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“Can’t sleep?” I roll on my back on the bed, stifling a yawn, glancing toward the unmistakable tall, Mohawked figure of Zane standing at the window. He’s a dark shadow, faint silver light outlining his body.
He turns at my question, and my breath hitches. He’s only dressed in his briefs and the light catches on the silver barbells in his nipples, on his taut, hard chest and defined arms, on the bulge between his muscular thighs. The colorful ink covering his chest and arms looks slick and dark, washed out to shades of black and gray.
He’s like a fantastical painting of a man, perfect in every way.
And then he smiles and becomes real.
“I dunno what woke me up,” he says, his voice quiet and low. “The baby’s asleep. As should you. You’re tired.”
I almost laugh. If anyone should be exhausted it’s him, but I know his resilience is extraordinary. It’s what kept him alive, and I can’t stand being away from him tonight. Hopefully the feeling will fade as the days pass, but right now I need to feel him close.
Throwing back the covers, I go to him. “You sure you’re okay?” I shiver as the cold air hits my skin. I’m only dressed in a T-shirt and black boyshorts.
“Hm.” He puts his arms around me, and he’s so warm. I wrap myself around him like a starfish, remembering just in time to be careful with his ribs. “I’m okay.”
He doesn’t sound convinced. I lean back to look into his face. “It’s okay to want to talk after what happened yesterday.”
“I don’t wanna talk.” His voice drops even lower, sending a different kind of shiver through me. “Not tonight. There’s something else, though. A small problem.”
Crap, I knew it. “What problem? Tell me.”
He shifts a little and something long and thick and hot presses against my stomach. “This.”
A startled laugh escapes me. “Oh boy. That’s hardly small.”
“Know what? You’re right.” He winks down at me.
“Let me take care of it for you.”
“What if I take care of you instead?” He guides me back to the bed and pushes me down, then climbs on top of me, gazing at me with those exotic dark eyes that make my heart pound.
I want him. I want him so much it hurts. But after last night, I’m not sure he can do this, even if he thinks he can. He always pushes himself too hard, too soon.
“Let’s do it your way tonight.” I cup his beautiful face and start pushing him off so that I can turn around, give him my back. That makes it safer for him. Fewer triggers.
But he stops me. “Your way.”
I shake my head. “That could send you back into a flashback. It’s too soon.”
“It won’t.” He brushes his mouth over mine, stealing my reason. “Trust me.”
I don’t know if I should. My daredevil husband may not know that he absolutely breaks my heart every time he hurts, but he seems determined.
Turning, he sits on the bed, leaning back against the headboard, and pulls me onto his lap before I can protest more.
“Zane…”
“That’s how you fixed me,” he whispers, his hands on my waist, his eyes serious.
“I didn’t fix you,” I whisper back. “I made love to you.”
“Then make love to me. I fucking love you.” And he kisses me, his hands traveling down to my ass, cupping me, kneading me, setting me on fire.
I’m drowning in his smoky taste, his spicy scent. When he tugs my boyshorts down, I help him get them off me, and I reach for his briefs. His hard-on catches under the elastic, and when I free his cock, he leans back with a heartfelt groan.
I lick my dry lips—both because he’s so sexy like this, naked in front of me, trusting me, and because we’ve been here before. His jaw is clenched. I know this position stresses him. He’s not in control, and he’s fighting the urge to push me off him.
But the position is better for his bruised ribcage, and that’s what makes up my mind. That and the heated look in his eyes.
