Beyond Possession (Beyond #5.5) (7 page)

Zan ground against her with a grunt. "You're so tight."

"I know." She wrapped her legs around his hips, holding him to her. "I love it like this. Almost too much. Almost too big."

He huffed out a sound that was half laugh, half moan. "Never."

"Almost," she repeated, sliding her hands to his shoulders. The muscles tensed under her fingertips, and she traced them down to his strong arms. "I can take you."

His hips flexed again. "I know."

But he still wasn't moving, in spite of the tension in his body. So much restraint, and she wanted to know what happened when it snapped. Curling her fingers, she dug her nails into his shoulders, with only a fleeting regret that he still had his shirt on. "Make me feel you."

Zan kissed her again, then licked the line of her jaw. "You sure about that, sweetheart?"

She thumped a heel against his ass, damn close to growling. He was so big inside her, but so
still
, all that pressure against a million oversensitive nerves and no friction to relieve it. "How are you not moving?" she demanded, clawing at him.

"Careful what you wish for." The muscles in his arms bunched and shifted as he propped himself up to stare down at her.

Then he drove into her. Hard.

It was intense. Insane. Nothing short of overwhelming, and that was what she needed. He filled her so completely there was room for nothing else. Just him, and her, and her struggle to help him get as deep as he could go, because the edge of discomfort was already fading.

He braced himself on one bulging arm and locked his other under one of her knees, pushing her leg up.

His next thrust was even better. Hotter. He had her spread open for him, helpless to do anything except take—but he was giving her anything she demanded. Nothing like the clean lines of power Gia had preferred, but a beautiful tangle of instinct and need.

Tatiana clutched at the pillow again, giving him the one thing he'd asked for in return. Trust.

Zan plunged into her, over and over, scattering the last bits of rational thought she'd managed to cling to. Sometimes shallow, sometimes deep, but always hard.

He shifted his weight again. He rose on his knees, just as he had before, until the only thing connecting them was the most intimate thing imaginable—his cock inside her.

His command was unthinkable—and arousing as hell. "Fuck me, Tatiana."

Whimpering at the loss, she scrambled for purchase and lifted her hips, driving up to close the distance between them. And it was different like this, the angle so, so sharp. Her whole body trembled when she made the first grinding circle, working his shaft against the hungriest places inside her.

His hand fell to her thigh, his fingers biting in to her flesh. "More."

She tried, but her legs were unsteady, shaking every time her hips bumped his and pleasure sparked, centered on her aching clit. She pressed harder, trying to rub up against him, desperate again and teetering on the edge. "Help me, please—"

Her words cut off as he met her next grind with a snap of his hips.

Rational thought scattered.
Everything
scattered, except that heat building inside her and the promise of something beautiful as she slammed up into him again, only to meet a thrust that rolled her eyes back.

This was everything. Primal. Slick. Raw. She opened her eyes to meet his and gasped in a breath. "Let me— Can I—?" Her tongue tangled on the words, the dirty, crude words, but the surge of his cock inside her shattered the ability to feel shame. "Let me touch my clit."

"No," he rasped. "You want something, you ask me."

The command buzzed in her ears. She flexed her fingers, forcing herself to obey. She felt stretched too tight, and every second he held her like this, right on the edge, only made the fall that was coming more intimidating.

She was going to come so hard. She was going to come
forever
. But only because he wouldn't let her let go until the last possible second.

"Touch me," she whispered, because she had to. She didn't even know if she wanted him to agree, or to deny her. Everything was sharp and achy and she couldn't look away from his eyes. "Please, make me come."

His hand trailed slowly from her thigh to rest just below her navel. "Touch you where?"

No more hesitation. Dirty words fell from her lips along with her pleas. "My pussy. My clit. Please, Zan, I'm so close, I can't—I can't take..."

He lifted his hand to her mouth, pushed his thumb inside to glide over her tongue—and reached down to rub the slick pad over her clit.

She came apart. Slow, at first, that one moment where the burn flared up into warm, liquid relief. She choked on a sob, arching up into him one last time, and then it was fast and blurry, pleasure pounding all the way to her fingertips as her pussy clenched around him.

Zan growled and braced his arms on either side of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair. He plunged into her, each thrust coming harder and faster until he stiffened, her name on his lips.

She collapsed in a sprawl of shaky limbs. Zan rolled to one side, falling to the bed beside her, his chest heaving.

He was only inches away, but she couldn't move. She tried to roll toward him, and her body just...wouldn't. She was utterly wrung out, most of her still throbbing in time with her racing heart. Her throat felt raspy, and she wondered how much noise she'd made—and who might have heard.

Probably no one. None of the shop owners around her slept above their shops like she did. Anyone else prowling the market after dark had more important things to worry about than who was fucking their brains out. She had a pistol in her bedside table for a reason—and she'd used it. More than once.

But she wouldn't have to use it tonight. That was the thought that gave her the strength to curl into Zan, rubbing her cheek against his shoulder as she threw an arm across his chest. "I'm still wearing my boots."

That made him laugh. "So am I."

He was still wearing everything, which was almost a pity. She smoothed her hand down his chest and snuck under his shirt to stroke the warm skin of his stomach. "I'll get us both naked. When I remember how to stand up."

His grin vanished along with his laughter. "I shouldn't stay. If someone saw me leaving now, we could explain it. After a few hours? Not so much."

It was her own rule, her demand—and it settled like a cement block in her gut, ripping away the pleasant afterglow. A few good orgasms and she'd already gotten stupid enough to risk her future, just for the fleeting comfort of having someone else in her bed.

She pulled away and straightened her skirt. "I can pack up a bag with a few things Lex and Rachel wanted. If anyone sees you, that's a decent reason."

"Sounds good." He sat up and dragged his hands through his hair. "It's not that I don't want to stay, Tatiana. But we have to be careful."

She rescued her shirt and tugged it over her head before turning to face him. "You could have, though. You could have risked it or gotten caught on purpose."

"I wouldn't do that, not after I made you a promise." His eyes were guarded. "I keep my promises."

Fantastic orgasms were easier to grasp than that simple statement. His leader needed Tatiana's allegiance—or at least the appearance of it. Zan wanted her body. She'd handed him both, and he'd...

He'd been sweet to her.

Damn it.

She was still wearing her boots, but her panties were gone, lost wherever he'd tossed them. She stood up anyway, because she needed the space—physically and emotionally. "Thank you."

His wary look sharpened. "For keeping my promise, or for the fuck?"

For both, sugar.
That was the Stone answer, sharp and cutting, pain delivered for pain received. But she'd brought this hurt on herself, and what was the point of her damn life if she couldn't live beyond where she'd come from?

"For the reminder," she said instead, pulling the curtain back. It helped dispel the illusion, bringing the gritty reality of her sad little apartment into their fantasy world. "It's easy to forget that promises can mean something."

The bed creaked, and she heard the rustle of clothing being righted. "I'll always be straight with you. You may not like it much when I am, but it'll be there."

Another promise. Maybe he handed them out like candy. Maybe he wandered the sector, being everyone's hero. Strong and honest and telling it like it is. What a luxury it must be, to have enough power to be honest and keep promises.

She'd have to settle for not breaking any. So she didn't offer to always be straight with him. She couldn't.

She already knew she couldn't do this again.

And if she told him now, her resolve would falter. It wouldn't take much. A touch, a kiss. A promise—he had so many of them, one to soothe every fear and worry in her heart. So she'd tell him later, away from her bed. After she'd forgotten the feel of him moving above her, against her,
inside
her.

That was another thing Stones were good at. Avoiding a fight like a fucking coward.

When Dallas was helping out with physical therapy, he didn't bother with things like bags and shadowboxing. He strapped on his battered gloves and fully expected Zan to hit him in the fucking face.

Zan ducked a quick left and wove around to the other side of their makeshift ring. "Things may not be as simple as we thought."

"They never are." Dallas was still going easy on him, giving him a chance to warm up, but that wouldn't last much longer. Dallas's next swing was too swift to duck, forcing Zan to block with his injured side. His stiff muscles screamed, and Dallas edged back to give him time to recover.

No, they never were—especially when it came to women. Tatiana had damn near melted into him, but it didn't take a genius to understand the look on her face afterwards. A one-time thing, no matter what she'd said about being down for a quiet, discreet affair.

Irritated, he took his own jab at Dallas. "I screwed up. Maybe."

Dallas knocked his arm aside hard enough to rattle bone. "Yeah? Did you screw
her
?"

"What do you think?" he snapped.

Dallas lifted an eyebrow, but his gaze was serious—and sympathetic. "So where'd it go wrong—in bed, or after?"

After. Definitely after. Zan wasn't a smug man, overly impressed with his own game, but he knew when a woman got off. And Tatiana got off on him. Hard. "She's scared. Who wouldn't be?"

"Only an idiot." Dallas's next swing was lazy, slow, but it wasn't a ploy. His leader had fallen deep into thought, his body moving solely on instinct. "You've been watching the crafters for years. How bad is it? How much will we lose if we have to wipe Wallace's supporters out?"

"The goods? Not much. He doesn't have as many of the crafters solidly behind him as he wants everyone to think." Zan pulled back, just a little. Drawing the other man in toward his center. "The real problem is bigger. You wipe those guys out, and you start to look a lot more like Stone than before."

"And then everyone can hate me." Dallas blew out a frustrated breath. "Tatiana can put a stop to it, but only while they're still running on grumbles and nostalgia. If this picks up too much steam, we'll have to risk a little hate. So what's her price? The sister?"

"She says so." But that would be too easy.

Dallas struck without warning, a left hook that might have knocked a smaller man clear off his feet. Zan dodged the blow—barely. "So what's her
real
price?"

"I don't know yet," he hedged. "Catalina's part of it. The rest is...confusing."

"Well, shit." Dallas backed off, dropping both hands to his sides. "I'm not above snatching them both up and stashing them somewhere safe while we hash it out. It's not ideal..."

The temptation to jump on the words in agreement made Zan's tongue itch. "I think we should wait and see."

"I trust your judgment," Dallas replied, quiet but firm. "And I trust that if this girl starts screwing with your judgment, you'll tell me."

It sounded like a question—and a warning. Zan opened his mouth to say something,
anything
, only to snap it shut when the back door to the warehouse opened.

Lex walked in, her hair swinging behind her in a sleek ponytail. "What's the word?"

Dallas snorted. "It's complicated."

"I bet." She turned to Zan, one eyebrow cocked. "You'd better make it work, honey. A woman like that? She's spent her whole life with other people bossing her around, thinking they know better than her. If we kidnap her, she won't appreciate it. And she sure as hell won't be touching your dick again."

"Charming as always, Parrino." Zan leaned in to kiss her cheek. "But I'm not the one who calls the shots."

Dallas snaked an arm around Lex and tugged her against his side. "Yeah, well, you're gonna have to get right with your options. If kidnapping her's the only way to keep her alive..."

"Then she can hate me all she wants," Zan answered. "At least she'll be safe while she does it."

"See? He's got this." Easy words, undoubtedly meant to reassure, but Zan had lost his leader's attention. After years of being the hardest man in the sector, Dallas O'Kane had given in to his one weakness—the woman snuggled to his chest. When Lex walked into a room, everyone and everything else took a back seat.

It was damn cute—when it wasn't damn infuriating.

"Tatiana will listen to reason," Zan said. "She likes living."

"Depends on what kind of woman she is," Dallas drawled, sliding a hand down Lex's back. "Ask Lex what she'd do if that was her sister."

"He'd regret fucking around with
my
sister," she answered immediately. "If he lived long enough."

An approving smile curved Dallas's lips as he met Zan's gaze over Lex's head. "Find out her price, Zan. Because letting Tatiana Stone put a knife in that bastard would work just fine for me, but I don't think it'd turn out so good for her."

Or for the O'Kanes. It might not be so much of a stretch for people to whisper about how that had been Dallas's plan all along. "Got it. I won't let you down."