soft, fragrant skin silky to my touch, that it only ratchets up my need until it’s a pounding in my blood. In my head. In my heart.

I love her.

I love this girl.

The words and the knowledge of what they mean—what they really mean—work their way through me. They make the desperate need I have to be inside her, to feel her p-ssy clench around me, only more feral. And, strangely enough, more tender, too.

Yes, I want to f*ck her. To plunge inside her and take everything she has to give me. But at the same time I want nothing more than to protect her, to care for her, in whatever ways she’ll let me.

“Z, please,” she murmurs, her hands tugging at my hair, my shoulders. “I need—” Her voice breaks.

“I’ve got you, baby,” I whisper against her stomach as I slide onto the floor at the end of the bed. “I’ve got you.”

The import of those words hits me for the first time, makes my hands shake as I reach for her pajama bottoms and slip them gently down her legs. She’s mine. Ophelia’s mine.

For a second—just a second—tears burn behind my eyes. I blink them away before she can see what a total f*cking p-ssy I’m turning into, but the overwhelming feelings that caused the tears remain. I can barely breathe, barely think, through the need, the joy, the absolute terror that comes with loving her like this.

She must sense the crazy maelstrom inside me, or maybe I’m just doing a bad f*cking job of hiding how f*cking overwhelmed I am right now. Either way, Ophelia knows—she always knows—and she slips through my arms and onto the ground in front of me.

We’re kneeling now, our faces inches apart, her eyes looking into mine, her chest to my chest, and it’s the most intense moment of my crazy, f*cked-up life. For a second I think about looking away, but she won’t let me. Those gorgeous green eyes of hers are holding mine, and I can’t look away.

“I’ve got you, too, Z,” she says, cupping my face in her hands. “I promise. I’ve got you, too.”

And then she’s kissing me, her lips moving over mine with an intensity that erases from between us everything and everyone that came before.

The kiss goes on forever, and by the time it ends, we’re both frantic. Both frenzied. She’s shoving at the robe, knocking it off my shoulders while I tear at her pajama top, ripping the buttons clean off in my desperate rush to be skin to skin.

Then she’s shoving me down onto the floor and climbing over me. “I need you,” she pants as she settles herself directly over my cock. “I need—”

We both moan as she slides over me, takes me inside her. I’ve never been with a girl like this before, never been inside anyone without a condom, and it feels amazing. For one long second I close my eyes and shudder as she lifts and lowers herself on top of me. I want to stay here, right here, like this forever. Want to drown in Ophelia and the wet heat of her that feels better than anything ever has or ever will.

But she’s my girl and I have to protect her. Have to take care of her. Though it nearly f*cking kills me, I grab her hips in my hands, still her frantic motions.

“No!” she wails as she moves desperately against me. “Please—”

“Condom,” I gasp, cursing my goddamned jacket for being all the way across the f*cking room. And still as I separate us, as I prepare to lunge for it, I can’t stop myself from cupping her breasts and running my thumbs over her gorgeously hard nipples.

“I’m on the pill,” she says desperately, her body moving against mine. “I have been for three years.”

The pill. Oh thank God.

I’ve never trusted a girl before when she’s said that. But none of those girls were Ophelia. None of them were mine. I lift her by the hips, position her over me once more. But I have to ask, just to be certain she’s really okay with this. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. F*ck, yes. Z!” She’s practically sobbing now, her hands grabbing my biceps so hard that her fingernails dig into my muscles.

The little pinch of pain is the last straw. It sends me right over the edge of sanity and, clenches around me.

Ophelia gasps and I freeze, terrified for a moment that I’ve hurt her. That I’ve been too rough. Goddamnit. I know better—

But then she’s moving, her hips lifting and lowering on me in a rhythm that has my eyes crossing and my breath coming in harsh, jagged pants. She’s close already. I can hear it in the way her breath catches in her throat, feel it in the way she’s trembling all around me. Thank God, because I don’t think I can last long. Not now, when she feels like this around me.

I lift a hand to her breast, squeeze her nipple between my thumb and index finger. She moans, a strangled little sound deep in her throat that sets on end every nerve ending I’ve got. The need to come is a wild blizzard inside me, the only thing holding me back the need I have to make sure she gets off, too.

I bring my other hand to her sweet p-ssy, rub circles around her * with my thumb as she shudders and shakes. She leans forward, angling her body so that I hit a different spot inside her. The shift in position has her whimpering and me cursing as all the heat and need and pleasure—f*ck, the overwhelming pleasure—whip through us.

And then she’s coming, her slick heat clenching around me in a rhythm that strips away the last tiny bit of control I’ve got. I grab her hips, thrust into her once, twice. Then I’m coming, too, orgasm rolling over me like an avalanche, burying me in pleasure so intense it’s pain. Burying me in satisfaction. Burying me in love, until Ophelia is all I can see or feel or taste. Until she’s inside me as surely as I’m still inside her.

She collapses on top of me, and for long seconds, minutes, we do nothing but lie tangled together as we try desperately to catch our breaths.

“I lied,” she murmurs when our heartbeats are finally back to normal. She’s curled against me on her narrow bed, the comforter tucked tightly around us.

My stomach jolts like I’ve just missed the best trick of my run. “About what?” I try not to sound as desperate as I feel.


Her face is pressed against my chest, and I can feel her lips curve up into a smile. “It was a little bit about the abs.”

The tension leaves me on a laugh, and I pull her closer, until her heart is pressed to mine. “I knew it.”

“Well, in my defense,” she says as her hands slide over the area in question, “they’re really good abs.”