Reign (Sin City Outlaws #1)(52)

He steps into the tub and settles. Zeek, a badass with tattoos, sitting in a tub of bubbles that smell like candy. It’s hot as f*ck.

I step in and sit between his legs. The water is hot, like really f*cking hot. My skin turns a dark shade of red instantly, but my body relaxes just as quickly.

Zeek pushes a few stray hairs from my ponytail back into its ribbon, then runs water down my shoulders and neck. I moan in response—it feels so good.

Lying back on his chest, I feel his heartbeat pound against my back. If someone told me this is where I’d be a week ago, I’d admit them into a psychiatric hospital.

“Zeek, what are we?” I whisper. His chest rises and falls slowly. “Are we a couple, just having fun?”

“What do you want?” Sitting up, water sloshes over the edge.

“At first, I was just having fun, the risk of getting caught a thrill. But now?” I shrug, my heart telling me I want more. I peek up from under my wet lashes, knowing I may get my heart broken in the next four seconds. “I want more.”

He thumbs my cheek. “I don’t know how to give you more. The lives we live, I feel like we’d have to be in hiding the whole time. You deserve much more than that.” His hand falls, and so does his face.

“Why do you say that? Why do you think I deserve better?” I run my wet hand through his hair. Zeek with wet hair and bubbles is an image.

“I’m not the guy for you. Out there?” He gestures his head toward the door. “I am exactly what my record says I am. There’s a reason why the academy has a course solely on me and my men.” He stops himself, knowing he’s about to spill things he shouldn’t.

I run my thumb along his bottom lip, my eyes boring into his. “Tell me, Zeek. You can trust me.”

“I kill people, Jillian. I love violence, I feed off it. I was raised to draw blood and bathe in it. You and I are so opposite. I’m no good for you. But none of that seems to matter, because I keep coming back to you.” He pulls my hair off my neck, the scruff on his chin skimming my ear. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to let you go.” The words come out laced with an eerie promise. One you’d hear a stalker say to his prey.

He continues, his words barely above a whisper. “To say I’m obsessed with you is an understatement.” Most normal girls would run, but it hooks me. Maybe I’m more f*cked-up than I thought.

I trail my hand down his chest. Submerging it under the blanket of bubbles, I graze the head of his cock. His eyes spring to mine.

“I think I’m limber now.”

Sitting up, he palms each of my butt cheeks and stands, taking me with him. I wrap my legs around his waist as he steps out of the tub, bubbles popping and fizzing all around us.

Smashing my mouth to his, my hands on each side of his face, I kiss him hard.

“Shouldn’t we dry off?” I say between kisses.

“You smelling like sprinkles and covered in bubbles is a wet dream, baby. I ain’t drying you off.”

Stepping into my room, he slowly places me on the bed, the comforter soaking up the remnants of the water. His hands palm my sides, my skin still red from the hot bath.

He trails kisses down my jaw line, and my eyelids flutter with passion. Grabbing my leg, he hikes it over his hip and I wince in pain.

“Zeek,” I whimper. He stills, his eyes on me. “I think we’re going to have to go slow.”





ELEVEN





ZEEK


My heart pounds against my chest, fear striking me hard. Slow? I don’t go slow. Slow entails emotions, ones I’m not sure I’m capable of. Ones I’m not sure we should express. Slow is making love.

She’s laid out on the bed, bubbles spread across her belly and chest. Her skin is a sexy shade of red, and those eyes, they’re looking at me like nobody has ever looked at me before. Not like I’m her f*cking king, but as a lover.

“Are you sure?” I question. The radio in the living room starts playing “Wrong Side of Heaven” by Five Finger Death Punch.

“Yes, I want to go slow. I need to. Not only because I’m sore, but because I want it to last.” Her words are a direct hit to my chest. She keeps saying shit like that, I’m going to go nuts. I can’t tell her no, though. I don’t know if I’m capable of making love, but for her… I’ll try.

Lowering myself, one of my hands tangled in her hair, I grip her hip. My fingers press tightly, my need to have her now too great. A cry vibrates from her chest, and my grasp lightens.

My eyes flick to hers.

“It’s okay,” she whispers, running her fingers through my hair.

Dropping my head, I suck her nipple into my mouth. Her body writhes under me, her breathing picking up. My cock flexes. He’s sick of this teasing shit, ready to plow into her sweet * right the f*ck now.

Trailing my nose down her stomach, I bite at her belly button; little whimpers escape her lips, turning me on more. She brings her knees up, her hands finding my hair again. Using my hands, I spread her legs apart and look at her *. It’s so pink, so innocent and tight-looking. My dick spouts a bead of cum, ready for action.

I lick her clit and she releases a breathy moan. Her thighs squeeze my head, and she winces.

“Relax, baby,” I whisper against her sensitive skin. I nip it gently then suck it into my mouth, and she cries out. Every sound that leaves her mouth, every shiver of her body, it unhinges me like a wild man. Letting go of her clit, I dip my tongue into her *, her wetness filling my mouth. She’s sweet, with a hint of musk.