Page 59 of Tempting Fate

He pumps his fingers.

My body softens as he brushes my g-spot.

Still, my mind rebels, determined to save me from another defilement.

“Say it… we’re unbreakable.”

Trembling, I toe the line between fear and frenzy. My heartbeat races, even as Zeke works my body into languid acceptance. The voice in my head—Alex’s damning reminders that I’m filled with his poison—tries to drown out the deafening whoosh of my pulse. Bliss beckons, my desire reaches a fever pitch. Every atom of my being, each nerve end and synapse, fires with one objective.

Oblivion.

“Say it, sweet thing… we’re unbreakable.”

“We’re… we… are…” I wrap my fingers around his wrist. My fingernails, jagged and broken from yesterday’s ordeal, dig into his skin as the ecstasy that’s promising to flood me builds to a crescendo. “We. Are. Unbreakable.”

“That’s right, metukà shelì. Un-fuckin’-breakable.”

Zeke curls his fingers skyward. He strokes that spot inside me that only he’s ever touched. My hips buck. My spine curves. Every muscle is engulfed by the delicious indescribable waves of desire that herald my orgasm. Mindless pleasure. Overwhelming bliss. The perfect balance of lust and love. It sweeps through me. Coats me. Fills me. Shields me. Lifts me.

Does it fix me?

No.

But it sure as hell makes me feel better.

When I come down from cloud climax, I find Zeke standing in front of me. His eyes are filled with pride. His grin is a mixture of satisfaction and worry. I shuffle upright, my jelly legs uncooperative at first, and scoot backward until my back is leaning against the headboard.

“I didn’t push too hard?” he asks.

I shake my head. “No… you pushed exactly the right amount.”

“Good.” When he comes to stand next to me, the bulge in his jeans at face height, I reach over to free his cock from its denim cage.

Zeke catches my wrist. “You don’t have to do that.”

“What if I want to?”

“Are you horny?” My man asks with a smile in his voice when I squirm subtly to alleviate my growing need.

“No.”

Standing before me, naked from the waist up, he laughs at my denial.

I beckon him to sit with a crook of my finger.

As usual, he goes one better.

“My sexy little liar.” Zeke shucks his denim and boxer briefs, then crawls onto the mattress with me. His hard cock presses against my stomach when he rolls me onto my back and cages me with his wide torso. “That t-shirt’s gotta go.”

Smiling up at him, I wriggle beneath him, holding my arms up so he can pull the loose Shamrocks T-shirt that I’m wearing over my head. My breasts tumble free, and I hear Zeke’s breath catch. With the best sexy half grin that I can manage with my damaged face, I lift my gaze to his, only to fall still as I find that he’s not appreciating my body.

Zeke is vibrating with barely controlled rage.

“Wow.” I exclaim as I follow his gaze to my torso. “It wasn’t this bad yesterday.”

The bruising over my ribs and across my stomach has set in overnight. There’s an outline of a hand over my left breast that’s almost purple, but it’s the fingerprints that colour my shoulders and the base of my throat that’s really captured Zeke’s attention.

“You said you weren’t hurtin’,” he scolds. Before I can answer, Zeke shuffles down the bed. Once on his feet, he stoops to pull his clothing back on, tucking his softening cock back into his boxer briefs before he buttons his jeans. “We don’t have to fuck, metukà shelì.”

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