Once I have her inside, things move a little quicker than I might have hoped. If Sloane were some other plaything I was toying with, I’d spend hours drawing this out and teasing them, but I just…I can’t.
Scaring the living shit out of her? I’m scaring the living shit out of myself with the way I’m behaving. For starters I don’t even tie her up, and that’s like a prerequisite for me, but there’s something about having her arms wrapped around my neck that drives me insane. I throw her down onto my bed in the dark, and I do what I’ve been dying to do since she walked through the door in that little black dress with her medical bag in her hand. I spin her naked body over and draw her hips up to me, grabbing her hands and securing them behind her back. I sink my dick into her so deep she fights for breath.
“Fuck, Zeth!” She screams my name, head turned to one side, pressed into the mattress as I slam myself into her body. I swear to all that is good in this world it’s like music to my fucking ears.
There’s no holding back after that. I do it. I do her. I fuck her so hard that my ears start ringing. I didn’t even know that was a thing. The scent rolling off her is pure sex, pure want, so heady and intoxicating that I have to dig my fingers into her body to stop from coming too soon. I feel like howling when I do let go, allowing us both to climax. Instead I roar, a charge of sound that rips its way out of my chest like a bullet from a gun. Except I’m not the gun. I’m the victim. It feels like I’ve been shot all over again as I lay panting over her body. The whole moment is like an out-of-body experience and she’s the only thing keeping me from floating to the ceiling. I let her up and fall back onto the bed, staring up into the darkness in shock.
She rolls onto her side, exhaling in that sated way that tells me I really hit the nail on the head.
And I’m so angry I could choke.
What the fuck?
I wake up in a bed and it’s not mine. I curl my toes and flex my fingers, reaching my arms up over my head in the most satisfying stretch ever. My whole body hums, like I went really hard at the gym yesterday, but I know I didn’t. I was at the hospital all day and then I—
Oh.
No.
I freeze in the bed, suddenly remembering where the hell I am. His place. His bed. His sweat all over my body. And…and ohmygod. Some random woman’s sweat, too. What the…what the hell was I thinking? I sit bolt upright, ready to lay into the man who’s put me in this position—along with many others last night—but he’s not there. I’m alone in a bed in a strangely sterile, empty room, weak sunlight pouring through the windows, and Zeth is nowhere to be seen.
“Motherfucker.”
I hurdle out of bed, already half inside my dress before I realize he must have gone and fetched it from the other room. My stockings and garter belt are folded carefully on the chest of drawers at the end of the bed, and my medical bag rests on the floor by the door. I stuff the stockings and belt inside the bag, wondering where the hell my bra and panties are, gone forever, probably, and then I hurry out of the room in a fit of rage.
The apartment is a bombsite. Empty, lipstick-smeared glassware decorates every available surface, and abandoned clothing litters the floor down the corridor. I kick at something sparkly and golden on my way to the open plan lounge space, muttering under my breath.
“Stupid…so fucking dumb. Hate him so much…”
The apartment is complete empty, apart from one single man standing at the huge bay of windows overlooking the city—Zeth. His back is to me, but I know he’s heard my approach. I pick up the first thing that comes to hand and I launch it at him. The champagne flute narrowly misses him, shattering against the support beam besides his head. He recoils like a bomb just went off.
There’s a dark fire in his eyes when he slowly turns around, hands balled up by his sides. “What. The. Fuck. Is. Wrong. With. You?”
I pick up another glass and I chuck it, taking care to aim more carefully. Zeth ducks just in time to avoid some serious facial injuries. “Last night! That’s what’s wrong with me!” I turn…I need another glass. I find a discarded black, patent pump instead. The heel on it looks lethal. I hurl it, grunting with the effort, and the thing hits him square in the chest. Zeth’s face is a dark thundercloud, seething and growing angrier by the second.
“What about last night?” he hisses.
“The bed? The restraints? The…” I shut my eyes, shaking my head. I can’t believe that happened. “The girl.”
The corner of his mouth twitches, like my freak-out is entertaining to him. He still looks like he’s going to brutally murder me, though. He begins to stalk forward, lethal, a dangerous predator, and I snatch up another glass—a rocks glass this time. Heavier in the base, more sharp corners. I throw it at him as hard as I can, but he simply ducks out of the way, still coming for me.
“Were you drunk?”
“What?”
“Last night. Were you drunk?”
“No.”
“Were you high?”
“No!”