Razed (Barnes Brothers #2)(57)

She swallowed. He rose, kissing a pathway along her torso as he moved.

Her throat worked as she swallowed. He teased the soft skin there, listened as she murmured, “I dunno. Anyway. I wanted the reminder. And then the roses and all. My dad . . .”

He stilled, straightened to look down at her.

She was smiling a little, a far-off look in her eyes. “He died when I was young. But he liked flowers. We used to have a garden.” Then she grimaced. “Weird shit to talk about right now. Anyway, plenty of kids think they have it rough, then, right? It’s part of growing up.”

Somehow, Zane suspected this went a lot deeper than growing up. That was for another time, though. He dipped his head, caught her lip between his teeth. “So . . . how are things now? They better?” he asked against her lips.

“Well . . .” She was gasping when he let her pull away. “Lately it hasn’t exactly sucked.”

“Such high praise. It’s going to go to my head.” He leaned in, so close their breath mingled. “I think I need to see if I can do better, though. Make things even better.”

A lot better. If he could, he’d make her entire world better . . . if she’d let him.

For now, though, he could give her this.

Of course, within seconds, he wasn’t thinking of anything but her, his hands on her, and how much he needed to make her burn—the same way she made him burn. Mouth slanted over hers, he tugged her to the edge of the mattress and leaned in, closer, closer, until nothing separated them but the layers of his own clothes and the thin barrier of her panties. Her arms wound around his neck, her mouth parting under his.

Slow . . . slow . . .

Her hands dipped into his hair.

She arched against him, all soft skin, delicate curves.

Slow . . . slow . . .

Her teeth caught his lip.

Slow . . .

She wrapped one leg around his and then he grunted as she shifted so fast and shoved, tripping him so that he fell backward onto the bed. She tumbled forward to land on him and his eyes flew open, staring up at her.

She stared back, eyes glassy as she sat up, straddling him.

He curved his hands around her hips, felt the heat of her burning him through her panties and his trousers. So damn hot. So damn sweet.

“I keep telling myself I should go slow,” he said, sliding his fingers under the edge of her panties.

“Yeah?” She leaned forward.

His eyes crossed as she bit him and then pushed her tongue into his mouth.

“I don’t know if I want slow,” she whispered when she lifted up.

He stared at her. She was blushing, but her eyes were focused on his.

“You should have slow.” He stroked his thumb over the heat that teased him, taunted him.

“I’m too nervous for slow.”

He shifted then, spilling her onto her back and moving between her thighs. “You don’t have to be nervous. We can stop—”

She covered his mouth with her palm. “That’s not why I’m nervous. I just . . . I’m nervous. I’ll start thinking and that’s never good.”

He caught her wrist, bit her palm. “I won’t let you think, don’t worry.” Then he guided her to the bed and settled her on his hips. Catching the material of her panties in his hands, he drew it down, baring her to his gaze. Keelie tensed and he leaned in, kissed her hipbone. “Shhh. . . .”

Slowly, she relaxed, and he stripped the material away, tossing it off to the side as he sunk on his heels and sat back to stare. She went to close her thighs and he caught her knees. Pale, ash-brown curls covered her sex, glinting with the evidence of her need, and Zane felt his mouth watering. He gave in to his need, bent over her and pressed his mouth to her.

She bucked against him, a harsh cry ripping out of her.

Steadying her with his hands, he slid his tongue along the slit, parting her so he could dip in, take a deeper, longer taste. It exploded through him and, half-mindless, he caught her around the hips.

This. Just this, he thought.

Wordless, sharp sounds came from Keelie and he followed the signs she unconsciously gave him, deeper there, quicker here.

When she exploded, his cock gave a hard, insistent jerk inside the material of his trousers and he felt the first few drops of pre-come leaking free.

“Zane . . .”


*

She couldn’t think. Couldn’t even move.

That was . . . she closed her eyes while her brain struggled to put a name on what that had been. Vaguely, she heard the rustling of material and she cracked open one eye, saw him peeling away his shirt. Her mouth went dry at the sight and she opened her other eye.

The better to stare at you with, my dear . . .

The phrase popped into her head from nowhere and if she’d had the breath to laugh, she might have. But she had no breath, and a split second later, even the thought of laughter died.

He was beautiful. All long, lean limbs, golden skin stretched over tight muscle. He only had the one tattoo, that owl curling over his shoulder and down his chest, the feathers done to a perfection that made the bird of prey almost seem alive.

As his hands dropped to his belt buckle, a mad rush of heat arrowed straight down to her core and she fisted her hands in the sheet.

Damn.

She was really doing this.

Was really here. With him.

The bed shifted and Zane caught her around the waist, wrestling her higher up on the bed and then, his hands cupped her face. “Look at me,” he said, his voice raw and rough.