Kicking the door open, he clicked his fingers. ‘C.D. out.’ The dog slunk out, giving them a disconsolate look.
Zane slammed the door shut. ‘Okay?’
‘Yes, but…’
Before she could raise any more objections, his mouth swooped down. He grasped her waist and lifted her onto the counter. Dragging her shorts and panties down, he flung them away. Her naked bottom felt cold against the marble. She braced her hands behind her, shocked when he hooked her legs over his shoulders, forcing her to lean back and open for him completely.
He bent to flick his tongue over the swollen flesh. And then concentrated on driving her wild. The hot, rough strokes had her sobbing with staggered pleasure—the last of her defences crashing down as he set his mouth on her clitoris and suckled.
She tried to hold on, to hold back, to stop the rush of sensation devouring her but the ferocious orgasm slammed into her. The glorious wave crashing as She cried out her release.
He raised his head, those sapphire eyes dark with arousal as he released himself from his trousers. She clung to his neck, tasted herself on his lips, as he held her thighs apart, and plunged deep.
The raw shock of penetration—so full, so stretched—was nothing to the visceral shock of renewed arousal as he began to thrust—hard and fast. Digging his fingers into her hips, he held her powerless to resist the depth and intensity of his thrusts, the onslaught sending her back over the edge with alarming speed.
The endless orgasm crested, retreated and crested again. Until at last she shattered, her ragged sobs echoing off the cold hard surfaces.
He shouted as his own climax hit, his forehead slick with sweat as he buried his head against her neck and emptied himself into her.
Iona’s hands trembled violently as she clasped the damp hair on Zane’s nape, her body caught in the aftershock of the climax, her heart beating so hard she could feel it hitting her ribs.
What had just happened? She felt as if she’d survived a war—just barely survived it.
She groaned, the large erection still firm as he shifted then withdrew. Readjusting his trousers, he cursed and walked away, leaving her limp and trembling and shaken on the countertop.
She could feel the sticky residue of his semen as she climbed down, her legs like wet noodles as she picked up her knickers and cut-offs and put them on.
He stood by the kitchen’s picture window, his shoulders and back rigid, his hands braced on the sink and his head bowed. The tail of his shirt hung outside his trousers.
‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered, the tone raw with an emotion she didn’t understand.
His head lifted as she approached but he didn’t look at her. The shadows of twilight cast his profile into harsh relief—the lines of exhaustion on his face more pronounced.
‘I’m no better than he is.’ The words came out on a barely audible murmur as if he were talking to himself.
‘What are you apologising for?’ she asked.
He dragged his hand through his hair as he turned to face her. ‘I behaved like an animal. I didn’t even take the time to suit up.’
‘I could have asked you to stop if I’d wanted you to,’ she replied, confused by the shame in his voice. ‘I didn’t.’
‘What makes you think I would have stopped?’
‘Because I know you,’ she said, stunned by the question. ‘And I know you would never do something like that.’
He shook his head. ‘Which proves you don’t know me at all.’
She placed her hand on his back, felt the bunched muscles through the creased cotton. ‘Zane, what are you talking about? We had rough sex. Rough, consensual sex, which we both enjoyed.’ She stroked trying to soothe the tremble of reaction. ‘You have nothing to apologise for. I had more than one orgasm. And I happen to enjoy it more when you don’t hold back.’
He huffed out a weary laugh, but the muscles remained rigid underneath her palm.
‘Who were you talking about?’ she asked, although she was sure she already knew. ‘When you said you’re no better than he is?’
His eyes met hers, the expression in them so sad, so confused she felt her heart constrict.
‘My father. He raped my mother.’ He straightened, and shoved bunched fists into his pockets. ‘That’s how I was conceived.’
Shock came first, swiftly followed by sadness at the controlled contempt in his voice. Was that why he strived so hard for control? Always struggled to hold back a part of himself? Because he thought he was responsible for that?