She wraps her arms around my neck and I fight my initial jerk-knee reaction to shove her off. I thought I was past those days, dammit.
Instead I kiss her again and the urge fades, replaced with raw need. My dick hardens, pulses, tries to drill a hole through my jeans as I walk into our bedroom and lay her down.
That’s more like it, Dick the dick. Welcome back into the game.
Pulling off her boots, I let them thump to the floor, then I slide my hands under her short skirt and tug down her black tights and yellow lace panties.
“Zane…” she whispers, reaching for me, but I only give her a smug smile and press my face between her legs.
I’ve missed this. Her. Her taste, her moans, the way her legs tremble, the way her clit throbs under my tongue and her pussy clenches when I lick into her. I drag my tongue up and down, letting her feel the barbell, reaching up a hand to cover her mouth as she gets louder, not to wake up the baby.
She’s so close.
And I wanna be inside her. But first I’m gonna make her come, and I lick her harder, faster, using my other hand to thrust a finger inside her, to stroke her inner walls until she wails under my palm, her body tightening and arching.
God, yeah. So good. I gentle the thrusts of my finger, the lashing of my tongue, giving her time to calm down.
But I can’t wait too long. Better not give my mind time to connect this to anything bad. I rock back on my heels on the mattress and unzip my pants, push them down my legs, briefs and all. Reaching behind my head, I grab a fistful of fabric and pull my T-shirt off.
Naked, I grip my dick and squeeze. My head falls forward as I tug on the rigid length, feeling the slight bite of the Jacob’s Ladder, all those barbells on the underside stinging a little as I stroke.
“Holy crap…” Dakota sits up, openly staring as I jack off. “Let me…”
I suck on the barbell in my tongue, so hard I ache with it, so damn aroused because she’s still displayed for me, her legs spread. Her blouse has slipped off one shoulder, and her mouth is slack, her lips reddened from our kissing.
I need to be inside her. I can’t speak, too focused on keeping the reins tight on my mind, on telling myself this is real, this is now, so I let go of my dick in favor of crawling over her, pushing her back down on the mattress.
Bracing my elbows on either side of her face, I lean down until only a breath separates our mouths and my hard-on drags on her skirt. I kiss her, deeply and thoroughly, tangling my hands in her wild dark hair. I suck on her tongue, bite on her lower lip, taste her and let her taste me, telling my thoughts to go fuck themselves.
Kissing is relatively new for me. Dakota is the only girl I’ve ever kissed, and I think I’ve gotten pretty good at it over the past two years, if the way she clutches at my shoulders and moans in my mouth is anything to go by.
I draw back just enough to suck in a ragged breath. “Wanna be inside you,” I whisper. “But I’ll understand if you’re not ready.”
“I’m ready.” She licks her lips, and it makes my dick twitch. She lifts her arms around my neck. “Please, Zane. I’ve missed you.”
“Fuck, missed you, too.” I reach down, grab my dick and press between her legs. With her skirt bunched up around her hips, her heat kissing the head of my cock, I wonder how long I’ll last.
If I don’t freak out.
I won’t freak out. The kids are safe, and I’m ready. I’m fine, I tell myself, as I push into her.
Only something is off. Maybe it’s my position on the bed, looking down at the twisted sheets, or her hands touching my upper back, the burn scars scattered there.
I’m drowning. I can’t breathe. I jerk back, and I have an oh-fuck moment when I realize this is worse than usual, this is a full-on panic attack, and I need to stop it before it gets worse, and—
“Zane?” It’s her voice, and I latch on to that desperately. “Look at me.”
I find myself on the edge of the bed, struggling to breathe. I’m shaking, and I’m so fucking cold my teeth are chattering.
It’s the pain. Pain clawing through my back, tearing me to shreds, and it’s all I can do not to howl. Hands on my back, on my ass, digging into wounds, into me.
‘My turn,’ a deep voice says, turning my blood to ice. ‘My turn now.’
But her sweet scent soothes me. Warmth covers my hands. “Zane,” she says, and it’s a voice calling me home, where I’m safe and happy.
So I fight through the murky water of the memory, telling myself the pain isn’t real, the man’s voice isn’t real.
It isn’t here.