Razed (Barnes Brothers #2)(59)

His weight braced on his elbows, he studied her. Then, lowering his head, he pressed his mouth to hers. She opened for him, a hot, hungry kiss that he felt all the way down his balls.

As he pulled away, she flexed around him and that milking sensation almost had him whimpering, begging for mercy—or more.

“You’re trying to kill me,” he muttered as she did it again, then again. Keeping his weight off her, he slid out, watching as her eyes flew wide, then fluttered closed as he stroked back in.

“No. If I did that, we couldn’t do this again.” A cat’s smile curled her lips and she rocked up to meet his next stroke. “And I really, really want to do this again.”

Slow, he told himself.

He could do this. He just had to . . .

Her body, that long, elegant body arched like a bow under his and she started to rock against him harder, her nails biting into the skin of his ass. Gritting his teeth, he reminded himself, Slow . . .

She moved under him again and then, with that sexy feline smile still on her lips, she twisted. “That . . .” Her voice was a husky murmur, another caress that threatened to drive him mad. “That right there.”

He was still convinced she wanted to kill him.

He shifted and then twisted his hips as he pushed into the wet, welcoming grip of her sheath. She was like a fist, so tight, milking him. Her nipples stabbed into his chest and her nails bit into his skin harder. A harsh whimper tripped out of her and he stared at her from under his lashes.

Her gaze had gone blank.

When he went to withdraw, she clutched at him.

“Keelie.” He lowered his head, fusing his mouth to hers as he wrapped his arms around her and rolled to his back.


*

Keelie gasped, torn between delight and a weird sort of awkwardness as Zane eased her body upright. She braced her hands on his chest and moved, slow at first, each movement tentative as she tried to find a rhythm.

Zane’s hands gripped her hips, but he didn’t do anything but lie there.

The weak, breathy moan that stuttered out of her sounded nothing like her, but it was. Shifting her position, she twisted, then rocked . . . and just like that, it was easy.

Zane’s fingers turned to steel on her hips and she looked into his eyes, watched as that blue green started to blaze. Deep inside, she felt his cock jerk and, unconsciously, her muscles clamped down in response.

“Don’t . . .” Zane gritted out, his teeth clenched, neck arched.

“Don’t what?” She fell forward, bracing her weight on her hands on either side of his head.

His gaze bore into hers and then she twisted her hips and this time, when she tightened those internal muscles, she did it intentionally. His response was to arch up and drive into her, so deep, so hard. She cried out in response.

“Keelie . . . ?”

“Again.” She rocked against him, harder, squeezing him, milking his cock, and he swore, his hands gripping her in an iron grip as he thrust against her hard. Fast. He swelled inside her and she cried out, tensing. Zane tensed in return and then, impossibly, moved faster, her name a growl on his lips.

There—

She would have begged if she could have formed the words.

But she didn’t have to.

Zane tangled a hand in her hair and yanked her to him, his mouth sealing over hers. At the same time, he twisted his hips and drove up, using his free hand to hold her tight against him.

Locked together with him, her breath caught, hitched—and the bliss exploded through her, flooding her every pore, overtaking her entire being.

If she’d been one to think along poetic lines, she might have thought she was seeing fireworks.

But all she saw was him.

All she felt was him.

Zane. And that gut-wrenching pleasure as it ripped through her body, and stole the very breath from her.





Chapter Eleven




Keelie lay with her back to him, face pressed into the pillow.

The sweat had dried from their bodies.

He’d forced himself to pull away long enough to dispose of the condom and then he’d collapsed in bed behind her, wrapped himself around her, delighting in long, pale limbs, in the fact that he could move just a scant inch and press his lips to the tattoo that spread across her back.

But even as he studied it, her words rose up to haunt him.

Storms. The questions twisted, burned in him.

Leaning in, he pressed a kiss to her shoulder and then hooked his arm around her waist.

She sighed and snuggled in closer.

“What happened to your dad?”

She’d smiled as she spoke of him, but that look in her eyes had been one of sadness. Was that the storm she’d spoken of?

She shifted in the bed, enough that she could turn her head to look at him. “I told you . . . he died.”

He half expected her to let it go at that, but then, to his surprise, she rolled over and faced him completely. Lifting a hand, she stroked her fingers along the upswept wing of the owl. “He was out on a business trip with his partner. There was a car wreck. A truck driver—he’d just finished up a long haul and was heading home. Wasn’t drunk or anything. Just tired. He went over the line and hit the car my dad was driving. All three of them died instantly.”

Zane cupped her cheek, brushed his thumb over her lower lip. “I’m sorry.”