Later that night, I was battling with butterflies as I crossed the street. Not like the normal ones that I had creeping over to Zane’s. Usually, I had guilt at leaving Lexie alone in the house while her harlot mother went and got herself laid. Then I would get butterflies knowing what Zane would do to me, how he would fuck me. Finally, I got a different kind of butterflies, ones that told me to turn back, because they were terrified of the dismissal that was inevitable after he was finished giving me the best sex of my life. I never listened to those butterflies. But as I padded across the street something felt different. Something had changed. The claiming possessive gesture Zane had made not only in front of Clay, but my kid last night. The surprising and sensual admission at the coffee shop. Something was different. Something I wasn’t quite sure I was ready for.
On that thought, the door opened before I even made it to the front step. Zane’s eyes followed my short journey. When I was close enough he grabbed my arm, yanking me into the house. The door slammed and before I knew it, I was over his shoulder.
I let out a little squeal. “Zane! What are you doing?” I half screeched in surprise.
A hand cracked down on my ass and a stinging sensation exploded along my cheek.
“Shut up,” he commanded roughly. “We talk after. Now I’m going to fuck you.” He threw me down on his bed roughly and before I even had time to think, his body covered mine. My whole body burned as he claimed my mouth like he was searing a brand onto my soul. His body covered mine, his hand on my neck. I could barely breathe as he continued his assault on my mouth. I didn’t think proper thoughts for long moments after that.
“Zane,” I murmured, my voice barely audible. I was surprised I was even able to speak while he pounded into me. This was different than any of the other times we had been together. It was furious, desperate, claiming. He was owning my body, making it his. I was loving every minute.
His hand spanned my throat and his eyes stayed glued to mine, the hard glint of arousal and something else, something deeper, searing through me.
“You’re mine now, Mia,” he grunted between thrusts.
I sucked in a breath at my building orgasm, unable to fathom his words.
He stopped moving and his hand tightened on my throat. The cords in his neck pulsed.
“Zane,” I whined, needing him to move, needing him to keep going.
“Mia,” he commanded, my eyes meeting his again. “Understand this. You. Are. Mine,” he told me roughly. The certainty, the promise behind his words made me pause. My mind moved past the need for pleasure, for release.
I stroked his face. “I’m yours,” I whispered, my words surprising me, not only the fact I meant them, but how I had felt like I had belonged to him for ages before.
He paused for a second, didn’t say a word, just stared. And with that stare, with those words, a little part of my shattered pieces melded back together.
Before I could contemplate this, he plunged into me once more. And for a long time after that, I couldn’t think of much but his body moving inside me.
“Is it time for words yet?” I asked quietly.
Zane’s arm tightened around me.
“Jesus,” he muttered. “Can we not have a couple minutes more of silence before you try and yell at me and I have to fuck you to shut you up again?”
I chewed my lip. Another whole sentence. That was like a record. I was nestled up against his hard chest, my hands quietly tracing the designs I knew were there. I was yet to be able to inspect them in the daylight. But something had changed tonight that gave me hope I might. Not only within Zane, but me also. I had thought I was happy keeping him at a distance, not turning this into something more. But I was kidding myself. Using my past as an excuse to hide the hurt that he didn’t want more. I convinced myself I didn’t either. But now I knew I did. And that scared the hell out of me.
“How do you know I’m going to try and yell at you?” I asked defensively.
He was silent for a moment, “Are you not?”
It was my turn to be silent. “No, I just wanted to have an adult conversation about your behavior last night,” I said evenly.
“Fuck,” he muttered again. “You sound just like a mom scolding her child.”
I stiffened. “I am a mom, and you acted childish in the bar,” I snapped.