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“Louisiana?” he chokes out, managing to sound both horrified and amused. He puts the bottle back down, though, and that little detail makes me bolder.
“Yes, but the one who taught me about using yogurt to mild it down is Aunt Nebraska.”
He chuckles, a deep, dark sound that sends butterflies swarming in my stomach.
I tug on his hand, intent on pulling him into the kitchen where I can get some food into him, but he doesn’t move. His dark gaze glides over my skin, heating it.
“Come on, Zane. You need to—”
Turning, he pushes me until my back slams into the wall, and the air leaves my lungs. “Need to what?” He grabs my wrists and brings them together over my head, holding them there. His eyes are black with want. “Lemme show you what I need.”
A thrill of fear goes through me. His grip is like titanium around my wrists, and a sting of pain goes through my bones. Gone is the softness in his eyes. What remains is heat and darkness, and I’m not sure what kind of darkness that is. Not sure he’s one hundred percent here with me.
He gives me no time to ponder this or ask anything. He bends his head to my neck, grazing his teeth over my skin, lightly tugging on my earrings with his teeth, licking the spot behind my ear—while his other hand slips the thin strap of the sundress off my shoulder and pushes down the fabric, baring my breast. My nipple instantly hardens, and he flicks his thumb back and forth, teasing me, sending liquid heat straight to my core.
I want to kiss him, touch him, smooth my palm over the hard planes of his body, close my fingers around his arousal, watch his face as he comes undone.
But he holds himself just far enough that even though my back arches off the wall, we don’t touch. He doesn’t kiss me, doesn’t allow me any freedom of movement. As if he’s gone backward in time, undoing all the trust we’ve shared.
“Zane…” Frustrated, I twist my hands, trying to break free.
His hold tightens, grinding my bones together, making me yelp. God, he’s strong. “My way.”
Then he’s grabbing my hip and spinning me around, so that I’m facing the wall, and I turn my head not to crash my nose into the plaster.
“Zane, stop.”
His hands still on my waist. I can feel the heat of his body, even though no other part of him is touching me. He’s like a wall of fire, kept at bay by an invisible b
arrier. A barrier about to shatter at any moment.
Seconds drag by. His breathing is harsh and uneven. His hands tighten under my ribs. “Are you sure you want me to stop?”
His voice is low and rough, and it does crazy things to my insides. His breath washes over my neck, lifting the fine hairs there, and Jesus, his hard-on presses into the small of my back, searing hot through my dress.
“I won’t hurt you,” he says, his voice rumbling in my ear, his firm chest covering my back.
“Let me turn around, Zane.” I want to see him, touch him. Can’t do this…
“You know it’s me, don’t you? You can tell. You can trust me.” He releases my waist and places his hands flat on the wall, on either side of me. I can see the colorful ink on his arms, covering his skin all the way to his wrists. And I can see… Shit, I can see fine, silvery scars on the inside of his forearms.
“Why?” I whisper.
“Rough day.” His voice breaks a little on the two words, and although that’s not what I was asking—those scars, oh God, I think I know what they mean– my heart hurts for him.
“What happened? Is your sister—?”
“Don’t.” His hands tighten into fists on the wall, his knuckles white. “Not now, not tonight. I can’t.” He shudders. “Please.”
His arms shake.
Crap, is this about him, or about me? Because I can’t force myself to do it this way? Can’t force myself to put faith in anyone anymore?
I feel my resolve crack. This is a challenge, and I’ll take it. After all, I wouldn’t be a survivor without being a fighter, would I?
I push back against him. “Do it,” I breathe. “I trust you.”
“Dakota…” He presses himself closer to me, his cock a line of fire on my back, his mouth on the sensitive skin of my neck.
