Zane (Inked Brotherhood 3)

“You taste amazing,” he says in my ear, and his erection is harder than ever, pressed against my back. “Like strawberries and cream.”

“Oh my God,” I whisper. My body twitches with aftershocks. My eyelids feel heavy. I’ve never come like this before.

He nuzzles my neck. “I want you, Dakota.”

You have me, I want to say, but I just moan instead.

“Need to fuck you,” he says, and his hands move up to my breasts, cupping them. “Right now, right here.”

My body burns at the thought of him entering me. “Oh God, yes.”

He groans and pulls back.

Want to see him, want to watch every detail of his body revealed, but he won’t let me turn, keeping a hand on my shoulder. I hear him toss off his T-shirt, then his zipper opening, and finally the sound of foil being ripped.

Both his hands are now back on my body, stroking up my ribs, massaging my breasts through my blouse, turning my nipples into hard pebbles. My head falls back as the sensations overwhelm me. I’ve never been touched like this before, without seeing the person doing this to me, and although I can picture Zane’s face perfectly in my mind, it’s not the same.

It’s as if my senses have sharpened, throwing every touch into sharp relief. His fingers drag under me, opening me up, and bolts of pleasure shoot through me.

Oh God. “Need you,” I whisper, unable to take this any longer, shaken that I really do need him, like no one ever before. “Please, Zane.”

“Are you ready for me?” he growls in my ear. His broad chest is pressed to my back so that I can feel his muscles shift against me. His fingers push inside me, stroking me, and I’m going to fall apart again soon. Too soon.

“Zane…” I start to twist around, but his other hand grips my hip in a steel vise. His fingers slip out of me.

“Stop,” he grunts. I can hear his ragged breathing at my back.

I freeze. “I want to see you.”

“No.” His breathing is irregular, fast. “Fuck… I need to do this my way. It’s this way or not at all. Do you understand?”

What’s going on? It’s hard to think when his hand moves between my legs again, teasing me. I want to tell him to stop, but my brain is shutting down, giving itself over to pleasure.

“Trust me.” He pants at my back, and something large nudges my throbbing entrance. “It will be good.”

But no matter how much I want him inside me, filling me all the way, no matter how badly I want him to come undone, to lose control—I also need to see him, see his face as he comes, see his body, see if it’s as I imagined it under the clothes.

Get closer.

“Please,” I whisper, my breath catching as the broad head of his erection prods at my entrance again. “Need to see you. Can’t do it otherwise. Please, Zane.”

“Fuck. Fuck!” He shifts behind me, drawing away. I hear the sounds of him standing up. “This won’t work.”

Shit. I twist around. “Why? I’m not asking anything strange. I need to see you.”

He suddenly grabs me around the waist and lifts me in his arms. One minute I’m on the floor, the next I’m thrown over his shoulder, and then I’m dumped on my ass on the sofa. Zane leans over me and slams his hands on the backrest, on either side of my head.

“Why can’t I say no to you?” he growls, his eyes burning black. “I should walk out. I shouldn’t fuck you. I shouldn’t touch you. But I can’t fucking stop.”

I want to ask him why he shouldn’t do all these things to me, but I’m speechless. In the golden light of the lamp, his ripped torso is a work of art—taut muscles, defined pecs, a six-pack to die for and colorful ink everywhere—skulls, spiders, flowers, wings and a huge oriental dragon. His small brown nipples are pierced with silver studs, and I want to touch them, see how sensitive they are.

But then my gaze trails lower, and I lose that train of thought, too. Whoa. His pants are open and riding low on his hips, his briefs pulled down, and his hard-on juts out, big and flushed, pointing up. He’s so much bigger than I thought, and that’s not all. On the fully exposed underside, his cock is pierced with a series of silver studs, like a ladder.

A Jacob’s Ladder. Holy shit.

“Still want me?” he drawls, and my gaze shoots back up to his face. His expression is unreadable, his dark eyes flat.

He needs to ask? He’s gorgeous, and my body aches with need.