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Ty leant into the booth past his sister, his eyes fixed on Zelda. The familiar scent of him enveloped her and sent a blast of need to her already overwrought senses. “You want to have this conversation here, in front of my sister and your friends? Or in the basement, in private? It’s your call. But we are having this conversation, you owe me that much.”
She could still hear the spike of temper, but behind it was the echo of hurt. The hurt she’d caused, by being a coward, and not telling him the truth when she had the chance.
She let go of Faith’s arm. “It’s all right, Faith, you can let me out now.”
“Are you sure?”
She nodded, and her friend stood up.
Ty took her arm as soon as she had edged out of the booth after Faith. As if he were scared she would run off again.
“Thanks, sis. Goodbye, ladies,” he said, his voice tight.
Before any of her friends had a chance to reply, Zelda found herself being drawn towards the back of the bar and out into a narrow alleyway. Slamming open a side door, Ty hauled her down a flight of stairs into a vast, cavernous cellar room stacked to the ceiling with kegs. Dimly lit by a single bulb at the far end of the space, lines of tubing snaked upwards, siphoning the beer and stout and lager from the tapped kegs to the bar above.
She tugged her arm out of his grasp. “You can stop manhandling me now, thank you very much.”
Shoving the door closed, he flicked the lock. “Damn it, Zel. Why did you run off like that, without a word? And why didn’t you answer any of my calls or texts?”
“I left you a note,” she protested, the energy firing through her system at the sight of him, the smell of him, clean and male, above the cloying scent of alcohol. “What more did you want? I told you the rules and you agreed to them. And now you’ve informed Faith of our liaison, you’ve finally managed to break every single one of them.”
“Fuck the rules. I don’t give a shit about them, because this became more than that. And you broke those damn rules, too, so don’t deny it.”
“If I did, I regret it now,” she lied, her gaze fixating on the strong column of his throat, the bob of his Adam’s apple, the firm sensual line of his lips, flat with displeasure.
“No you don’t.” He grasped her arm again, pulled her towards him.
But this time, she couldn’t find the will to pull away, to pull back. She’d missed him so much. But even as the sharp rush of longing consumed her, she assured herself it was nothing more than endorphins. This was chemistry, biology. The instinctive desire to mate. It was an addiction she would have to break, but as the answering desire sparked in his eyes, and his fingers pressed into her bicep, she took in the tortured rise and fall of his chest beneath the creased shirt. And knew he wanted her, too.
Why not have one more fuck for old time’s sake? Before she had to go cold turkey. Did the hair of the dog theory work for sexual addictions?
And if they jumped each other, there would be no time for talk.
Her fevered mind clung to the insane logic, as his fingers plunged into her hair, and lifted her face to his.
“Damnit, I’ve missed you so much,” he murmured, his lips hovering so close, promising so much. “Now tell me you haven’t missed me, too?”
“I can’t.” She grasped his face, pulled his mouth down to hers and shoved him back against the stacked barrels.
Insanity gripped her as she ripped at his shirt. Buttons popped, pinging against the concrete floor. Her hands found warm solid flesh and felt the quiver of muscle and bone, the leashed power in him like a racehorse at the starting gate. She sucked in a lungful of his scent. Fresh male sweat, pine shampoo, the spicy hint of cologne. Then fastened her lips over his and thrust her tongue into his mouth.
He sucked on her tongue, groaning, and then swung her round, until her back hit the damp brick, cool against her heated flesh. His large hand gripped her thigh, to hook her leg over his hip. The solid ridge of his erection felt glorious, as he ground his length against her aching clit through their clothing.
Reaching down, she grappled to find his fly, to tug down the zipper and work her hand into his shorts.
He swore, letting out a low groan as she found him firm, and long, and so wonderfully hard.
“I want you inside me,” she begged.
His fingers located the damp gusset of her panties, nudging the satin aside to plunge into the wet heat. His thumb brushed her throbbing clit and she bucked.
“You’re so wet.” He pressed his forehead against hers, the groan wretched with longing. “I don’t have any condoms.”
“I’m on the pill.” She stroked his length, felt it leap against her hand. “I’m safe.” But this wasn’t safe. If she took this plunge again would she ever be able to pull back?
But even as the sane thought pierced the feverish longing, she knew she couldn’t say no. Not this time. Not to him.
She glided her thumb across the head of his erection, spreading the bead of pre-come. The magnificent shaft bobbed in her hand, but he shifted back, to cradle her face. “Are you sure, Zel?”
