Burn (5 page)

“Get off me and I will!” I regret pulling the gun on him. I regret it massively; I have no idea what kind of retribution he has planned, but I’m sure I’m not going to like it. “You told me to do it, Zeth! You can’t hurt me for doing what you told me to!”

He lifts himself a little, rearing back to get a good look at me. The anger on his face has morphed to something else. “Hurt you?”

“For the gun!” I have to get him off me. I
need
to. I buck against him, but the bastard doesn’t shift an inch. He’s a dead weight on top of me.

“What do you mean,
hurt you?
” His voice is cold. Detached.

“I don’t…I—” The disbelief on his face finally hits home. He doesn’t look like he’s set on killing me. If anything he looks horrified.

“I would never hurt you, Sloane. You honestly think I would?”

A small voice immediately answers yes, but it doesn’t belong to me. Not really. It belongs to that treacherous Pippa impersonator who lives inside my head. My panic subsides, leaving me exhausted underneath him. I stop struggling. “No. I…”

Zeth sees the flicker of doubt in my eyes before I can rein it in, though. His jaw tightens. “Have I ever raised a hand to you? Have I ever…” He trails off, exhaling sharply. He looks away for a second, and when he turns back to me, his gaze is unwavering, piercing me through. “I don’t hurt people who can’t defend themselves. I don’t hurt girls, and I will never hurt
you
.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.” But even as I’m saying this, the Pippa voice is back and she’s on a mission.
The guy’s pinning you to the goddamn bed, Sloane! Like, right now! What the hell is wrong with you?
It’s almost as if Zeth can hear that voice, too. He carefully lifts himself up a little, removing most of the pressure he was exerting on me with his body. His hand stays locked around my wrists, but the tension eases a little, making my fingers throb painfully as the blood rushes back into them.

“I might stop you from going nuts on the odd occasion, Sloane, but I would never cause you harm like that. I thought you knew that.”

I’ve reclaimed my cool now. He’s not overly mad about the gun—I can see that—but he’s still not overly happy with me, either. “I just thought…”

“That I’d rip your head off for threatening to kill me? Yeah, well…” He shifts slightly, pressing down on me again. The subtle weight transference seems to wake up my body; I realize my legs are spread, knees drawn up, feet flat against the mattress, and Zeth’s huge and powerful body is between my legs. And he’s naked. He’s not shy with his body—he has absolutely no reason to be, but his confidence runs deeper than a mere awareness of his physique. It’s something else. Something I haven’t quite been able to put my finger on just yet. Whatever it is, he’s still laying on top of me and there’s only the fabric of my jeans and my T-shirt acting as a barrier between our skin. Zeth makes a low rumbling sound deep in his chest, as though he’s been waiting for me to notice our tangled position.

“No, you threatening to kill me wasn’t exactly what I was expecting,” he says. “But you did look incredibly sexy with a gun in your hand. Do you know how to use it properly?”

“Yes.”

“Then that’s even sexier.” He dips his head down and grazes his teeth against the skin of my neck, surprising me. The warmth of his breath makes my skin rise in gooseflesh, breaking out down my arms and legs as well as the sensitive area below my ear. My nipples tighten automatically. My body is way ahead of my head right now. I’m still trying to come to terms with the fact that I just had Zeth Mayfair at gunpoint, and that it felt
good
, but my body is craving his touch. Wanting to feel him everywhere all at once. A few moments ago, Zeth’s weight on me felt like a prison, and now…now I want him to smother me with himself, so that the only thing I can breathe and see and feel and smell is him. I think there’s something wrong with me.

“You got any more ideas about how you’re gonna make me your bitch?” he rumbles. I feel the words forming and vibrating through the strong barrel of his chest, sending chills through me, deep down into my bones.

“No.” I can’t force any strength into my voice. I sound breathless. So weak.

“Good. Because you’re not going to be able to threaten me with weaponry tomorrow night. And besides…” He grabs hold of the hem of my T-shirt, pulling it roughly upward with his free hand, “you like this better, don’t you? You like obeying me. You like feeling defenseless. You like feeling that trickle of fear, lighting up your insides. It makes you feel alive.”

He’s right. He’s always fucking right. I hate that he is, but it also saves us a lot of hassle. I’ve felt in control of my own life—I enjoy my work, I pay my bills, I keep my shit clean and tidy—and yet I haven’t had to make an important decision in a while. I haven’t had to choose to do something confronting that will change things massively for me. And choosing to continue whatever this is with Zeth, choosing to follow him down here to LA to find my sister, choosing to let him touch me, to lick and suck and bite at my skin, to
obey
him, that’s what’s made me feel like I’m really living.

Zeth pulls the cup of my black bra down, exposing my breast. His eyes feast on the expanse of pale skin I now have on show, focusing hungrily on the pale pink areola of my nipple. He makes that delicious, toe-curling sound at the back of his throat, like a starved animal, and then he ducks down and takes it into his mouth. At first he runs his tongue around and around, playing with the tightened bud, but then he uses his teeth, nipping hard enough to make my back arch up in a mix of pleasure and pain.

“You want me inside you, angry girl?” He pulls down the other side of my bra, freeing my other breast, and then he traces his tongue up the swell of my flesh and takes that one into his mouth, too. A stuttering sigh escapes me, ruffling his short, dishevelled hair.

“Yes. I want you in…inside me.”

He chuckles, apparently enjoying my lightheaded response, and then he tilts forward, grinding himself fully against me. His cock is hardened steel pressing against my inner thigh. I pull in a quick breath, closing my eyes. I want him. I want to feel his skin against mine. I want to feel his cock rubbing up against my clit so badly that I push back, rocking my hips up to meet him.

“You hungry, Sloane? You want me that bad, huh?” A slow, drawn-out smile spreads like honey on his face. The look in his eyes sends a wave of adrenalin and endorphins racing around my body, shocking my nerve endings. I need to be naked. I need to be naked
right now
. I try to communicate this, but all that comes out of my mouth is a frustrated groan. Zeth’s eyes dilate, zeroing in on me. He tugs his lower lip between his teeth, his breathing becoming quicker, as though he enjoys that sort of reaction out of me. Does he? Can I inspire the same crazy reaction in him that he inspires in me whenever he bites my neck or kisses my skin?

He pushes up against me and I let out a gasp, maybe a little louder than it needs to be, but still genuine in its origins; it feels amazing when he does that. My pussy is throbbing, desperate to be touched, and yet I’m still fully dressed. It’s a fucking travesty. Zeth’s smile twitches. I know he knows I over acted that last moan, though he says nothing. Instead he rocks back onto his heels, cock standing proud and eager, brushing against his belly. He takes hold of the ankles of my jeans and then pulls without even bothering to undo them. They don’t come off easy, but he doesn’t seem to care. He’s just determined to get them off.

“I’m gonna try something different with you, Sloane. And you’re gonna like it, okay?”

By the dangerous lilt in his voice, I’m convinced this information should be taken as a warning and not as reassurance. “What are you going to do?”

With a final rough jerk he manages to tear my jeans free of my body. “Wait and see.” My T-shirt goes next. He grabs me by my hips and pulls me toward him on the bed, drawing me upright so I’m sitting, and then he rips it over my head. He falls on me like a man possessed. The straps of my bra have fallen down over my shoulders, and my breasts are still free; my nipples are contracted as tight as they can go, almost painfully so, and they throb even more when Zeth cups both of his powerful hands over them.

“You’re tits are amazing,” he whispers. “But I wanna see them up here.” He picks me up and holds me to him like I weigh nothing at all. On his knees, he grabs a hold of my thighs and pulls one up over his hip, indicating what he wants me to do. I’m all too happy to oblige. His cock is trapped between us, jammed between our bodies, and with every minute movement he makes, it sends a jolt of pleasure firing through me. He kisses and licks at my chest, his hands gripping me tightly around the waist as he arranges himself in a sitting position with me sitting over him.

I’m still wearing my panties, but that doesn’t seem to be bothering him. He carefully takes hold of the material, gathering it together and tugging it upward so that the bunched lace applies the most intense pressure on my clit.

“Ah!”

“I hope you’re not overly fond of these,” he says, doing it again. “I don’t think they’re gonna last long.”

I’m panting by now. My cheeks feel flushed; hell, my whole body feels flushed. It feels as though some primal, animal part of me is taking over as I begin to rock against him, angling myself so that our hips are in alignment, pushing and rubbing and grinding. Coupled with the fact that he continues to tease my underwear, pulling it taut as I move, I begin to feel slightly dizzy. Out of breath. Delirious. I don’t need to exaggerate the cry that comes out of me when he slips his fingers beneath the fine material of my panties and he strokes the slick heat of my pussy. I’m too far gone to be embarrassed by how wet I am. How wet he’s made me. I just accept it and grind harder into his hand.

Zeth props himself up on one elbow and leans back, taking me in, assessing me from head to toe as I set my body free, letting it do whatever it wants to do. I lean forward and place my hands on my chest, tracing my fingertips across the dark spill of tattoos across his pecs and his shoulders. The bruised purple of the scar where he was shot just below his collarbone nearly two months ago now. The graceful, packed lines of his solid muscles. I’m learning every single last line of him, committing him to memory and enjoying it immensely. I’m drunk on him. The way he feels underneath me; the dark, penetrating need in his eyes; his hands wandering over my hips, my breasts, my pussy, down my thighs. And I’m not just beer drunk on him. I’m fucking tequila drunk. Sideways. Gone. Blind with how badly I need him. Want him.

“You’re fucking amazing,” he rasps. I don’t know if it’s just my malfunctioning ears, mildly deafened by the roaring of my own blood and our combined gasps for oxygen, but he sounds drunk, too.

He slides a finger inside me and it’s just too much. I can’t take it anymore. I need more than just his fingers. I want all of him, buried balls deep inside me, pounding into me until all I see is stars. I reach down for him and inhale, a whole new fire burning inside me when I take hold of his swollen cock. He’s huge, rigid and smooth like warmed marble. The sensation of sliding my hand up and down him is the most intoxicating thing ever.

“Fuck, Sloane.” His body locks up, his muscles as tense as a tautly drawn bowstring. “Fuck!” He can’t wait any longer, either. He snatches hold of me, falling forward so I’m on my back again and he’s on top of me once more. He doesn’t waste any more time. He’s inside me, then, guiding himself into me for what feels like forever. The stretched, swollen feeling of having him inside me is mind altering, like a drug. He can sense how urgently I need him—he must, because he immediately draws himself out and begins to fuck me with the force of a freight train.

I feel like I’m being impaled, he’s so hard. “Oh, shit! Zeth!”

“You okay?” he growls.

I nod, digging my fingers into his back. The sharp bite of pain encourages him, and he powers on, slamming into me over and over. I hold onto his shoulders, clinging onto him for dear life, and he…he ducks his head and kisses my fingers. It feels like everything slows. He…he
kissed
my fingers. Holy shit. The surprise of his subconscious action doesn’t distract me from my building orgasm. It adds to it. My body is a trembling wreck as he continues to drive himself into me, each one of my synapses firing independently to create a crescendo of sensation across my skin.

“How hard do you want me to make you come, Sloane?” Zeth pants.

“Hard. Really hard. Please.
Please.
” I half think this might be his payback now; if he pulls out and leaves me like his, it would be very unfair. But it turns out that’s not what he’s got in mind. Instead he slides his hand up my body and doesn’t stop until he reaches my neck. Once he’s there, he curls his fingers around my throat and squeezes. Hard enough to block off the oxygen.

“Zeth!”

“Ride it out, angry girl. You’re gonna like it, I promise.”

I want to claw at his huge hand, try and get it off me, but the look in his eyes makes me think twice about it. I can’t help but feel like this is some sort of a test.
I don’t hurt girls, and I will never hurt
you. He’s seeing if I trust him. He’s seeing if I’ll let him do this to me without freaking out. Medically, I know I have about eight seconds of consciousness if he’s pressing down on my carotid artery all the way. If he continues to press down longer than that, there’s always the chance of brain damage and death. But…

He’s not pressing down all the way. Feeling that massive hand close around my neck was frightening enough to make me panic, but now I can feel what he’s doing. And it’s not going to kill me. It’s not even going to even make me pass out.

It takes sheer force of will to make my hands slide up to Zeth’s torso, placing them just about as far from my own throat as I possibly can. It’s a trust move—one that doesn’t go unnoticed. Zeth raises his eyebrows, in appreciation or surprise, I’m not sure, and he makes an effort to slow down his movements. He stares down at me as he forces himself deep inside with each push, grinding hard against me, making sure I feel the full length of him as he works his cock in and out of my pussy. I can barely breathe, but I’m not afraid anymore. As soon as I decide not to panic, the sensation of being choked becomes…it actually becomes
exciting
. The restricted oxygen he’s allowing me—just enough to allow me to see straight—is making my head pound in a dizzying, frantic way. My senses seem to be on hyper alert; the heat of his tongue on me, his teeth skimming the sensitive skin of my nipples—it feels like he’s leaving sparks of fire in his wake. This is the most fearless I’ve ever been. A dangerous man holds my life in his hands, and I’m enjoying it. If I’m honest with myself, I’m loving it.