Page 95 of The Silent Note

He inhales deeply and seems to come to a decision because he finally gets in.

Sloane disappears.

I guess we both know what’s about to happen.

Chapter Twenty-Three

GREY

As soon as Zane’s big body settles into the backseat, I’m on him. My mouth falls on his and I sneak my hand beneath his Redwood Prep jacket, feeling heated skin and muscle.

The softness of his lips steals my breath and sanity. I let both slip away from me, tracing the seam of his mouth with my tongue.

You can’t turn them to good. They’ll turn you to darkness.

Mom’s voice echoes back to me.

Shame is thick, carrying me kicking and screaming back to that dark familiar place where I felt trapped and alone.

Breath heavy, I pull back from Zane.

He’s watching me with this hard, impenetrable look on his face. My gaze skitters away and lands on his Redwood Prep jacket. The symbol of propriety glares at me. My breath falters and I move in, wrenching his jacket off with my hands.

He allows me.

I still feel uneasy.

My pulse plays in tune to my skittered breaths.

Something eerie joins the tension. Something ugly. It keeps pulling, and pulling at me, threatening to snap me in two.

I bite my tongue and glance away, reaching for my purse. Silence falls as I rummage through it.

Where? Where?

A glint from a diamond.

I take out my wedding ring. I slip it on.

Instantly I feel better.

Pushing my curls behind my ear, I throw a leg over Zane’s lap and straddle him. An ache blooms between my thighs and I grind down, moaning low. He hisses between his teeth, his harsh expression wavering for the first time.

Anticipation eats away at me, raking its hungry claws through my insides. I tremble as I wrap myself around him, ivy climbing up a post. My lips meet the underside of his jaw. The shell of his ear. The corner of his mouth.

I tilt my head toward his, watching with half-lidded and hazy eyes.

He isn’t kissing me back. Isn’t doing anything.

Fine.

I push the limits of his restraint. Making fists in his shirt, I lean forward and press my mouth to his. It’s a conquering, possessive move more than it is anything resembling a kiss. I follow it up with a long, sultry lick of his mouth and smirk when a groan resounds in his chest.

I look at him victoriously.

He looks back at me, annoyed.

Feeling braver, I kiss his neck, flicking my tongue out along the edges of a tattoo that meets the base of his spine.

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