“Take off that shit,” he ordered, nodding to my PJ’s.
I stared at him; his arms had left my hips and were now crossed over his impressive chest.
“Now, Wildcat.” He didn’t sound angry; his voice was flat. His eyes were blazing.
I hurriedly complied.
I stood naked in front of him, while he stood fully clothed. His eyes devoured my body in a way that made me feel no shame. It also made me forget I had just had an orgasm. I wanted another one. Like now.
“Get on the bed, all fours,” he demanded hoarsely.
I felt a delicious tingle between my legs at his rough command. I did as he said, feeling exposed and vulnerable in the position I found myself in, but also hot as hell.
Calloused hands ran over my ass, squeezing roughly. “Gonna take this ass,” he declared in a gravelly tone.
His fingers moved to dance around my opening. I tensed slightly. No one had ever touched me there. It seemed taboo, forbidden. But I found myself wanting it. Wanting him there. His fingers continued their journey until they reached my soaking pussy.
“Not tonight though.” His fingers slipped into me and I moaned.
He yanked me right to the edge of the bed, his finger slipping out of me.
“Gonna fuck you hard, Wildcat,” he told me roughly, hands at my hips.
I whipped my head around to meet his eyes. He was still fully clothed, his jeans unbuttoned.
“Turn the fuck back around,” he ordered, his hand going to my neck.
I felt myself get hotter at his command, and I didn’t have time to think much else after he slammed into me and commenced in fucking my brains out.
Two orgasms and multiple positions later, Zane and I lay in bed, breathing heavily. He was naked now, my head on his muscled chest, his arms clutching me to him. I felt good. Sore. Sated. Safe. In his arms, I felt safe. No matter how rough he was, no matter how hard he fucked me, he never went too far. Never hurt me. It didn’t matter that he barely spoke; the only looks I got from him were either filled with hate or desire. It didn’t even matter the cut he wore hinted at a dangerous motorcycle club. Right then, lying with him, I felt safe. Safest I’d felt since...ever.
We were silent. I drew lines on his colorful chest absently. It was dark and the moonlight only gave me a poor vision of his beautiful chest. I would have liked to study it in the daylight. But I feared that I wouldn’t get Zane in the daylight. I would only get him under the stars, in the dark, where demons could hide.
“Where were you tonight?” Zane asked, breaking the silence, interrupting my train of thought.
“A bar,” I answered simply. Maybe still feeling effects of that bar. Or I could be drunk on sex. Or testosterone.
Zane’s arms tightened. “Elaborate,” he demanded.
I rested my chin on my hand, looking up at him. His jaw was hard.
“I was at Laura Maye’s bar with the girls,” I told him.
“Lexie?” he bit out weirdly.
“Is old enough not to burn the house down or eat glue while I’m away,” I answered, feeling a slight pang over the fact my daughter was sleeping in an empty house across the street. Was I a terrible mother for going out drinking, then sneaking over to have sex with my hot neighbor? I tried to shelve that thought for when I was safely back in my own bed, inspecting every one of my decisions, including the one that landed me here. For now, I wanted to bask in this moment, prolong the feeling of strong arms around me, of Zane’s eyes being unshuttered.
He paused as if he was going to say something else.
I pushed myself up even farther. “Lexie’s a good kid. The best, actually,” I told him. “I trust her.”
“She’s sixteen,” Zane declared.
“That’s what I’m told,” I retorted with slight sarcasm.
I felt more than saw the glower. “She’s a fuckin’ knockout,” he continued.
I ignored the stronger pang I felt at this. Not because he was calling my teenage daughter a knockout in a pervy way, but in a protective way.
“Well, of course, she takes after her mother,” I told him, my voice now dripping with sarcasm.
Zane’s hand went to my jaw.
“Her mother’s at a fuckin’ bar suckin’ cocktails, no doubt catching the eye of every fucktard in the place, ‘cause she’s more than a fuckin’ knockout,” he bit out. “And Lexie’s at home alone. She could catch the eye of any little fucktard.” His arms squeezed. “When she does, that little fucktard will come sniffin’ around,” he clipped.
My stomach dropped at this. In a good way. He was concerned. Protective. “Lexie’s a good kid,” I repeated. “I trust her.” His eyes told me he was going to have more to say on that particular subject, so I changed it. “You do know I was with Gwen, Amy, Rosie and Lucy?” I asked him.
“Fuckin’ gathered those would be the girls,” he answered.