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Zane blanches, as if that memory physically hurts him. The scowl on his handsome face deepens, creating deep grooves around his pink lips and dark eyes.
“I just don’t want to fight, princesa.” Zane’s voice comes out as a resigned, weary sigh. His shoulders physically droop forward, and his arms uncross. He appears tired, and it’s only then I notice the dark circles shadowing the skin beneath both of his eyes, hinting that he didn’t sleep the night before. “But I’m really fucking mad.”
“Because I’m going to Harvey’s house,” I say.
“Because you’re going into a known POP member’s house with only Dominic as backup!” he explodes, throwing his arms up in the air.
“And you don’t think Dom can protect me?” I’m not trying to stir up shit between the five of them. I’m honestly just trying to understand Zane’s thought process and the reason for his almost volatile reaction to Dominic’s proclamation the night before.
Two lines knit between his eyebrows as he seems to take my words into consideration. All at once, I see the fight drain out of him, his neck lolling forward so his chin sits against his chest. He scrubs a hand through his obsidian strands of hair and puffs out a resigned sigh.
“That’s not it at all, princesa. I know Dominic will protect you with his life.”
“Then, what is it?” I venture a step closer to him, dropping my own arms to my sides. I want to reach for him—my fingers physically flex as I envision running them through his hair—but I restrain myself.
A thread of fury weaves itself into his voice. “We’ve seen firsthand the type of shit that Harvey Rollins is involved in. It makes me sick to my stomach to know that you’re walking into the monster’s den, so to speak, with only one of us to protect you. What if something goes wrong? It fucking kills me to let you out of my sight, Ellie, even on the best of days. But to know you’re walking into danger?” His face is dark, like thunderclouds have rolled over his expression, and his lips compress even farther. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough to do it.”
Oh, Zane…
My heart aches for him and his obvious pain.
“I understand, Zane.” I finally breach the distance between us and place my hand on his arm, where he’s rolled up the sleeve of his dress shirt. His dark bronze skin glimmers in the artificial lighting and draws attention to the few wayward scars branding his flesh. I wonder where he got them.
No, I wonder how he got them.
I don’t like seeing any of my men hurt.
“If the situations were reversed,” I continue, “I would probably behave the exact same way. I don’t like the thought of any of you in danger.” I move even closer, until our chests touch, until we share a single breath, until his face consumes the entirety of my vision. “But you have to trust your team, your family. Dominic and I know what we’re doing. I’m not going to be alone for even a second, and I know Landon will have a plan in place to have you on standby if anything goes wrong.”
“Ellie…” His voice is a strangled, harsh rasp.
“Trust me. Trust us.” As I speak, I push myself onto my tiptoes and run my fingers through the tiny hairs on his neck. His gaze flicks to my lips for a fraction of a second, but it’s all the invitation I need.
One kiss from Zane zaps all residual thoughts away and relieves some of the rampant energy coursing through me. I become consumed by him, his touch, and his love for me.
“Ellie,” he murmurs reverently against my lips.
“Shhh.” I tug on his hand, angling his head how I want it, and then pepper kisses across his jawline, down his throat, and then to the collar of his shirt. My hands are surprisingly steady as I begin to work the buttons of his shirt, one after the other, unveiling a delicious, bronze chest I want to memorize with my tongue and mouth.
“Ellie!” He sounds shocked this time, but there’s no mistaking his arousal. His erection presses against my stomach in a way that has me rubbing my thighs together.
I want to know what he’ll feel like inside of me.
“I want to make you feel as good as you made me feel,” I whisper, suddenly plagued with a strange sense of self-consciousness and doubt. I remember the way he rejected my advances back in the locker room.
Does he not want me like that?
Yet, even as I think that, I remember the way he made me come on his tongue. The reverent way he kissed and held me. The words of love he whispered against my skin.
No, there’s no doubt in my mind that he does want me. So, why is he resisting?
Zane appears pained as he runs his hands through my curly hair.
“Princesa…” My nickname is a groan wrenched free of his lips. “You don’t have to?—”
“I want to.”
His brows dip. “But I want to make you feel good.”
