Beyond Possession (Beyond #5.5) (6 page)

He could want to be sweet to her.

She hesitated with her hand on the apartment door, his big body like a furnace at her back. This was what she had to remember. The rule she couldn't break, not for anything. She could have her indulgence, her selfish moment of
living
, but it couldn't cross this threshold.

Her heart pounding, she pushed open the door and stepped through.

Zan followed her immediately, sliding one arm around her waist and pressing his lips to the back of her neck. Pleasure melted through her, terrifyingly intense for such a small gesture.

But it wasn't just the kiss. It was all of him, hard and big and unshakable. She ran a hand up his forearm, stroking the heavy muscle with a shiver.

All hers. Tonight, he was all hers. And she was his.

"Tell me," he breathed. "Tell me which part of this gets you off."

The truth sounded sad, needy, but she knew better than to lie. "Feeling like I'm the center of someone's world."

His breathing hitched. "Then why would you want that to end?"

Because worlds always did. "I need to know I can be the center of my own world, too."

He swayed slowly, almost like he was rocking her. She gripped his arm, caught on the edge of uncertainty. It would be so easy to relax into him, but she had to be sure. "Is that okay, still? That I need it to end?"

Zan's lips brushed her ear. "Whatever you want, sweetheart."

An end wasn't what she wanted, but it was all she could allow herself to have. Secure in her boundaries, she shivered and closed her eyes. "I want you to do beautiful, filthy things to me. I want you to fuck me."

The hand on her belly slid to her hip, and Zan edged his thumb under her waistband to stroke her skin. "I'm here," he whispered, then tilted her head back with his other hand and claimed her mouth.

He was good at kissing. Slow and thorough, like he could spend the whole night just kissing her. His tongue was hot enough coaxing her lips apart, but her body throbbed when he licked deeper, taking possession of her with brutal gentleness.

His hands glided up her body, over her curves to grip her jaw, the back of her head. "I want this. I've wanted this for months."

And yet he had made no move to take her until Dallas O'Kane needed her. But this was a fantasy, these stolen hours, so she'd let herself believe him. Tomorrow morning, when he was gone and she had both feet planted on solid earth, she'd force herself to face the convenience of the timing.

Tonight, she was the center of his world. "So take me."

He swung her up into his arms and headed for the drawn curtain that separated her living space from the bedroom. He didn't draw it aside, just sidled through it so that it fluttered back into place behind them, maintaining the illusion that this moment was isolated, cut off from the rest of the world.

Then he laid her on the bed and loomed over her, his face in shadow. Inscrutable.

She reached for him, touching his jaw and brushing his lips with her fingertips. "What can I give you?"

"Shh." He mimicked her actions by laying two fingers over the center of her mouth, then bent and licked the exposed edges of her lips.

Not just sweet. It was tender, a filthy sort of reverence, and her whole body went tense and heavy with anticipation. His control had to snap. She'd tasted wild hints of it in that first kiss, with his hands big and rough all over her body. At any moment, he could be on her, fucking her with a power that would leave her weak with yearning.

Instead, he traced one hand down the center of her vest, lingering over the laces before tugging at the knot that held them in place.

It unraveled, and the leather parted. She felt exposed without it, the thin fabric of her blouse just heavy enough to tease against her sensitive nipples. The vest was part of her armor, part of the image she'd so carefully constructed.

And he was stripping it away. He was stripping
everything
away.

Zan pushed the vest off her shoulders but left it on her upper arms as he turned his attention to her shirt. He pulled it free of her skirt, baring her stomach to just beneath her ribs, and rubbed the fabric between his fingers. "This is soft."

Because she'd washed it until the fabric was thin and worn, trying to make it last so she could put every credit back into the business. "I've had it a long time. I like it."

"So do I." He eased up onto his knees, still watching her in the near-darkness. "Take it off."

There was that thrill. That dark, delicious shiver. No need to agonize over a dozen impossible choices, struggling to pick the right one and second-guessing herself even after it was done. He'd given her a simple command, gentle and firm.

So she obeyed, gathering the fabric in her fists and sitting up just enough to strip both free. The laces caught on her braid, but she tugged impatiently, leaving her hair a disheveled tangle as she tossed the vest and blouse aside.

She wasn't wearing anything else under it. Zan's gaze raked over every inch of bare skin, and his hands clenched into fists at his sides for a split second before he dropped them to wrap around her ankles through her boots.

"Tell me what you imagined," he whispered as his fingers began to slide up her legs.

"Faster." Her voice cracked on the word, and she closed her eyes, as if that would help. She could feel him all along her skin, in all those places he wasn't touching. "Rougher. I thought you'd be in me already."

He lingered at the backs of her knees, just above her boots. "Are you disappointed?"

"No. I'm..." Overwhelmed. She had vague memories of this feeling, the way the light touches made her strain into them, yearning for a stronger hand. It took a patience she hadn't expected of him. "Surprised."

"Mmm." His fingertips traced up the outsides of her thighs, light as a feather.

"You don't have to be rough with me," she offered in a whisper, opening her eyes. Zan was watching her intently, cataloguing every reaction, and her body flushed in response, her nipples tightening painfully. "But you don't have to be gentle, either. I'm...sturdy."

"I know." He reached her hips and maneuvered his fingers under the fabric of her panties.

Her pulse raced. She clutched at her quilt, breathing unsteadily, and eased her hips up to make it easier for him to... God, she didn't even know what. Anything. He could do
anything
to her right now.

He dragged her panties off her hips, down her legs, guiding the lace past her boots, every movement slow and controlled.

Then he threw them aside and leaned over her again, his hips pressed into the cradle of her legs, his face inches from hers. "I don't have to be gentle. But maybe I want to be."

He had never seemed more intimidating or massive than in this moment, with her thighs pressed wide to accommodate the width of his body and his shoulders blocking out the world. Every flexing muscle held dangerous potential, and there were so many of them, all above her and around her, caging her in, pinning her down...

"What do you want?" she asked, unable to keep her voice steady.

"I want..." Another frown drew his brows together. "To make you feel good. To help you forget everything outside this room for a little while."

She stroked her finger over the furrow between his eyebrows to smooth it away. "What do you want for yourself?"

His lips tilted in another sudden smile. "What makes you think that's not for me? I can be just as selfish as the next bastard, sweetheart."

The smile undid her. She traced it, hardly believing it could be real. "As long as you get off on it. I want you to get off on me."

He shifted, the arms on either side of her flexing as he slid down. His mouth hovered over her collarbone for a heartbeat before making contact in a gentle kiss. He followed the kiss with his tongue, outlining a lazy path from her shoulder to the center of her chest.

It was sweet. The touch, the pleasure. She closed her eyes again and let her arms fall to the bed above her head.

"Keep them there," Zan muttered, then dipped his head to her breast and closed his mouth around her nipple.

Finally
.

She was wound so tight she had to clutch at her pillow to keep from reaching for the back of his head. She felt the first brush of his tongue everywhere, even between her legs, and she arched up against him with a moan.

Zan pressed her back down to the bed, then left his hands there, a heavy, commanding weight on her shoulders.

She shivered, her heart racing with a different sort of adrenaline. She was so close to something, a moment of clarity or catharsis, but it slipped through her fingers when she reached for it, leaving nothing but desperation. "Please."

He shifted his weight until his erection pressed through their clothes, hard and heavy.

It wouldn't take much for her to come. Just enough leverage to grind up against him, but she could only squirm, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "Zan.
Zan
..."

He growled and rocked his hips, thrusting against her.

It happened so fast, even for her. The tension snapped, flooding hot, sharp pleasure through her. Quick and fleeting, but so good she groaned her relief, twisting up against him.

Through the haze, she felt Zan move—not away from her, but stealing one hand between them. A moment later, his fingers slid over her, and then
inside
her, and oh God. Two fingers. Two big, broad fingers, filling her up, stroking her deep.

He moved again, levering his body up until his mouth was right beside her ear. "I don't have to be gentle," he muttered, echoing his earlier words. "I can be rough, too. Is that what you want?"

Yes, she wanted it rough. Wanted him to fuck those strong, beautiful fingers into her until she was hoarse from screaming, and then wanted him to start all over with his cock. No thinking, no worrying, just inevitable pleasure and welcome exhaustion.

She'd come this far. Why bother with her fantasy if she was going to hide from the rawest parts of it? "I want you to fuck me so hard I couldn't think if I wanted to."

"Not hard, then." His touch gentled as he curved his fingers, searching until he found the spot that jolted through her and popped her hips off the bed. "Intense."

"Zan—" His fingers returned, and she groaned as the shock of it tensed every muscle in her body. It wasn't pleasure—not yet—but it could be. It would be, if he'd just shift his thumb enough to let her ease the growing pressure.

When he didn't, she tried to do it herself, releasing the pillow to slide her hand down her body. But Zan wrapped his fingers around her wrist and slammed her hand back to the bed above her head.

Her breath caught. She was bound, but this was so much better than cool, impersonal steel. Zan didn't need chains to hold her right where he wanted her, and her mind spun dizzily when she twisted and felt him everywhere, hard and hot, trapping her.

She couldn't run from this. She couldn't deflect, turn it into something else. Her only choice was to gasp and tremble as he pumped his fingers, the slick sound of it filling her ears. She was so wet, and he was so quiet, his harsh breaths and the hard cock pressing against her hip the only break in his perfect focus.

"After you come again." It sounded like a promise, one he breathed in her ear a heartbeat later. "After that, I'm gonna fuck you. Slow and hard, so you can't forget it happened."

"Please," she whispered, turning blindly toward him. Her lips found his cheek, and she groaned against it as his fingers worked over that sensitive spot, back and forth and firm. Maybe she could come like this, with nothing except that commanding touch, but she'd die of needing before finding out. "Please, please, Zan. I need, I
need
—"

His thumb grazed her clit.

She cried out, digging her heels into the bed in her desperation to get closer. She lost track of the words tumbling from her lips, incoherent pleas and promises, promises to do anything if he'd make her come.

That grazing touch turned into a demanding pressure, and he whispered her name in her ear. "Tatiana."

This orgasm wasn't like the first one, quick and fleeting. Pleasure broke over her hard, arching her back, driving an incoherent noise from her throat. It shook her, not just the intensity of it, but how relentless he was, dragging it out as her pussy clenched around his thrusting fingers until she couldn't take another second.

Zan pulled free, rose to his knees again, and reached for his belt.

The pulses slowed, leaving tingles in her fingertips and tiny aftershocks, little flutters of pleasure inside her. The room swam, but Zan was in beautiful focus, his movements slow and deliberate as he unhooked his belt and eased it open.

Her gaze drifted down, down, down, fixing on his hands as he opened his pants to reveal the most glorious cock she'd ever seen. Big and thick and erect, and it would hurt to take all of him—the good kind of hurt. He wouldn't have to fuck her hard for her to feel it tomorrow.

But she still wanted him to.

He shoved his jeans off his hips and pushed her skirt higher, baring her completely to his gaze. For a moment, he did nothing but stare down at her, as if drinking in the image she presented—sprawled on the bed, half naked, the rest of her clothes in disarray. Disheveled. Debauched.

It was difficult not to cross her arms across her body or reach for the blankets, but only for the first few seconds. Self-consciousness couldn't last in the face of such hungry approval. So she left her arms above her head, left herself exposed in every possible way.

Zan broke with a groan, lunging to cover her body with his. He captured her mouth in a desperate, open kiss, tilting her head back as his cock nudged against her. Then he flexed his hips, pushing inside.

She was wet, but he was so big. She moaned into his mouth as he filled her, taking the discomfort with the pleasure, taking
him
.

He kept thrusting, working himself into her pussy, inch by inch. Then he froze, his mouth hovering so close to hers she could feel his breath. "Take it."

Dark, forceful words. But he didn't drive into her, and she realized he meant it literally. If she wanted all of him, she had to reach for it. So she did, digging her heels into the bed and arching up with a hoarse cry.