Chapter 37 Chapter 37
Zane
I carried her into the bathroom, my grip firm on her thighs as she clung to me, her fingers curled into the back of my neck like she was afraid I would disappear.
The door shut behind my boot with a solid thud.
“Tiana,” I muttered, adjusting her slightly. “You’re burning up.”
“I’m fine.” Her whisper ghosted against my throat. Warm and wrong and disarming. Her hand slid up my jaw, her fingers trembling slightly with her lack of coordination. “You wanted to leave me again… is it the fourth time now?”
My breath hitched.
I refused to look at her. I couldn’t risk looking into those unfocused eyes. One look and I would forget the vow I made.
“Whenever it’s me,” she whispered, her lips brushing my skin by accident — or maybe not. “You always leave.”
Her voice cracked.
Barely noticeable, but it destroyed something in me.
“Am I the problem?”
My hand tightened on her thigh.
I was not going to fall apart. Not now. Not here. Not when she was clinging to me like she needed me to breathe.
Her lips brushed my neck again, softer this time and lingered there. Heat shot down my spine and I swallowed hard.
“Stop,” I said.
“I don’t want to stop.” She said it softly, like it was a confession. Her fingers drifted toward my jaw again, missing once, then landing clumsily.
Enough.
I reached out and slammed the shower handle up.
Ice-cold water burst down, drenching us instantly.
She gasped sharply, the shock making her grip tighten almost painfully around me.
“Z-Zane!” she shivered, burying herself against my chest. “It’s cold.”
“That’s the point.”
I stepped fully under the spray with her still in my arms. Cold water soaked my shirt, plastering it to my body. Her dress clung to her, every curve visible, too visible, and it did nothing to help the heat I was trying to escape.
She shivered again, then tilted her head up to look at me.
Except her eyes weren’t focused.
She was looking at my chin. Actually, she was trying to focus on my lips.
Her gaze slid left, then right, then finally held.
“Don’t you feel it?” she whispered. “I’m… empty when you’re not holding me.”
I nearly choked.
“Don’t say things like that.”
“Why?” She pressed her forehead to the edge of my jaw, clinging harder. “Because you don’t feel it?”
My hand moved to brace against the tile behind her, my fingers digging into it to keep myself grounded.
“I feel too much,” I said quietly. Barely audible. Barely restrained.
She probably wouldn’t remember it.
The water kept pouring over us, cold enough to sting, yet not cold enough to stop the way she was affecting me.
Her hands moved again, slower now and less coordinated, sliding from my shoulders down my chest. Her fingers splayed across the soaked fabric, pressing lightly like she was testing if I was real.
“Tiana…” My voice scraped out. “You need to stop touching me.”
“You are drunk,” I continued. “And I’m barely—”
She lifted her head suddenly, blinking at me.
“Barely what?”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Her breath smelled of wine, warmth, and fine seductive danger.
Her fingers slipped lower, fumbling for the buttons of my shirt. This time she missed the button entirely, tried again, then gave a frustrated little whimper.
“Why won’t it open?” she muttered. “Your clothes are stubborn. Like you.”
“Tiana,” I warned.
She ignored me.
Or didn’t hear me, I couldn’t tell.
“I am always thinking about you,” she whispered, her voice slurring slightly. “I want to know how you would feel inside of me.”
My grip on her thighs faltered for a fraction of a second.
Then her hand drifted up again slower and clumsier to my chest. I felt her tracing the lines of my pecs through the wet fabric, then slipping her fingers inside where my shirt hung open.
“I saw you,” she breathed. “The other night… when you were… doing that to yourself.”
I stiffened.
“And I couldn’t stop thinking about it,” she whispered. “About you. About—”
“Tiana.” Her name left my lips like gravel. My control was slipping. Badly.
She wasn’t listening. Her hands moved more boldly, circling my nipples, clumsy but determined, sending shockwaves through me.
A low and involuntary sound escaped me.
Her lips found my collarbone again, kissing the cold-wet skin, her teeth grazing lightly.
My other hand shot out to brace myself, my palm slamming against the tile to keep from pulling her closer.
“You need to stop,” I managed, but the words were airless and held no strength.
She kissed lower, down the center of my chest, her mouth warmer than the water around us.
Her hands slid down my abs, lingering, exploring, losing their way, and finding it again.
My breathing turned harsh. Ragged. Apparently, the cold water did little to nothing. Or was it her touch fighting back?
Her fingers reached my waistband. Then paused.
Watching her face, I noticed her brows knitted slightly.
Like her brain was trying to catch up to what her hand had found.
Then her fingers hooked into the fabric.
I grabbed her wrists instantly, holding them still.
“Tiana.” I forced the words out. “Look at me.”
She lifted her gaze, her eyes glassy, pupils wide with her lips parted wide enough to envelope my length.
I swallowed, putting myself in check.
“You’re drunk,” I said. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”
“I know exactly what I’m doing.” Her hands flexed weakly, trying to slip lower. “I want to touch you.”
My restraint was fracturing.
Not the cracking kind of fracture, it was splintering with all its full intensity.
If it were just her voice, my problems might have been a bit easier, but she was moving and pressing hard against me.
Her hips rolled slowly and unintentionally in a way that was completely devastating to me, my wolf stood up fiercely.
Tiana felt what was between us, between my thighs.
I saw the moment she registered the thickness pressing against her.
Her breath hitched.
Then her eyes widened in slow, dawning awareness.
She pulled one hand free. Clumsily, sloppily, and slid it inside, reaching for me.
And that was when everything in me broke.