In the Shadows (The Club, #10) (11 page)

“Stop,” he ordered.

“No,” she retorted, swiping at her eyes with the back of a hand.

Zeke cupped her face in his hands, leaning down so his forehead pressed against hers. “No crying over me, Viv. Save those tears for a better man.”

“You’re a good man,” she sniffled, pressing her hands to his, willing him to understand how much she believed that.

“My one job as a soldier was to protect the men at my side. I failed in that. My job as a son was to keep my mother happy. I failed in that too. Both times I failed, someone I cared about died.” His chest heaved and a muscle in his jaw flexed. “I care about
you
, Viv. And what if I can’t protect you?”

His question festered there, a nightmare too frightening to be brought from the silence. So she ignored it.

He groaned when she pressed her lips to his, a low, guttural noise of need and longing. Tilting her face up, he kissed her with the desperation of a damned man. She clutched the hem of his shirt, peeling it up his torso, making him hiss against her mouth as her fingertips grazed over his ribs. He drew away from her mouth only to rip the shirt off over his head.

She fumbled with his belt buckle. Her fingers shook as she pulled down the tab of his zipper and even when he sprang free into her eager grip, she wanted more. He snarled something foul when she untangled her lips from his, but his oath was cut short when she knelt and wrapped her lips around the crown of his penis.

The harsh intake of his breath spurred her on. He was thick, forcing her to relax her jaw so she could slide her lips down his shaft. His legs shook when she drew back, her teeth lightly scouring his skin, and she reveled in the knowledge that she was in complete control of the moment.

She worked him to the brink of orgasm, until he clung to the edge of the table, grunting and swaying with every flutter of her tongue, every slick thrust toward the back of her throat. Without warning she let him slip from her mouth and smiled when his knees almost went out from under him.

“Floor,” she ordered and he obeyed without question.

She skinned off her shirt and shorts, giving him the briefest moment to view her sheer underwear before that too joined the pile of clothes. The heat of his hands on her hips when she straddled him made up for the cold, hard floor of the apartment and his hips shifted up to meet hers, his cock sliding into place.

She moaned as he filled her, roiling emotions boiling down to the simple relief only found in the vulnerability of bare skin. She forgot the way her knees protested with each rocking undulation she made, ignored the sound of late night traffic through the open windows in favor his harsh breathing, and selfishly claimed whatever bare flesh she could.

Her rhythm was broken for a moment, when he forced her hips to a halt. Sweat glistened on his brow and he panted as she strained against him.

“No condom,” he protested.

“Women have birth control too.”

So much control in his taut body. So much stubbornness. The feverish heat of his skin gave away his desire. But he still held her above him.

Frustrated, she leaned down and nipped his lower lip before nuzzling against his temple. He shivered when her lips brushed her ear and she swore he stopped breathing when she whispered, “I want you to come inside.”

Emboldened by his reaction, she pressed on, voice husky as she imagined it. “I want my thighs slick with your come. I want bruises on my hips from your fingers. And I want you to shout my name–”

He growled and bucked under her, pelvis slamming into hers, driving his cock deep enough to make her gasp. She may have been on top, but it was all she could do to balance herself atop him as he fucked her. Every frantic stroke spun her closer to the edge and when he arched under her, neck cording, rough roar of satisfaction echoing in the loft around them, did she fall over the edge with him.

Her orgasm wrung every drop from him and left him gasping, then wincing, even as his fingers dug into her hips and urged her on. And as the spasms continued to wrack her, he began to laugh, a desperate, overwhelmed sound of joy.

When she finally slumped to his chest, he wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly. “I don’t know how the hell this happened,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to her temple, “but I don’t want to lose you.”

Vivian yawned and snuggled against his broad chest. “So don’t.”

“You aren’t scared of me? Of what I’ve done?”

“The only thing you’ve ever done is make sure I’m safe.” She yawned again, fighting to stay awake long enough to help him understand. “And now that I know you a little better, you know what?”

He tensed under her. “What?”

“I still want you. Okay?”

His soft huff made her hair shift, tickling her cheek. “Okay.”

A
sweet, low ache lifted Vivian from her dreams, drowsiness vanishing at the familiar sensation of Zeke’s lips on her neck and his fingers between her legs. She smiled and spread her legs wider. “Good morning.”

“I’d like to make it one,” he said, sliding the pad of his thumb slowly over her clit.

She shuddered and stretched, breasts jutting higher from the movement. He expertly captured a nipple and flicked his tongue over the point, teeth biting in just hard enough to prevent her from escaping.

“Zeke, I need to get to work.” She reached out for him without thought. Zeke hissed and froze when her hand brushed against his shoulder blade.

The skin beneath her fingers was ridged, a map of crisscrossed wounds intersected by patches of unmarred flesh. A muscle twitched under her hand from how tensely he held himself. She lifted her hand from his back, guilt slicing through her as his captors’ knives had sliced his skin.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Don’t.” She waited in silence as he took a deep breath, then another. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Does it still hurt?”

“No. I just...” Abruptly, he rolled over, covering his eyes with a forearm.

She pushed herself up on an elbow, concern growing the longer he didn’t speak to her. Strangely nervous, she brushed her fingers over his arm. He jerked from the movement, but didn’t uncover his eyes.

“Tell me,” she urged.

“After everything that happened—Syria, my mother—I hate to see those scars.”

“I can understand that.”

“And I don’t let anyone touch them.”

Vivian blinked. “Ever?”

Zeke’s lips curved in a rueful smile. “No.”

She threw a quick glance toward the kitchen area. She still had almost an hour before she had to leave for work. She refused to let this ruin their morning.

Zeke made a grunt of displeasure when she poked him in the ribs. “Roll over.”

“Darlin’, not now–”

“
Now
.”

He grumbled, but obeyed. Once again, he held himself stiffly, as if he were afraid for her to see the damage. And that’s what it was. There could be no denying that the wounds that had been inflicted on him were designed to inflict pain and little else. Certain intersections were more scarred than others, clearly places where he’d been cut more frequently.

“I’m going to touch your back,” she warned, drawing back the sheets so she could clamber on top of him.

“Damn, you’re warm,” he muttered when her core pressed against the top of his hips.

She ignored him and leaned forward, resting her hands lightly on his lower back, mere inches from her legs. She had to steady herself when he jerked and shushed him softly, waiting for him to relax a bit more before pushing her thumbs up along his spine.

He sucked in a breath as her hands moved higher. She pushed against the tension coiled under his uneven skin, letting her hands fan out towards his shoulders when she reached the top of his back. The breath he’d been holding whooshed out and she repeated the movement.

She lost track of how many slow, steady movements she made. She didn’t stop until Zeke made a strangled noise into the pillow. Hands still pressing into his back, she stopped and asked, “Zeke?”

“Oh, God, don’t stop. It feels so fecking good–”

So she continued, thrilled as the knots left his muscles, as he stopped tensing every time she touched him. He was practically limp underneath her when he suddenly shifted, nearly spilling her off his back as he levered himself up on a forearm. He reached underneath his body and did something before settling back down.

Now Vivian couldn’t hide her triumphant smile. “Did I give you a hard-on from a back massage?”

“Maybe.”

She opened her mouth to tease him again, but he twisted under her, cradling her as she toppled onto her back and settling himself between her legs. An easy rock of his hips and his cock slid inside her.

“I wasn’t done,” she protested.

“You gave me a massage and it’s only fair you get one in return,” he said, wicked grin sending heat blooming across her skin. He leaned closer, capturing her lips with a devastating kiss, before whispering, “Although mine is a bit more...intimate.”

“I guess I’ll have to suffer through it.” Her flippant remark devolved into a moan when he pressed deeper.

“Well, I guess if you’re so unhappy about it, I could stop now–”

She dug her nails into the firm flesh of his ass, holding him in place. “Don’t you dare.”

He chuckled. She liked this Zeke. He wasn’t any softer, but there was a lightness to him that called to a part of her that had given up on the hope that she wouldn’t fall for him. It was far,
far
too late for that.

“You seem happy,” she said quietly, running a hand down his cheek.

He closed his eyes, pressing his face against her palm, and kissed her skin. “Happy...” His eyes opened and his blue stare left her split open, raw and vulnerable to him. “With you, I am. Just with you, love.”

***

Z
eke was still smiling to himself as he pulled up to The Club. Only he could make a pronouncement like that, in the most unromantic fashion possible. And only Viv could accept his admission of love without batting an eyelash. She’d given him a beautiful smile and he knew she understood.

He still took full advantage of the moment to show her how much he meant the word. He’d almost made her late for work in the process. He dropped her off, checking for non-existent letters, and waited for her to lock herself safely inside the bakery before heading over to his work.

It felt odd to enter the establishment through its front entrance. The patrons were all gone and for the first time since his hiring, Zeke could stop to appreciate the beauty of the building. The rich colors, polished wood, and modern amenities ensured The Club would hold its place among Karim’s elite. And if Zeke had anything to say about it, he’d never witness that future success.

Preston was waiting for him in the security room. “Got a spring in your step, Irish. Either you bought yourself a new piece or you found yourself a woman.”

“That obvious, sir?”

Preston chuckled and laced his fingers behind his head, relaxing into his comfortable computer chair. “How’s the head?”

Zeke shrugged. “Healing. It’ll be red for a while longer though.”

“Need extra time before you come back on shift?”

Zeke rarely felt nervous. It was a wasteful emotion, one connected to guilt. Too bad he could feel it now. “That’s why I needed to come talk to you, sir.”

“Should I assume this is your two weeks’ notice?”

“It’s a bit more...complicated than that.”

Preston’s keen examination was all curiosity, no frustration. “Interesting.”

He rose and moved toward another desk. Coffee mugs and empty energy drink cans littered the surface, along with piles of binders and loose papers with complicated instructions and notes written all over. The desk’s chair was equally covered in assorted crap, which Preston deftly moved onto the desk. A few swipes with his hand to remove the last vestiges of crumbs and he pushed the chair toward Zeke. “Take a seat.”

“Thank you, sir.” Zeke followed the command and sat. It felt unnatural, reporting to his superior without standing.

“So, gun or girl?”

“Woman.”

Preston grinned. “Even better. How’d she coax you to resign?”

“Actually, I intended to resign before I met her.”

“You’ve been thinking that for over a year, Irish. Why’s it so important to do it now?”

Shit, where did he start? “She’s in trouble.”

The chair creaked when Preston leaned closer, resting his elbows on his knees, face unusually serious. “How?”

“Her name’s Vivian Bennett. She owns Divine Twins Bakery.”

“Great place. Love the food. How serious are we talking?” Preston asked, undeterred from his original question.

“Stalker’s been hunting her for a few months. He’s devolving and starting to take risks. Leaving letters. Slashing her tires. He stopped by her apartment the other night and left a present. The police already know about it all and are working with her, but–”

“Their hands are tied until it gets really shitty,” Preston finished. “Damn, Irish.”

“I don’t know how much Mr. Mak told you about me, but I can keep her safe,” Zeke said, looking down at his boots and feeling that familiar numbing cold taking root inside. “I
need
to keep her safe.”

“He told me you had some extreme training,” Preston said slowly. “And I’ve seen you under pressure. I’m glad she’s got you around. You think it’s going to require some of that training you got?”

“I hope not.” He meant it wholly.

“You were a soldier?”

“POW in Syria.”

“Your scars...”

“Yessir.” He ignored Preston’s grimace and muttered apology. “I’m good at what I do, sir.”

“But–?”

The truth slipped out before he could organize his thoughts. “But I’m tired. I’m tired of violence and keeping honest people safe from perverts who want to abuse this place and I’m fucking exhausted every night I go home from work. If I can’t feel the weight of my guns, I freak out. I’m stateside and don’t feel safe unless they’re right there, ready to draw at any moment.” He took a deep breath and looked up, meeting his boss’s eyes full-on. “I need to protect Viv and I need to do right by Mr. Mak. But I can’t do both and I’m asking for your help.”