Take Me Deeper (15 page)

His smile widened, not bothering to hide the hunger slowly building up inside him. “Ah, but I haven't started yet.” He urged her other arm up onto the pillow. “Keep that hand right there. If you move it, I'll be angry.”

Flashes of fear and uncertainty darted across her face, quickly masked by what appeared to be boredom, as if men routinely handcuffed her to beds before demanding answers from her. “Sure. No problem.”

Oh, it was going to be a problem. He'd make it one.

Zane shifted, straddling her hips, bracing himself above her. “If you don't tell me who Dylan is,” he said quietly, firmly, “I won't let you come.”

She snorted. “That's not much of a threat.”

He nearly laughed, because she clearly had no idea, no idea at all. “You'll see, baby.” Dipping his head, he brushed the base of her throat with his mouth, feeling her body quiver. “Give me enough time and I can make you tell me everything.”

“No, you can't—”

He nipped the side of her neck before she could finish, and sure enough, she broke off with a sharp gasp. As he'd discovered the night before, her neck was very sensitive, and soon he had her breathing fast and hard as he licked and nipped and kissed his way down to her throat again. Then he pressed his tongue to the pulse that leapt and kicked beneath his mouth, testing the salty sweetness of her skin.

The night before he hadn't managed to taste much of her because she'd gone to sleep so quickly and he hadn't had the heart to wake her, not after she'd been so exhausted. It had meant a difficult night, trying to get to sleep while still being hard enough to hammer nails, but Christ, she was going to be worth the wait, he just knew it.

She sighed as he sucked gently, her pulse getting faster, yet he didn't linger, moving down across the delicate architecture of her collarbones, trailing kisses over her chest until he got to the soft swell of her breasts. Then he lifted his head and met her gaze. It was dark, smoky, and stubborn as hell, and obviously she still thought she was going to win this one.

He pinned her with a narrow, intense stare. “Ready to tell me yet?”

She stared back. “Seriously? Is that all you've got?”

Zane gave her a feral grin.

Then he really went to work.

Iris had no idea what she was doing. She knew pushing this was a bad idea and yet some part of her couldn't stop herself. Murmuring Dylan's name while half-asleep had been dumb, and she couldn't believe she'd revealed it like that. She didn't want to talk about Dylan, and most especially she didn't want Zane to know what an idiot she'd been in the whole fiasco. It was her shame to bear, a deeply private shame that she didn't plan on telling anyone about, ever.

But then she'd gone and murmured his name in that confused half state between sleeping and waking, and of course Zane had heard. And
of course
he wanted to know what the hell was going on. She should have just told him and not made a big deal out of it, but she had. Then she'd gone and made matters worse by refusing Zane's direct command, pushing and pushing until he'd handcuffed her to the bed.

She still didn't know why she'd done that. She didn't know why her heart was racing and her body was trembling, and her skin was prickling all over with heat. Why the thought of him torturing a confession out of her made her scared and yet desperately excited at the same time.

She shouldn't want that. She shouldn't actually want to be handcuffed to the bed while he crouched over her like a starving tiger, his mouth trailing in a tantalizing line toward her breasts. Yet that was exactly what was happening.

Unable to take her eyes off him, Iris found herself watching as his dark head moved lower. Then her breath caught as his lips brushed over one achingly hard nipple. Sensation rippled through her, intensifying as the tip of his tongue touched the sensitive peak in a light tease. His gaze met hers as he did so, hot and blue and sharp, staring at her as he did it again, circling her nipple with his tongue, around and around.

She swallowed, trying to get a breath that sounded at least a little bit like normal yet utterly failing. There was no way she could hide what he was doing to her. He knew. And somehow that knowing look only made her hotter.

“Who is he?” Zane breathed gently over the peak of one breast and the wetness left by his tongue, causing her nipple to tighten even more. “What did he do to hurt you?”

Iris wanted to close her eyes, escape into the darkness, but scared of what even that would reveal, she steeled herself to hold the fierce brilliance of Zane's gaze, to not look away. She couldn't let him read her like this, she just couldn't. “He didn't hurt me.”

“Really? So why don't you want to talk about him then?”

“He's just an idiot I went out with a couple of times. No biggie.”

“Uh-huh.” Zane lowered his head again, that wicked, teasing tongue making another circle around her nipple. Then, his gaze still on hers, he drew it slowly into his mouth and she couldn't stop the sound that escaped her, a raw gasp of agonized pleasure at the heat and pressure against her sensitive flesh. He sucked hard, watching her, as if he were reading the ebb and flow of the pleasure on her face, and adjusting what he did to meet it.

Her mouth was dry, a heavy, pulsing ache between her legs, and she couldn't work out why she was doing this. He'd been so gentle with her the night before, coaxing her, making her feel so safe, and yet she couldn't bring herself to talk about Dylan. It was still so painful. She hadn't realized how much until now.

Because, of course, it wasn't just about Dylan, was it? It was about her mother too.

Zane released her throbbing nipple, but he didn't let up, his fingers replacing his mouth, circling and slicking over it, pinching it with the same aching relentlessness he'd given her the night before, the one that had her arching beneath his hand. “You're lying to me,” he murmured, never taking his eyes off her. “Don't think I don't know it.”

“I-I'm not,” she gasped as his fingers played gently with her, the heavy weight of his body over hers making her want to move, to press against him and find some friction, some relief.

“Yes, you are. You want to be punished? Is that it? Is that what you're trying to tell me?”

She couldn't think, seemingly every nerve ending in her entire body concentrated on the movement of his clever fingers on her breast. Behind her came the sound of metal chiming against metal and the bite of something sharp against her wrist. The handcuffs. She must have tried to bring her hand down, though to push him away or to pull him closer, she had no idea.

“No,” she said, panting. “I don't.”

“Another lie.” He shifted and she found her gaze helplessly drawn to his naked body, all smooth, tanned skin and hard, cut muscle, lean and graceful as a professional athlete.

Her breath came faster and faster. She wanted to touch him in a way she'd never wanted to touch a man before. Feel the texture of his skin, the flex and release of those powerful muscles. Taste him the way he'd been tasting her. It made her hungry, made her want, and she wasn't sure she liked it. Wanting was
always
dangerous, wasn't it?

Casually, Zane trailed a hand down her stomach, caressing as he went, watching her face as he did so. “I think you'd love to be punished, baby. I think you want it more than your next breath. But it's not going to happen, understand? Not until you give me what I want.”

Bastard. He was
such
a bastard.

As if he'd read her mind, his hand moved lower, stroking the soft curls between her thighs, and she went still and quiet, waiting for the knife edge of pleasure to hit, certain he was going to stroke her clit the way he had the night before.

But he didn't. Instead he toyed with her curls, pulling lightly on them in a way that only sharpened the desperate ache, while he bent his head and gave her other nipple a long, lazy lick. “I'm waiting,” he said, his voice full of command and rough heat. “Don't make me wait too long.”

She was shaking, her hips trembling, wanting to move. Telling him would be so easy. All she had to do was open her mouth and the words would come out, and then she could get to what she really wanted, his hands on her and the beautiful burn of pleasure.

You really think you deserve that? After everything that's happened?

The thought came out of nowhere, like a bright light shining directly in her eyes, and she had to blink and turn her head to get rid of it. Because she didn't want it there. What she had with Zane was only a night, only a moment in the greater scheme of things, and why shouldn't she have it?

Really? After the way you lost Jamie? After you swore to yourself you'd do a better job than Mom? Come on, Callahan. You know what you deserve, and it's not hot sex with a beautiful man.

“Iris.” Zane's voice again, commanding her complete attention, drowning out the voice inside her head. “Enough. I'm a patient man, but not this morning. Not after having you sleeping naked beside me all night.” His fingers slid through her curls, stopping bare inches from her exquisitely sensitive clit. So close and yet way too far. She tried to lift her hips to encourage the touch, but he didn't move his hand any further.

“Demanding little thing, aren't you?” A darker, rougher note tinged the words. “But it doesn't work that way. You have to give me something first.” His finger stroked and smoothed her skin, so achingly far away from the place it needed to be.

He knows you don't deserve it either.

She sucked in a ragged breath, staring fiercely at a spot on the wall. “I think I hate you.”

“I know.” He sounded amused. “But punishment isn't supposed to be fun.” There was another silence and she had the feeling he was looking at her, seeing right inside her, to the person that snide little voice belonged to. The one who made her feel so awful. The one she had a horrible suspicion was only whispering the truth.

“Or…” His stroking finger paused. “I'm starting to think you really want this punishment.” Another pause. “Maybe you think it's what you deserve.”

Shock rolled like an icy wave through her and she had to close her eyes tight. How did he know? How the hell could he see?

Then hard on the heels of the shock, came the shame. Hot and bitter, and she wanted to roll over, burrow under the sheets and the comforter, and hide, never come out again.

She could deal with the fact her mother had left her, that she wasn't enough to make her stay. But what she couldn't deal with was failing in the one thing that made her better than that selfish old bitch: looking after Jamie.

He was very still resting against her, and she knew she'd given herself away. Dammit. What the hell was wrong with her? Why was she letting him get to her like this? It was only sex and sex never meant anything. Not a single fucking thing.

But his strong fingers were gripping her chin, turning her face toward him, and she couldn't avoid those intense blue eyes. They were the only thing she could see.

“Don't,” she gasped before he could speak, terrified that the next words out of his mouth would make her reveal another secret, or worse, make her cry like a child. “Please, Zane. Don't say anything.”

The look in his eyes became fierce, the color somehow deepening, so compelling she couldn't have looked away even if she'd wanted to. Holding her gaze, he leaned down and over her, gripping her chin firmly enough that she couldn't pull away. Then he bent his head and brushed her mouth with his, a light, sensual promise that made her shiver all the way down to her toes.

“You don't ever need to be afraid.” The conviction in his voice was a stark contrast to the lightness of the kiss, to the ferocity burning in his eyes. “Your secrets are safe with me. All of them.” He slid the fingers between her thighs down further, a feather-light touch grazing her clit, sending electric jolts of sensation everywhere. “I think you want to tell someone, Iris. So let it be me.”

There was a painful pressure in the center of her chest, at odds with the sheer delight of his slowly stroking fingers. Because of course he was right. She wanted to tell someone. She wanted to talk about it, be able to share it with someone who would understand and who wouldn't judge her.

Mainly because you judge yourself. And you should…

She ignored the voice, concentrating instead on that fierce, bright gaze. And the words just came out before she could stop them. “D-Dylan was my boyfriend. I worked with him at a bar back in Dallas. He was kind, helped me out with Jamie, fixed things around the trailer, stuff like that.” She stopped, her hips shifting helplessly as Zane's fingers began to circle her clit in an agonizingly light touch.

“Keep going,” he murmured, never taking his gaze from her face.

“He…he…was good to me. And I was…”
Jesus, are you really going to tell him you were lonely? So desperate for someone that you fell for him? Believed him when he told you that he loved you?
No. God, she couldn't do that. “We were t-together, anyway.”

Zane's stare was laser sharp, cutting through her, his finger circling around and around. “What did he do to you, baby?”

Her throat tightened and she had to force the words out. “All I wanted was to get out of the trailer park. Buy a house, have somewhere decent for Jamie to grow up in. But everything was so expensive…”

Zane's finger slowed, concentrating on a gentle back-and-forth motion that had her nearly gasping. “And what happened?”

The constriction in her throat got even worse. She didn't want to talk about this, so why was she? Why the hell was she spilling her guts to him? Yet still his finger moved back and forth, slowly, gently, pleasure spiraling around and around, becoming acute, honed as that glass-sharp stare of his. She wanted to get lost in that pleasure, let it take her away so she didn't have to think about this anymore. But there was another part of her, the small, lonely part, that wanted to tell him everything, as if that would get rid of the weight of guilt somehow.