Chapter 38 Chapter 38
Zane
I grabbed her wrists and pinned her against the tile wall, her back hitting the cold surface with a gasp.
“Enough,” I growled.
The water poured directly over us now. Cold spray hitting my shoulders and cascading down, soaking us both completely.
She looked up at me, her eyes still glazed but defiant.
“I want you to touch me,” she breathed. “Want your mouth on me. Want you to…”
“Stop talking.”
“...taste me.”
I covered her mouth with my hand. Not roughly but firmly enough to silence her.
“You need to stop,” I said, my voice low and strained. “Right now.”
She made a sound against my palm. Then her tongue flicked against my skin.
I yanked my hand back like I had been burned. “You have to stop all of this now.
I kept her pinned there. Let the cold water keep falling while her shivering intensified, until the alcohol’s heat started fading under the relentless chill.
She tried to press against me once. Then again. But her movements were getting weaker and slower.
Finally, she slumped slightly against the tile.
“Cold,” she mumbled. “So cold.”
“I know.”
I turned off the water.
Silence fell, broken only by our harsh breathing and the steady drip from the showerhead.
I carried her back into the bedroom, grabbing two towels from the rack as I made my way. She didn’t protest. Just leaned into me, shaking, and once there, I set her on the edge of the bed.
“Stay here,” I said quietly. “Don’t move.”
She nodded, her eyes already starting to droop.
I used one towel to wrap her hair, then the other to wipe her dry, slowly.
Getting to her shoulder, I reached for the zipper at her back, pulled it down softly, and watched as the wet fabric peeled away from her skin.
She sat there in only her underwear now. Wet. Cold. Vulnerable.
And so fucking beautiful to behold.
I forced myself to keep going.
Dried her stomach. Her sides. The curve of her hips.
Her breath caught when the towel grazed just above her underwear.
“Zane…”
“Don’t,” I mumbled, then did my best to not react while taking it off even as my fingers partly rubbed the line of her crotch.
I moved lower, drying her, while going through the torture she had put me through.
The way her body responded to every touch did not help. I heard the small sounds she made when my hands lingered too long and I felt the way her nipples had tightened into hard points. Even when her thighs shifted together, seeking friction.
My wolf snarled inside me.
Claim her. Take her. She wants it too.
But I refused.
I grabbed one of my t-shirts from the dresser. Pulled it over her head.
It swallowed her completely, the end falling to her mid-thigh. Her nose pressed into the collar, inhaling. “Smells good,” she mumbled.
I had to look away.
“Sleep,” I said, then let her lie back properly.
I pulled the blankets up to her chin then tucked them around her.
She was already falling asleep.
But her hand reached out, finding my wrist and holding on weakly.
“Stay,” she whispered.
“I’m here.”
Seconds felt like they were running into minutes, and her grip loosened. She was asleep.
And I was standing there—chest heaving, hands clenched, still painfully hard.
My body ached. Not just arousal. A more primal feeling.
Blue balls didn’t even begin to describe it.
I could call someone. One of the wolves I had bedded before. But the thought of it made my stomach turn.
I didn’t want anyone else.
I wanted her.
I turned and walked back into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me.
Alone, I stared at myself in the mirror.
My shirt was still soaked, clinging to my chest. I looked wrecked.
I felt worse.
I stripped off the wet clothes, tossing them into a basket by the side. Then I gripped the edge of the sink and tried to breathe.
My wolf snarled at me.
Take her. Claim what’s ours.
“She’s drunk,” I said aloud. “I’m not that male.”
Coward.
Maybe.
But I wouldn’t touch her.
My body disagreed violently, as the heat in my groin hurt terribly hard.
I tried to ignore it and will it away.
It didn’t work.
Finally and shamefully, I gave in.
I reached for the lube at a corner, and my hand wrapped around myself. The relief was immediate and insufficient at the same time.
I braced one hand on the counter, letting my head drop forward.
In no time, I began the up and down motion.
Slow at first. Then faster.
Images flooded my mind unbidden.
Tiana under me. Her legs wrapped around my waist. Her mouth on my skin. The sounds she’d made in the shower.
The way she had looked at me. My grip tightened, causing an increase in my pace.
I thought about what it would feel like. Her body beneath mine. The heat of her. The tightness. How she’d sound when I finally…
My breath came harsh and ragged.
The pressure built. Coiling tighter and harder.
I bit back a groan as my movements turned frantic. Graceless and despicably desperate.
Then it hit—my release slamming through me so hard my knees nearly buckled.
I braced my hand on the counter. The other holding me while I rode it out, letting it wash over me in waves that felt more like punishment than pleasure.
When it finally subsided, I stood there—breathing hard, my head hanging, disgusted with myself.
It hadn’t helped.
Not really.
The ache was still there. Different now but just as insistent.
I cleaned up quickly. Pulled on loose pants.
Then I walked back into the bedroom.
Tiana was exactly where I had left her. Curled on her side. Asleep. Safe. Untouched.
I grabbed a blanket from the closet and moved to the couch near the window.
Lay down. Stared at the ceiling.
Alone.
Frustrated.
Completely and utterly ruined by her.
And I had not even let her in.