Dirty For Me (Motor City Royals) (16 page)

Ten silent minutes later they stopped outside a building Tamara recognized. Zee’s gym. He unlocked the door and held it open for her, and she stepped inside into the familiar dim hallway.

He didn’t speak, taking her hand again and this time he headed not for the gym entrance but for the stairs at one side of the foyer.

She followed, going up her second set of stairs for the night. But this time they didn’t keep heading up, stopping at the first floor where Zee halted outside another door, unlocking it with another key.

He turned to her as he held the door open, his eyes full of challenge. He didn’t say a word, but somehow she knew what that look meant nonetheless.

Cross the threshold if you dare. The choice is yours.

Tamara didn’t even hesitate. She stepped through the doorway.

The hallway beyond was plain and painted white, the light from the stairwell shutting off as Zee followed her, closing the door behind him.

Tamara stopped, unsure of where to go. Her heart was racing, her breathing coming faster and faster. She could feel his heat behind her, smell the scent of him, clean sweat and that intoxicating spice. So good. She began to turn to him, but all of a sudden his hand was on the back of her neck, and she was being propelled down the white hallway, past a few doors, down toward an open doorway at the end.

A shiver chased over her skin, her body already gathering itself in anticipation, responding helplessly to the feeling of his hand on her neck.

Inside the room, she caught a glimpse of tall windows and the view of the street outside, a big, low bed that sat underneath them, a chest of drawers, and then that glimpse was cut off as Zee let go of her neck, then shoved her down onto her front on the bed.

She turned over, her heart racing.

But he didn’t follow her, only stood there, looking down at her, all six feet and three inches of lean, hard muscle. Then, with a fluid movement, he pulled his T-shirt off over his head and threw it on the ground, his hands going to the button on his jeans and undoing it.

Tamara swallowed, unable to tear her gaze from his perfectly defined torso. She moved forward, putting her hands out, wanting to touch, but he got to her first, one hand flashing out to grip her throat as the other one pulled down the tab of his zipper.

His fingers curled around her, holding on tight as he pulled her toward him. Then he bent his head, his mouth covering hers.

He kissed her as if she were one of his opponents and he was aiming for nothing short of her total submission. As if she were a city he wanted to conquer, shattering every defense, invading, marauding. Taking her mouth and devouring her like nothing could stop him.

He tasted of lightning, too, an electricity that grounded right through her body, from the top of her head to her toes, lighting her up with the same fire that was burning inside of him. Desperate and raw and primal. A force of nature.

Tamara tried to respond in kind, but he was having none of it.

He released her, leaving her panting and shivering, stepping back as he pulled down the zipper of his jeans. “Stay there and don’t move,” he ordered in a dark voice. “This is my show tonight.”

She took a ragged breath, her body wanting to obey even if her own hunger wanted to tell him to stick it. Her fingers itched, desperate to touch, but she kept her hands to herself, watching as he got rid of his boots, then shoved his jeans down and stepped out of them.

He wasn’t wearing boxers, which meant he stood there in nothing but his ink, the phoenix soaring up one arm and over his shoulder. The dragon on his other arm. The words on his back. God, it wasn’t fair. She wanted to touch like she had that night in the bath, tracing her fingers all over those fascinating marks. They all had a story, a meaning, she just knew it. And she wanted to know what it was.

But not now, that much was clear.

He stood in front of her, blocking out the room, towering over her, the look in his eyes like fire, his cock hard and ready against the flat plane of his abdomen.

Then he bent and the hoodie was being yanked up and over her head. He threw the material aside and knelt on the bed, staring down at her, the heat of his gaze moving over the tank she’d put on. Her nipples had gone tight and hard, pushing against the fabric stretched across her breasts, making it obvious she wore no bra underneath it.

Zee lifted his hands and with one sharp movement, he ripped the thing in half.

She sucked in a breath as he shoved the remains of the material off her shoulders, every nerve ending she had coming alive to the touch of his hands. Her breasts ached, the pulse of desire deep in her sex. Her hands were in fists at her sides and she couldn’t stand it, the need to touch him almost too much.

“Zee,” she said thickly. “Please, I want—”

“Lie back.”

“Zee.”

His silver eyes were brilliant with desire, with anger. “Do as you’re fucking told.”

Tamara stared at him, feeling something inside her flare in response. Part anger, part excitement, part defiance. An answer to a challenge.

No, she wasn’t going to be the good little rich girl tonight. She wasn’t going to sit there and do what she was told, let him have all the control. This was her last night with him, the last night to be the woman she’d discovered she was inside.

Fuck it. She wasn’t going to give in without a fight.

Tamara smiled and pushed herself back on the bed, her hands moving to the fastenings on her own jeans, undoing the buttons, reaching for the zipper.

The flame in his eyes leapt. “Stop. I was planning on doing that.”

“Stop fucking around then.” She jerked her zipper down and lifted her hips, pushing down her jeans and taking her panties with them, easing them down her thighs slowly, giving him a show. “For a martial arts fighter, you’re pretty damn slow.”

He made a growling sound and moved, his body suddenly coming over hers, his hands on either side of her head, his gaze holding hers. She could feel the heat of him against her skin like a bonfire burning hot.

She didn’t look away from him and didn’t stop what she was doing, sliding her jeans and panties off, wriggling to get them down her legs. The look in his eyes intensified and she felt a surge of triumph as his gaze swept down her body, almost as if he couldn’t help himself.

“You shouldn’t do shit like that,” he murmured. “Bad girls don’t get what they want.”

“I don’t need you to get what I want.” The room was dark, but the light coming through the windows was enough to see his face, see the flush along his high cheekbones and the muscle flicking in his jaw. “I can get it all by myself.” Dangerous to taunt him like this and yet it was thrilling, too. Made her feel powerful.

She slid her hand down to her stomach and then farther still, brushing the damp curls between her thighs, watching his face.

“Jesus.” Zee shifted, his fingers curling around her wrist and jerking her hand away. “You’re asking for trouble, baby. I’m already fucking angry. It’s not a good idea to push me.” He forced her hand up and over her head, pinning it to the bed.

A brief flare of panic went through her, the same as it had when he’d held her down in her apartment. Reminding her too much of Will and his inexplicable rages, his frightening flashes of violence.

But no. This wasn’t Will. This was Zee. And she wasn’t helpless.

Tamara gulped in a heaving breath, arching her body, her breasts almost brushing Zee’s chest. He cursed again. “Fucking keep still.”

She didn’t, lifting her other hand to touch his chest, sliding it down over his hot skin, all oiled silk and hard muscle. Going lower and lower, reaching for his cock.

He gave another curse and grabbed her other hand, pinning that one above her head too so she lay stretched out beneath him. Ostensibly helpless and yet, she didn’t feel helpless. Not in the slightest. If anything, even though he was holding her down with effortless strength, it was as if the balance of power was with her.

A bubble of excitement gathered in her chest. “Come on,” she taunted him softly. “I thought you said you weren’t doing gentle.”

His gaze came to hers, polished steel and tarnished silver. Sharp as swords.

Then he moved again, his hands on her hips, shoving her right up against the wooden headboard of the bed, with the neon lights of the city falling down around them.

“Put your hands on the headboard,” he ordered. “And hold on fucking tight.”

Anticipation coiled tight inside her. She wanted to disobey him, see what he would do, push him further. There was something wild in him that thrilled her, the crackling energy like a current beneath his skin, and she wanted to let it out. Let it burn both of them.

“What would you do if I didn’t?” She pushed herself up, reaching out to him again.

This time Zee didn’t bother cursing. He grabbed one wrist, picked up one half of the tank top he’d ripped, and with ruthless efficiency tied her wrist to the slatted wood of the headboard. Then before she could move or protest, he did the same with her other hand.

Tamara trembled, flexing her wrists, then pulling against the ties, testing them.

“You wanted to know what I’d do.” Zee’s eyes gleamed. “Now are you going to shut the fuck up and let me screw you or what?”

Kneeling between her legs, he leaned over to the nightstand beside the bed, tugging open a drawer and pulling out a condom packet before ripping it open. Then he rolled the latex down over himself.

All his movements were quick, efficient. Sharp. And when he turned back to her, the look on his face blazed.

The wild thrill burned hot in her blood, her breathing coming in short, fast pants. She wanted to protest again, push him again, and yet she wanted him to touch her more. Because, God, he hadn’t even done that yet and she was desperate.

“So do it,” she said huskily. “Or is playing with bits of fabric all you’ve got?”

Zee smiled, hungry and feral, and leaned forward, never looking away from her, sliding one hand beneath her right leg and lifting it up and out. Next, he placed his hand on the bed and hooked her right knee over his arm, keeping her leg up. Then he pushed her left leg up and out, holding it to the side.

She shuddered, feeling herself spread open, held ready for him.

“No, baby,” he murmured. “That’s not all I got.”

Then he shifted his hips, thrusting forward, pushing deep and hard into her.

Tamara gasped, her whole body trembling with the delicious, vicious stretch of him inside her. Her inner muscles clenched hard on his cock, her hips already trying to rise, to increase the friction.

Yet he didn’t move, the weight of him pressing down on her adding to the sensation, maddening her. His jaw was tight, his whole body tense as if he was holding back.

“Zee.” The word came out before she could stop it.

“So you’re begging me now?” He lowered his head, his face inches from hers. “Not so smart anymore, are you? You got my cock in you and you’re desperate already.” He flexed his hips, making her groan as his gaze raked down her body, lingering at where they were joined. “You don’t get to give me orders, pretty girl,” he murmured, the words threaded through with darkness and raw hunger. “You’re in my bed and that means you’re here for me. So keep your legs spread and hold on tight. I’m gonna fuck you so hard you’re gonna scream.”

Then he slowly drew back, his cock sliding out, before slamming back into her again.

And again. And again.

She couldn’t think, couldn’t speak. With every thrust he went deeper inside her, the weight of his body shaking her, making the headboard slam against the windowsill. Her knuckles were white as she held on, trying to meet him, trying to match him.

But he was too much.

His eyes were silver fire, lightning in them as he reared over her, and she couldn’t look away, utterly caught by the fierce intensity of him. Consumed by it.

Zee shifted one hand off her left thigh and pressed down on her clit with his thumb as he thrust hard and deep, keeping his other arm right where it was, up near her shoulder with her leg hooked around it. Keeping her wide and open.

She screamed at the vicious pleasure of it, trying to move with him, lift her hips and take him as much as he was taking her. But he wouldn’t let her. All she could do was go with it as he stroked her, fucked her harder and faster, murmured wicked, filthy things to her, his voice all guttural and ragged.

Then all at once she ignited again, the climax blazing through her like the backdraft of an inferno, burning away every last vestige of Tamara.

Setting her free to soar like a phoenix from the ashes.

H
e could feel her tight little pussy clench hard around him, her hoarse scream echoing in the bedroom as she stiffened beneath him, her body arching.

But he didn’t stop. He physically couldn’t.

Pleasure as irresistible and inexorable as a tidal wave was carrying him along and all he could do was ride it. Driving himself hard into her, the heat and musky scent of her making him feel drunk and hungry and desperate. Feeding his strange, inexplicable anger, too.

So many different sensations he couldn’t work out which was which.

So he only concentrated on one: pleasure.

He moved in her, the wet heat of her body holding him tight, her desperate cries in his ears as he shifted his hand from her pussy to cover one of hers where it gripped the headboard. Then he held on too, thrusting deeper, harder. Working out all the adrenaline left over from the fight in her.

Losing himself.

The climax came and like a wave it took him under, drowned him, shattering him completely, his own ragged cry joining hers in the echoing silence of the bedroom. And for long moments all he could do was hold on with one hand to the headboard, his forehead resting against hers, listening to her hectic breathing as the beat of his own heart began to slow.

He was buried deep inside her and he didn’t want to move.

“That was incredible,” she murmured at last, sounding all throaty and husky. “You’re amazing, Zee.”

Through the slowly subsiding roar of his climax, he felt something shift and turn inside him, though he wasn’t quite sure what it was.

He’d wanted to scare her, maybe break her, frighten her enough to make her go back to where she came from and stay there.

But . . . that did not sound as if she’d been broken. Not even a bit.

Slowly, he lifted his head, looked down into her face.

She was lying back against the headboard, her hands still tied to the wood. There were marks around her wrists from where she’d pulled against the ties, and he could see some darkening bruises from his hands, too.

Jesus Christ. He’d been a fucking animal with her.

He wasn’t supposed to give in to the darkness. He was supposed to be in control of himself, yet tying Tamara up against the headboard and fucking her was not being in control. That was giving in to it in a big way.

And yet . . . she hadn’t seemed scared by any of that. In fact, if anything she’d taunted him on.

The thought came out of the blue like a roundhouse kick he hadn’t seen coming, the impact shoving all the air from his lungs.

Madison had been so young—hell, they both had—but she’d also been innocent. Brought up in one of those privileged families in Grosse Pointe, gritty reality hadn’t hit her in the face until she’d come to the party where they’d met. And even then, he’d tried to protect her from it.

She’d known what he was, who he was, but he’d shielded her from the realities of his father’s business, keeping their dates as normal and as far from his father as possible. Movies and fancy restaurants and picnics. Drives in his car. She’d been so soft and sweet, and when he’d first made love to her, he’d been so afraid of breaking her he’d hardly touched her at all.

She didn’t know his dark side because she’d never seen it. He’d never shown her.

But he’d shown Tamara. And Tamara had liked it.

His chest tightened and for a second he couldn’t breathe.

A crease appeared between Tamara’s brows. “You okay?”

Fuck, he couldn’t deal with this. Madison was gone and Tamara sure as shit wasn’t going to be her replacement. No one would be. At least not while his goddamn father was still alive.

“Yeah.” He said the word roughly, turning away to undo the ties on her wrists, releasing her.

Then he pulled out of her, moving off the bed to visit the bathroom just off the bedroom, throwing the condom in the wastebasket there.

Bending over the sink, he splashed some water into his face, trying to clear his head.

Why the fuck was he getting all wound up over Tamara? Every time he’d ask himself this and every time, he couldn’t figure out a decent answer.

First he’d been angry with her, then he’d wanted to rip her clothes off. Now she’d made his chest go tight with something he didn’t understand. And all because she’d let him tie her up and fuck her hard.

Jesus, he was a mess. What he needed to do was tell her what he was, then get rid of her.

In the mirror above the sink he caught a flash of movement and when he looked up, he caught her dark eyes staring at him. She was in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe, utterly and gloriously naked and seemingly not giving a shit about it. But that lovely warm smile had gone, something like anger in her gaze.

“Don’t tell me,” she said, her voice flat. “You want me to go.”

Slowly he straightened, brushing the water away from his face with one hand, then turning around to face her.

“You got what you wanted.”

“A night, Zee. I wanted one whole night.”

“And I guess you’re used to getting whatever you want, whenever you want it.”

She blinked. “Is that yet another rich girl dig? God, get yourself some new insults. That one’s getting old.”

Angry, he should be getting angry. But somehow his anger had vanished and no matter how much he reached for it, there was only emptiness inside him.

He leaned back against the basin, the porcelain cold beneath his hands. “You want another round? Then get the fuck back to bed and I’ll be there in a minute.”

But she didn’t move. “What did I do? I know I did something. Was it the fight? I know it’s not because you don’t want me. Your cock’s not that good a liar.”

His fingers curled around the edge of the sink. He’d been so set to tell her before and now that he’d gotten rid of at least some of that sexual heat, it should have been easy to say. Yet the truth didn’t seem to want to come.

Well, shit. It was going to be over anyway though, wasn’t it? After tonight, he was never going to see her again.

“If I tell you, it’ll change things, pretty girl. I guarantee that.”

She frowned. “Change things how?”

“It’ll change how you see me for a start.” He tried to ignore why that mattered.

She stared at him. “Why? Have you done something bad?”

He shifted against the sink, uncomfortable for reasons he didn’t want to examine. Because he had done bad stuff before he’d met Madison. He’d been part of his father’s empire, had tried the alcohol and the drugs and the women that had come with it—shit, he’d only been seventeen, like a kid in a candy store. He’d also been a part of roughing people up, the people Joshua thought needed a little bit of “encouragement.”

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I did a whole lotta bad things once.”

Her throat moved, her gaze searching his face as if looking for something. “Tell me.”

“You heard of Joshua Chase?”

The crease between her brows deepened. “The investor?”

“Yeah, that’s him. He also owns the underground here in Detroit. The drug rings, the weapons deals. He’s got half the gangs in his pocket and at least two outlaw motorcycle clubs. He’s a bad motherfucker.” Zee paused. “And he’s my father.”

Tamara’s eyes widened. “Holy crap.”

“My name isn’t Ezekiel. It’s Damian Chase and I’ve been in Royal for the past ten years trying to build a new life for myself.”

“Zee—”

“No, let me finish. Somehow the bastard found out where I am, and the fight you came to tonight was supposed to end with me confronting his fucking lieutenant and delivering a message. But I couldn’t because guess what happened?”

Her face slowly paled. “Oh . . .”

“That guy who grabbed your arm? That was Victor Krupin, Dad’s right-hand man.”

She blinked rapidly. “But Gideon was there. He got me away. So why didn’t you stay to deliver your message or whatever?”

“Because you were still around. Because ten years ago, Dad had my girlfriend’s car run off the road and she died. And I’m not gonna let another woman be put in danger again just because she happened to get tangled up with me.”

There was shock in her eyes. “He . . . killed her?”

“Yeah, he did.”

“But . . . why? What did she do?”

Zee didn’t want to talk about it, go through digging up that old shit again. But he was the one who’d brought it up and so he made himself go on. “Dad told me she was a bad influence. Because she didn’t want me to join the family business. She thought I was better than that. But no one gets out once they’re part of it and most especially not if you’re born into it.” A familiar grief locked hard in his chest. “So he had her taken out.”

Tamara’s mouth opened. “Oh . . . Zee . . .”

There was sympathy in her eyes, and for some reason that hurt. But he hardened himself against the unexpected pain and lifted one shoulder as if it didn’t matter. “It was a long time ago.”

A heavy silence fell, one he didn’t particularly want to break.

Then she said, “I’m not your girlfriend, you know that, right? You don’t have to protect me.”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re not supposed to be here in Royal and you’re not supposed to be with me. I can’t let anything like that happen again to another woman. I won’t.” He held her gaze, made her see how much he meant it. “Which is why you’re gonna go back to your apartment after this and you’re gonna stay there. And you’re never gonna see me again, understand?”

Her gaze flickered. “I know that. It was always going to be that way anyway, right?”

There was something in her voice he didn’t recognize, an undercurrent he didn’t understand. It made him want to justify himself. “I never promised you anything different, Tamara. Hell, you shouldn’t even have come down here again in the first place.”

Abruptly she looked away from him, her arms tightened across her chest, hiding her beautiful breasts. “How was I supposed to know you’re the son of some crime boss? Like I told you, I just wanted to see you one more time.”

Another silence fell, the atmosphere in the bathroom thick with tension.

He pushed himself away from the basin, not knowing what he was going to do, whether to go past her and get dressed or pick her up and sling her over his shoulder and take her to bed again.

Then, when he was halfway across the bathroom from her, she looked at him, brown eyes steady, direct. “You’re wrong. It doesn’t change the way I see you.”

He stopped, staring at her. “It should. Shit, Madison died because she got involved with me—”

“Gideon told me about you before you came to the garage tonight. He told me about the gym and the programs you’re setting up for the outreach center. And that you donate all your fight winnings to local charities.”

The tight thing in his chest was back, twisting hard. Because if he wasn’t careful, history would start repeating itself, another woman seeing something in him that wasn’t there and getting hurt because of it. “No, fuck no. Don’t go putting me up on a pedestal. I’m not a fucking saint.”

But her dark gaze swept him up and down. “Of course you’re not. Any fool can see that. But you don’t want her to have died in vain and you’re doing what you can to right the balance, aren’t you?”

He felt like she’d punched him in the chest, clear through his rib cage, leaving a hole right the way through to his heart. How she’d understood so easily, so quickly, was beyond him.

“How the fuck would you know?” he demanded, defensive anger stirring.

“Because I know a little something about balances.” She made no move, staring at him. “You wanted to know what happened with my brother? Well . . .” Her chest rose sharply. “I shot him.”

Now he felt like she’d not only left a hole in his chest, but also had gotten her fingers around his heart. He couldn’t think of anything to say so he said nothing.

“I told you he got violent? Well, one day he did. He was . . . going to throw me out of the plate glass window.” All the color had leached out of her skin, her cheeks deathly pale. “I didn’t know how to stop him. He was too big and too strong and nobody was home. So I managed to get away from him long enough to get to my Dad’s study because I knew he had a gun in his drawer. I thought if Will followed me, I’d wave it at him, maybe snap him out of it.” Her throat moved, a convulsive swallow. “But he didn’t. I shouted at him and pointed that stupid gun at him, but he just kept on coming. . . .” She stopped. “He was shouting stuff, something about how I was the devil and he had to kill me. And I knew that he’d do it and that this time I had to stop him somehow. So I pulled the trigger.”

He didn’t know how it happened. One minute he was in the middle of the bathroom, the next he was in the doorway, his arms sliding around her, pulling her close. She went stiff, her hands coming up to press against his chest. “Don’t. I didn’t say this for pity and I don’t need you to make this—”

“Shut the fuck up.” He pulled her hands away from his chest and put them up above her head, pinning them there. Then he looked down into her pale face. “Did he die?”

Her eyes were huge, dark as space, and he could see the pain in them, no matter how hard she tried to hide it. She didn’t try to pull away, only looked back at him. “Yes.” The word was defiant. “I shot him and he died. So you see, you’re not the only one with ghosts. You’re not the only one who’s trying to balance things out. You’re not alone, Zee.”