Take Me Deeper (13 page)

Iris wanted to tell him that of course he wasn't. She wasn't scared of anything, least of all him, but that would have been a lie. A complete, giant lie.

She
was
scared. She was completely fucking terrified. And she didn't even really know why.

Bullshit. You
so
do, Callahan.

Okay, she did. She'd never felt this way before, like she couldn't stop trembling, like she'd fall into pieces, break apart. The touch of his hand on her bare flesh was too much, as if all her skin had been stripped away and she was nothing but a mass of bare, acutely sensitive nerve endings.

No one had made her feel like this ever and she didn't like it. As if he knew her, even better than she knew herself, which was a completely terrifying thought. She didn't want anyone to know her. It was easier to survive if she was entirely self-contained and didn't need anyone. Needing people only led to betrayal, to hurt.

To running drugs for a man she thought had loved her.

To being abandoned by the one person who was supposed to love her unconditionally.

Everything shitty that had happened to her was a direct result of her stupid choice to put trust in people who didn't deserve it.

And now Zane was asking her to do the same for him.

She'd thought it would be okay for a night. Just one night. But she'd had no idea what that had meant. But she did now, and she wanted to take it back, wanted to push him away and run from the room, run across the entire state of Texas.

Yet that wasn't even the craziest part. The craziest part was that a little piece of her didn't want to run. The curious, desperate piece of her, the one that was lonely and scared, that wanted to be held, to be touched. The piece of her she kept deep inside and never let out. No, that piece wanted to stay right here, chase this horribly intense, dark, delicious pleasure, see where it led. Maybe even glory in it, because it had been so long since anyone had held her, touched her, stroked her. So long since anyone had made her feel good…

She was panting and she couldn't stop. His hand between her legs felt like it was starting a fire right there, a fire she wasn't going to be able to put out, his hand on her breast a brand that seared her right down to her bones.

Dylan had never done this to her. Dylan had never made her feel this way. It had always been about him and what he wanted, never about her.

“I've got you,” Zane whispered in her ear and she shivered helplessly—again—at the feel of his warm breath against her neck. “It's okay. There's nothing to be scared of. It's only me.”

But that was the problem. It wasn't
only
him. It was this whole feeling, the aching pleasure of it, the one that made her so aware of what she was missing in her life. And that she could never do. She couldn't want what she'd never be able to have.

His thumb moved, a gentle stroke over the tender flesh between her thighs, grazing her clit, sending a lightning strike of sensation through her, making her writhe against him. How did he know where to touch her? How did he know that these tender, careful caresses would break her open, make her want to sob in his arms? He shouldn't know these things about her, no one should.

“I c-can't,” she said desperately, hating the rough, needy sound in her voice. “It's…too much. I don't want…I don't like…” But she couldn't quite find the words to say what it was because her hips were nudging his hand, wanting him to touch her again, wanting that brush of his thumb against her aching clit.

“I think you do.” He didn't move his hand one inch, the prick. “I think you want exactly what I'm doing now.”

His body behind her was a furnace, surrounding her with his heat and the clean scent of pine, underlaid with something musky and intensely masculine. It made her mouth dry and her heart race out of control. She couldn't think, could barely get a breath.

“You're so wet for me.” His mouth again, on her neck, down to her shoulders. “I can feel you against my hand, baby, and you're soaking.”

Her face flamed, her breathing getting even faster. She didn't know what to say, how to process this. She didn't want him to call her baby and yet that traitorous part of her loved it, because she'd never been anyone's baby. Not even her mother's.

“Don't say those things to me,” she said hoarsely. “I can't handle it…I—”

“Quiet.” His voice was all gentle strength and authority, making everything inside her do exactly that. “You're fighting this and you don't need to. You need to relax, breathe. Let me make you feel good, that's all that's going to happen. Understood?”

Her throat was tight and sore, and she didn't know why.

“Answer me, please, Iris.”

“Yes,” she heard herself say, unable to resist the urge to obey the command, because it definitely
was
a command, no doubt about it. “I understand.”

“Good.” There was a heat in his tone, a warmth that hadn't been there before. It made her want to do anything to hear it again. “You're such a good girl. So strong, a fighter. A warrior. But you don't have to fight now. Be a good soldier and let me take care of you the way you need to be.”

Something deep inside her shivered at the approval and recognition in his voice, basked in it. Wanted more of it.

Oh God, would it really hurt to do what he said? To relax and let him take care of her? To let herself have this, just for one night…?

Dangerous…

Well, everything was dangerous, wasn't it? That was her life, escaping from one disaster only to stumble into another, and she was still here, still surviving. This wasn't any different. She'd survive this too.

And apart from anything else, she was tired, so tired. Of running, of fighting, of not trusting anyone, and the thought of lying back in his arms and letting him do exactly what he promised—make her feel good—was irresistible.

Because she had a feeling that if there was anyone she could trust, it would be Zane.

So she leaned back against the hard, muscular wall of his body, into all that heat and strength, and closed her eyes, letting all the tension bleed away from her. Maybe this would turn out to be a terrible mistake, and maybe it wouldn't, but right now, she just didn't care.

“That's right,” he murmured, the soft warmth of his breath on her shoulder making her skin prickle with heat. “Just like that.” And he moved that clever, dangerous hand between her thighs, a gentle pressure on her clit, circling around and around.

A moan started in her throat, a coiling tension beginning to build down low in her abdomen. He kept his thumb on her clit while his fingers stroked her soft, wet flesh, and she couldn't stop shaking, her knees going weak. His arms tightened around her, holding her upright, and she had the sense she could fall completely apart and he'd still be able to hold her, keep her together.

Then one finger found the entrance to her body, slowly sliding inside, and she whimpered, her hips moving helplessly against his hand, the need for more touch, more friction, intensifying inside her.

He squeezed her breast gently, pinching her nipple, little arrows of sensation joining that tightness, that relentlessly coiling pressure. She couldn't keep quiet, her whimpers turning into a long, low moan as another finger slid inside her, joining the first, and he parted them, stretching her, making her feel wild and desperate.

Blindly, she put a hand on the powerful thigh behind her own, digging into hard muscle and holding on tight, while her other hand reached for the one between her legs, wanting to pull him away or hold him there, she wasn't sure which. But she couldn't shift him, his forearm like iron. “Zane…” she gasped, not sure what she wanted or what she was asking for.

“I know, baby. I know.” The rough heat in his voice made her want to arch against him, rub herself all over him. “Stay with me.” His fingers moved deep inside her, a slow, relentless slide, in and out, that wicked thumb of his circling so lightly, around and around her clit.

She couldn't handle it, she just couldn't. She was going to shatter like glass and she'd never put herself back together again. God, the orgasms she'd given herself in the darkness of her own bed, when she'd been craving something she didn't have a name for, they weren't like this. They'd been carefully measured doses of pleasure, a mild, happy warmth, as calm and relaxing as a bath. Not this desperate, wild intensity.

Zane's other hand massaged her breast, teasing her nipple while he nipped at her neck, biting her gently, licking her skin, exploring the dips and hollows of her collarbone, pressing the hard ridge of his cock against her ass. And he did it all so slowly, with infinite patience, as if he had all the time in the world to take her apart piece by piece. He was a soldier on a mission, and that mission was to make her scream, a mission he was pursuing with a single-minded relentlessness that stole her breath.

Iris trembled even harder, trying not to panic. She'd never been a man's absolute focus before. They took what they wanted from her and she got what she wanted from them, and it wasn't ever pleasure, at least not for her. God knew they never cared whether she enjoyed it or not, not when it was only ever about them.

But this was unlike anything she'd ever experienced before in her entire life, and it was all because of him. Because Zane was different. And if she thought too much about that, she knew she'd run screaming from the room.

“H-help me…” she whispered. “Zane, please…”

He murmured encouragement in her ear, how good she was being, how amazing she felt, how hot she was, how hard she was making him, and she trembled and trembled, the movement of his fingers inside her a stunning blaze of sensation.

Until it all got to be too much and she felt herself shatter the way she'd dreaded, coming apart at the seams, sobs catching in her throat as the pleasure began to overwhelm her. And all she was conscious of was his arms strong and sure around her, holding her as she broke.

It took her a long time to come back to herself afterward, and when he lifted her into his arms, she put her arms around his neck and turned her head into his chest, pressing her hot face against the cool cotton of his shirt, not wanting to look at him quite yet.

He said nothing as he carried her from the lounge into the quiet darkness of the bedroom, and she was grateful because she didn't want to talk. In fact, she was pretty sure she didn't want to talk about anything ever again. She felt too vulnerable, too naked, stripped bare in a way that had nothing to do with clothes.

Zane set her on the bed and with a calm, yet ruthless efficiency, removed the rest of her clothes. Then he gently but very firmly turned her over so she was lying on her front. She didn't mind that one bit, turning her head to one side and closing her eyes, the sheets nice and cool against her hot cheek.

From behind her came the sounds of rustling, a zipper being drawn down, clothes being taken off, then the bed dipped, and firm hands were on her, spreading her thighs as the fierce heat of him came to kneel between them. Then those hands moved, stroking down the length of her spine, soothing her in long, slow motions before curving over her butt. His fingers were so gentle, caressing her ass, sliding between her cheeks, a light, exploring touch that sent electricity arcing through her, startling a protesting sound from her. But he was moving on, his fingers sliding over her aching, throbbing pussy, making her shift and whimper and shake.

He was relentless though, spreading her delicate flesh, sliding his fingers inside her again, making her wetter, hotter, so that she bit down on her lower lip to stop from crying out, the scary, intense pleasure beginning to build with inexorable force.

She was panting when he finally took his hand away, and she heard the distinctive crinkling sound of a condom packet being opened. Her thighs were trembling, the ache between them so acute she wanted to scream. Then one powerful arm looped around her waist, lifting her, the searing heat of his bare thighs pressing against hers as he positioned himself. And then the blunt head of his cock found the slick opening of her pussy and he began to push inside, her flesh burning as it stretched around him, tearing a shocked gasp from her throat. It had been a while since she'd had sex, and he was big, really,
really
big.

He went slowly though, murmuring words of encouragement and soothing her with those long, stroking caresses down her spine, easing deeper until he was fully seated inside her, his groin pressing up against the curve of her butt. She shuddered, her hands twisting in the sheets, and she couldn't seem to get enough air, almost as if he were so big inside her that he crowded everything else out.

A thread of panic wound through her, but he must have sensed it because he didn't move, just kept stroking her over and over, easing her, soothing her. And only when the panicked feeling had begun to ebb did he move, shifting so that he was over her, covering her, his hands beside her head, his thighs on either side of hers. Then his mouth was on her shoulder, a series of hot kisses, soft bites, and long, lazy licks up the side of her neck, his hips drawing back at the same time, sliding out of her before thrusting back in, a smooth, easy glide that had her biting her lip again, trying not to embarrass herself by crying out.

But he must have noticed that too, because he said, in that calm, commanding tone she found so damn hot, “Oh, no, baby. I don't want you to be quiet now. I want to hear every sound you make.” He flexed his hips in another deep thrust, shocking a helpless gasp from her. “Yeah, that's it. That's what I want to hear.” His voice was a soft growl, the warm, approving note in it making everything that much more erotic. “Give it to me again, Iris.” He thrust yet again, deeper, harder, and she had no choice but to give it to him, a long, low moan she couldn't keep inside. “More.” A demand this time. “Give me more.” And this time he didn't stop, his rhythm slow and easy and relentless, tearing more sounds from her as she shifted restlessly beneath him, trying to match his movements, her fingers twisting in the cotton beneath her.