She muffled her cry as her body reacted, clamping down like a vise on his cock, surrounding all the white-hot steel with a silken fist. The waves crashing through her were powerful, a series of tsunamis threatening to overtake her and drive her out of her mind. Her entire body shuddered with pleasure. Every cell, every nerve ending, was so acutely aware of him, so connected and wrapped up with his body, that she felt not only her own crashing orgasm tearing through her but his as well.
His release was equally as powerful as hers. A hot, relentless, merciless crescendo that had his cock swelling, pushing tightly against her sensitive tissues until she felt his wild heartbeat. Every pulse through that heavy vein. Every violent jerk and blazing hot rope of seed filling the condom inside her silken channel triggering more powerful waves in her body. One orgasm rolled into another, and she went down to her belly, unable to support herself.
Player collapsed on top of her, arms around her, his cock jerking hard in her body, still connecting them. “Bog, woman, you are destined to kill me.”
The whispered words against her neck penetrated the bliss Zyah floated in. The notes jarred. Rocked. Hit her like a punch in the gut. She groaned. Tears burned like the flames had in his eyes. She knew those blue flames were gone. If she looked at him, his eyes would once again be that intense ice blue that would already be distancing him from her.
Zyah kept her eyes closed, head turned away from Player’s face. She couldn’t look at him. What was wrong with her? What was wrong with both of them? Wild, dirty, crazy sex was total insanity, and not because it was addicting and heartbreaking. He would walk away unscathed. He’d already proven that. She, however, was going to be ripped to shreds. Still, they had no business acting like two wild animals when he was so injured. So okay, Steele had healed his injury. She got that. But his migraines were ferocious, and they were as bad as ever.
She worked at finding a way to breathe even while her body still rippled with aftershocks around his. Player’s hand was in her hair, stroking caresses in that way that he had. She felt his breath on the nape of her neck. His lips moved from her neck to her shoulder. Goose bumps rose on her skin. She wore him there. She’d wear him forever. She’d feel him inside her, where she’d never get him out.
“Baby, I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Player murmured. He slid his body off of hers, taking his weight. Taking his cock. Taking himself away from her. He knotted the condom so casually.
She swallowed her distress. She was a grown woman. She made her choices and took responsibility for them. “No, the sex was awesome, Player.” She rolled off the other side of the bed, out of his reach, and caught up the blanket that was on the floor. Zyah wrapped the blanket around her shivering body. She was insane. Absolutely insane. Only Player could make her that way.
“Zyah, what the fuck are you doing? Come back to bed.” Player sounded shocked.
“Absolutely not.” She made every effort to be calm. Reasonable. Matter of fact. “We shouldn’t have been having sex. You were shot four weeks ago, and I know Steele healed you, but you’re still having migraines. I should have been watching out for you. We’re definitely not doing that again.”
“We’re definitely doing that again.” Not only did he sound amused, he sounded arrogant and smug. “And you got rid of my migraine. I think sex gets rid of them.”
She would have kicked him if she’d been close enough, but she wasn’t that silly. She had no willpower when it came to him. She couldn’t get close again. He had every reason to be arrogant, amused and smug. “Yes, I noticed you had condoms ready and waiting.” For some reason that hurt. It shouldn’t have. She should have been happy that he cared enough to protect her. She thought he was more worried about protecting himself. He definitely distanced himself from her when it came to anything but sex.
“I’m going to take a bath.” She didn’t dare stay in the same room with him, not when he was looking at her with those tempting blue eyes.
She was feeling weak and vulnerable. Before he could say anything, she wrapped the blanket tighter around herself and walked out. Behind her, she could hear him swearing, but she didn’t turn around—she didn’t dare because tears were burning in her eyes, and she wasn’t going to let him see how much it hurt to walk away from him.
NINE
Zyah stood just outside the door to the living room, listening to the sound of voices. Her grandmother’s laughter. She sounded young and worry free for the first time in the weeks since Zyah had been home. There was less pain in her voice. It was good to hear her sound so much more like herself. Player’s voice. Low. That tone that got to Zyah somewhere deep inside she couldn’t protect herself against. It was almost like she had some lock that kept everyone else out, but that tone penetrated like a key would, opening her up and making her very vulnerable to him.
She’d worked every day for the last few days and come home, two members of Torpedo Ink escorting her openly. Player remained at the house recuperating, Maestro staying close or one of the others replacing him. She knew one or more club members were somewhere in the shadows watching over them as well. She was okay with that because if they were watching over Player, they were keeping her grandmother safe, and that left her to work in peace.
Player. She heaved a sigh as she made the turn down the hallway to her bedroom. She wasn’t certain what she was going to do about him. Rubbing her fingertips along her jean-clad thigh she pushed open the door to her bedroom, where he had been staying since he’d been shot, and stopped just inside to inhale his masculine scent. He’d been there over a month now. A full five weeks. She didn’t know what she was going to do when he was gone.
The room was always clean. Not just clean. Perfect. He kept the bed made. There wasn’t a wrinkle in the comforter. He was meticulous about the placement of the pillows on her bed, almost as if he’d taken a picture and knew the exact position she’d placed each of them in prior to his taking over the room. It was impossible because he’d been brought into her room unconscious, and he couldn’t know where she’d kept the silly pillows.
She sighed as she looked around the room. Just because it was habit, and she needed comfort, she went to her grandfather’s drawing and stood in front of it for a short time, looking at the beautiful lines and whorls, the delicate strokes and heavy slashes he had so lovingly and painstakingly drawn for Anat.
Instead of feeling comforted, her heart ached more when she looked at it. The large intricately carved frame, so original, so thoughtful and perfectly surrounding the drawing with such love from her father, all for Anat on their anniversary, had always brought Zyah joy. She felt the love radiating from the gift to her grandmother from her grandfather and father. She knew over the years she’d built that up. This drawing was one of the few things she had— concrete evidence her family had existed. Right now, as she pressed a kiss to the pads of her fingers and then to the frame her father had made, she felt lonelier and more disconnected than ever.
She had always been a strong, confident woman, but she was losing that confidence in herself and in the gift that had been passed down from mother to daughter for hundreds of years. Zyah rubbed her temples, trying to clear her head. She was reluctant to join Player and Anat, knowing that if she did, Player wouldn’t laugh so much anymore. Like Zyah was when she was around him, Player was stilted when he was around her.