Page 7 of Seizing Control: Part Two

There is no shame in his portrayal of my hunger for him, just awe. My man is reverential, devoted, and filled with a need of his own. One that he’s repressing out of respect for my trauma. If he can sense my readiness for him, then I can read his restraint. He refuses to push me too far. I wish he was wrong in his assessment, but he isn’t. While I’m mindless with desire, I am not ready to risk the progress we’ve made by moving too fast, too soon.

“Hold me.”

“Always.” Zeke tightens his grip on my wrists, slides his other arm along the small of my back, then quickens the motion of his hips. The denim separating us is both a nuisance and protection. Safety and desire meld. My body softens, the throb of my clit and the heat washing through my stomach flaring into an unstoppable inferno. “I’ve got ya, sweet thing.”

The waves of red-hot pleasure pulsing and swirling inside me are buffeted by shock when the locked door keeping the rest of the club out of our private sanctuary rattles. As the lock is picked from the outside, I am unable to stop the climax that crashes through me. Spots burst in my eyesight. My hearing tunnels into a dull roar. Zeke covers my body with his, ensuring that I remain safe, while our space is invaded, and I ride the ecstasy barrelling through me as quietly as I can.

Rather than kick out the interloper, my man chooses to maintain his promise to me.

He holds me close, his mouth over mine so he can swallow my whimpers and moans.

Replete, I breathe him in, gasping when aftershocks ambush me almost immediately.

“Been a long time... since I witnessed... a dry hump,” Slash slurs while I’m coming down to earth from my first orgasm since my eighteenth birthday. He drunkenly stumbles into our room, his unsteady footsteps loud as I combat the ringing in my ears. I pant in an attempt to catch my breath. My shoulder shake when Zeke presses kisses along the column of my throat. “Shoulda known you didn’t have a decent fuck in you, though... ‘specially after I handed ya your arse earlier. Cherub deserves better—” Our inebriated friend lifts his chin at me in an arrogant salute. “—Shoulda hollered... I woulda given you the same treatment you watched me give the cut sluts.”

“Don’t.” I caution when Zeke narrows his eyes and inhales sharply. “He’s drunk and he’s hurting.”

“Doesn’t mean he gets to talk to you like that.”

“It’s fine... I shouldn’t have hung around once I realised what was going on.”

“Besides the point, he’s?—”

“I like havin’ an audience... makes me hard as a rock.”

Growling low at Slash’s crass comment, Zeke pushes back to his feet. I squeak, scared that another punch up is about to break out. My boyfriend inhales deep, then exhales through his nose before he holds out a hand to me. Assisting me upright after I’ve wrapped my fingers around his, Zeke is a ball of repressed fury. I warily observe the two men, bracing for a fight, but hoping for some peace. My body is satiated. The strain that usually keeps me walking a tightrope between exhausted and manic has been beaten back for the moment. It’s an odd feeling, the post-orgasm glow that I’ve experienced only once before.

I’m a nineteen-year-old almost virgin.

I’ve had sex a single time—and it was glorious.

Then I was raped, and the memories of that magical experience were tainted.

The world was my oyster before it was destroyed a few hours later.

Before Alex...

“He doesn’t get to ruin this,” Zeke tells me. When I stare up at him, he hits me with a knowing look. I realise that he knows that I’m on the cusp of spiralling from the reappearance of the poisonous monster in my head. “Don’t let him back in, sweet thing... look at me. Remember me. Be with me.”

I nod, my gaze darting between the two friends who appear at odds tonight.

It seems like Alex is the least of my problems tonight.

Sensing my anxiety, my boyfriend settles with his back against the headrest of our bed, then he pulls me onto his lap. “Don’t worry about that dickhead... he’s almost done with the self-destruction for one night.” Cradled sideways, with my head on Zeke’s shoulder and my legs splayed out, I push away the shame that’s attempting to taint the moment I just shared with my man when I realise that he’s still hard. As if he can read my mind, Zeke murmurs, “Don’t worry about me... I’m more than satisfied.”

“But—”

“Slash is fucked-up. Give him some love... he’ll pass out soon enough.”

I scan our best friend from head to toe.

Zeke’s right.

Slash is a mess.

In the time we’ve spent hidden away in our bedroom, he’s managed to wipe himself out.

“Come lay down,” I tell the big man. He’s swaying on his feet, glaring at us from the foot of the bed like we’re responsible for all of his problems. Patting my thigh, I ignore his glowering and say, “You’re going to fall down... why don’t you make yourself comfortable instead...”

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