It had only intensified when I lay down, all of the thoughts I had locked away thundering into my mind once I had turned off the light.
The shame I had felt when he had cruelly kicked me out. The cold glint in his eyes. Then the hot flame I felt with his touch. The sex that was the best I had ever had. That look, right after, before his eyes had shuttered over. That look that could almost be described as tender had it not been on such a hard face. It was something more than simple tenderness; it was tortured tenderness. Something had stirred in his eyes, something that had struck a chord within me because I had demons of my own, residing in the dark corners of my mind. That’s why that hurt all the more when he dismissed me, caused me to feel shame.
That shame was quickly replaced by anger. No, by fury. How could he act like I was the reincarnation of Hitler’s wife for days, and then out of the blue, fuck me against the wall of his house? Fuck me with an urgent passion, which made me shiver just thinking about it. Then cast me aside like some…whore.
On that thought I saw red. I threw back the blankets and shoved my arms into an old flannel shirt. I didn’t even think about footwear, anger transcending common sense.
My rage did not dissipate as I unlocked the doors and stomped across the street. It did not dull even as my bare feet touched the cobbled stones of his walkway. It stayed with me as I pounded loudly on his front door. I kept pounding until a light was switched on.
The door opened and Zane seemed to jerk in surprise to see me in it. Luckily, he was fully clothed this time. How it was he answered the door fully clothed in the middle of the night and half naked in broad daylight I had no idea. I barely registered that he was holding a gun at his side, which normally would have been a big fucking deal.
“You are a dick,” I spat at him. Manners be gone. Obviously reason was long gone also, considering I was insulting an armed man. “You cannot treat me,” I paused, “no, strike that…you cannot treat any woman the way you treated me,” I hissed. “You don’t like me for some unknown reason. Fine. Your loss. But I’ll have you know most people like me. I’m likable. I’m nice. But you don’t think so? Whatever—that’s your prerogative.” I pointed at him again. “If you don’t like me, send all the death glares you like. I’ll learn to get used to them.” Total lie, but I was on a roll. “Speak to me in grunts…actually, don’t speak to me at all. I’m not bothered.” Another lie. “But, do not, after doing all of these things, drag me into your house, have sex with me,” I stopped, breathing heavily before continuing, “and treat me like a whore.” I hissed at him again. “Who do you think you are? Do you think some air of menace, the vest you wear and some good bone structure gives you the excuse to–”
I didn’t get the chance to finish my rant because of the hand that fastened around my neck and yanked me against a hard body. Before I knew it Zane’s mouth was plastered to mine. And, because he had caught me mid-sentence, his tongue had prime access to mine. He managed to get me inside and slam the door behind me without his mouth leaving mine. With the slam of the door though, came the surging of coherent thought.
I pushed back against him violently, and although I think my strength was nothing to match his, he let me go. I lifted my hand and slapped his cheek, my palm stinging at the impact.
We stared at each other, breathing heavily.
I glanced at my hand like it was some alien part of me. I had never slapped anyone in my life. Not even the person that had treated me to the same violence I had just unleashed. I glanced back up at Zane, whose eyes were locked on me. They seemed to be dancing with something; his entire frame was locked still.
And then, for some insane reason, I pounced. I latched onto his mouth once more, like a junkie looking for a hit. My legs circled his hips and rough hands gripped my ass to lift me against him. I moaned as my nightie rode up, leaving my panties as the only barrier between me and his jean-clad cock.
One hand went to my ass, the other delved into my hair, pressing me to his mouth. I struggled to shrug off the flannel I was wearing as he carried us through the house. I didn’t care where we were going as long as we would be horizontal.
We suddenly stopped. Zane grabbed a handful of my hair, yanking my head back. It was rough, but not painful.
He searched my face, his eyes glittering. “You are not a whore. Do not ever refer to yourself as one again, or I’ll tan your ass,” he growled.
I didn’t have time to respond because he threw me onto a bed. Yes, threw. Like bodily. It was a soft landing, obviously, and the view was fricking bomb. Zane had pulled his tee off and was unbuckling his jeans. Before I knew it he was standing before me, gloriously naked, the colors of his ink rippling over his muscled body. Unfortunately, I barely had time for a mental snapshot, let alone to commission an oil painting.
His hands pushed my silk nightie up to my waist, his face burying itself between my legs. I felt him tenderly kiss me atop my panties, which was a stark contrast to the ferocious way he had kissed me earlier. His hands moved and yanked my panties down, and suddenly he was there. My whole body tightened at the shaft of pleasure that erupted with his mouth on me.