I expected him to touch me again, fuck me again. My stomach dipped at the thought. I was deliciously tender and wasn’t sure if I’d survive another brutal session, but I wouldn’t say no. I was surprised—no, shocked—when soft fabric wiped me gently between my legs.
I really hoped that was a clean cloth. What did I know? Maybe he regularly had sex with people here and had some sort of secret stash.
I turned my head to meet Zane’s eyes; he watched me while his hands gently cleaned me up. No words were spoken. None were needed and I was afraid that any would corrupt this tender moment. The only one I’d ever had with Zane. One I’d cherish. Like the look in his eye as he branded my soul with his gaze. He cleaned himself from me with a gentleness I could have never imagined from someone as hard as him.
Wordlessly, he pulled down my skirt, his hand caressing my cheek softly.
“You learn your lesson?” he asked, his eyes not leaving mine.
I shook my head. “I think I might need some extra tutoring in the near future. I’m a slow learner,” I whispered.
Then he shocked me. His eyes stayed dark with desire, but his mouth, his beautiful mouth turned up at the corners. It wasn’t a smile; it wasn’t even a grin. But it was a smidge of emotion peeking out from the hard fa?ade. I’d totally take that.
“You’re still taking the check,” I added, upset that I had to wipe the half smile off his face. But I had to stand my ground.
His face returned to the granite expression that I learned was his default.
“I’m not taking the fuckin’ check,” he clipped.
“Yes, you are,” I responded, hoping to sound as strong as him. I feared my upper body strength was lacking, as was my bad ass tone. And goatee.
“It’s sorted. Deal with it,” was his response, and he turned to move towards the car.
He did not just dismiss me and turn his back on me.
“Um, excuse me? The conversation does not end when one broody flipping biker decides it with his usual two syllables,” I declared haughtily, rounding the hood to face him. “The conversation ends when both participants decide. I,” I pointed to myself, “am a participant. Therefore, I declare this not freaking over.”
Zane looked up. His glare had returned and he didn’t respond.
“Um, a sexy glare does not a response make,” I shot at him. “Just because God granted you with devilish good looks, a crazy amount of muscles and a serious talent in the bedroom does not mean you get to go around glaring and paying for people’s car repairs,” I half yelled, even though it almost certainly actually did. My stinging ass and sated vagina could testify to that.
“Keep yelling like that, I’ll fuck you again. Till you can’t speak,” he ground out.
I swallowed, totally hating that this turned me on. On that thought, I realized something was missing. Why I didn’t notice this earlier was beyond me. My eyes darted around the floor. “Where are my panties?” I asked on a lower decibel. My mind whirled with the thoughts of someone like Lucky finding them while he was going about his day. I searched more frantically.
Zane’s gaze turned hooded. “They’re mine now.”
I swallowed again. Okay, so I should be a little creeped out over the fact that Zane was keeping my panties. Instead, my bare downstairs tingled at the thought. I was totally glad I wore a lacy yellow Victoria Secret thong today.
“You’re gonna walk around all day in that short little skirt, your pussy tender from my cock and your ass stinging from my hand and remember.” His voice was raw.
My stomach tingled.
“The panties,” he continued, “can count toward your payment for the car.” His attention went back to the car.
“You’re telling me you want me to accept that you think a pair of my panties serves as a payment for my car repairs?” I asked in disbelief.
“Don’t want you to accept it. It’s already done,” he half grunted.
I stared at him awhile, my mouth agape. “I have actually lost the ability to have a sane conversation with you about my car when you’re talking panty payments and ... rude things,” I trailed off, embarrassed.
“Good. You can leave then,” he said, his voice back to flat.
I felt myself deflate. Here was something I was familiar with. Being dismissed after sex. Not that I could complain. I let it happen. But I couldn’t help the twinge that had me feeling on the verge of tears.
My silence seemed to be an answer, because he straightened and walked over to the button hanging from the ceiling, pressing it, all while his eyes burned into me. I flinched at the grating sound of his garage opening. I stared at him a moment longer before turning on my heel and walking on shaky legs toward my car, feeling vulnerable in my lack of underwear, and slightly more like the whore he promised I wasn’t.