Page 93 of Cruel Hearts

He sets his coffee mug on the night table and places the empty pastry plate next to his mug.

While we were talking, my robe slid down my shoulder, and the nightgown Mel ordered reveals more than it covers. Either Mel has a fancy for sexy lingerie or she ordered it for Zane. Either way, it does the job, and the air changes around us.

He pulls me into his arms and against his hard, bare chest.

His brown eyes smolder as he looks at me, and my mouth dries. This is new. Making love in the light, things settled between us. Well, maybe not completely settled, but both of us seem to be on the same page.

We could try again. We talked about that, didn’t we? Does he know I want to? Or was that a conclusion I came to last night in the dark, his arms holding me in place by his side, right where I want to be?

Strong.

Protective.

Possessive.

“Zane—” I start. I want to tell him.

“Don’t,” he says, and slants his lips across mine, twisting his fingers in my hair that’s already full of snarls.

He tastes of caramel and coffee and Zane.

Oh, how my heart hurts remembering living without this, the empty days, the lonely nights. I cling to him, our tongues tangling together, our teeth gnashing in our desperate attempt to be closer.

His cock’s hard, and needing to touch, I reach under the thin material of his pajama bottoms.

There’s pre-cum on the tip, and I swirl my fingertips around the head.

“If you don’t stop, I’ll blow in your hand,” he growls against my lips. It’s so sexy, and it turns my insides to jelly. I’ve always been too pragmatic, too careful to be swept away...until I met Zane.

The whole combination, the entire package, and the fact he wants me is like a bow on top of the best present in the world.

“Is that bad?” I tease.

“I’d rather be buried so deep inside you I can’t breathe.”

“I guess that’s an invitation I can’t turn down.”

“I need a condom, Stella. I’ll be right back.”

Our conversation slams into my mind, and I blush, embarrassed. I’d been tired, lonely, desperately wanting something permanent. Babies don’t create a family. Out of anyone, I know that.

I’m grateful he knows it too, and that he took care of me that way.

He comes at me, a foil packet in his hands, and I push aside the time in my apartment. He may have started something that morning, and only time will tell.

“Turn over,” he says, an edge in his voice, and I shiver.

I position myself on my arms and knees, and he tugs the lace panties over my butt and down my legs and tosses them aside.

He lowers his pajama pants just enough to free his cock and rolls the condom down his throbbing erection. His hands shake, trying to stay in control, and I stiffen. He’s going to go at me hard. I’m wet, and his fingers glide into me easily, holding me open.

I tense in anticipation. I’m still not used to sex, and the couple of times Zane and I have made love after going so long without hasn’t loosened me. He pushes into me inch by inch and I pant, but it doesn’t hurt, not like the first time. There was too much anger in him to be gentle, but now he knows, now he understands, and he rubs my clit, helping me relax.

“Jesus, Stella,” he says, his teeth clenched.

“Does it feel good?” I ask, pushing backward, adjusting, reveling in the feel of him filling me to the brim.

“Better than anything.”

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