50. Mira

50

MIRA

Zane's mouth hovers close to mine. I close my eyes, waiting for him to kiss me. He grabs my dress instead, his hands fisted on either side of the zipper. My eyes snap open when the material rips.

"What are you—Zane!"

"This is how I met you," he growls, letting the ruined dress puddle around my feet so I'm in nothing but my underwear.

I can't worry about what I'm going to wear out of here when he's looking at me like this. I can't even imagine getting out of here.

Because we're going to die in this bathroom. Cause of death: excessive horniness.

I reach for the buttons of his shirt, but he catches my wrist and spins me around to face the mirror. Twining his fingers through mine, Zane drags my own hands over my stomach and higher.

"You told me you touched herself while thinking of me." He bites the side of my neck, hard . Then he kisses away the pain. "Show me."

"Zane…" It's a sigh, a plea. My body is on fire, and I've touched myself enough for a lifetime. I want to feel him .

But then he grinds against me and I do feel him… long and hard against the base of my spine.

I slide our still-twined fingers down my stomach and cup the ache between my thighs so he can feel how much I want this, too.

He guides my hand deeper, working friction against my clit, fucking me with my own fingers. My eyes slip closed, but he tugs on my earlobe with his teeth.

"Open your eyes," he orders.

I do and I meet his in the tall, ornate mirror. He's looming behind me like a shadow. His dark clothes make my nakedness even more apparent.

"When you were touching yourself like this," he says, holding my gaze in the mirror, "you were mine. Every time you fucked yourself, you belonged to me."

I can only whimper. I should be embarrassed by how badly I want him and how obvious I'm being about it, but Zane doesn't give me time. He lifts my leg onto the counter, spreading me open for him, and drags the hard bulge of his erection against my soaking wet panties.

"When you were wearing someone else's jersey…" he growls. "When you were walking around my house, making tea and driving me fucking insane with wanting you… you were mine."

Words I've never said to anyone sit just behind my lips, but I bite them back. I close my eyes and try to focus on the feel of Zane's hands on my hips and his cock grinding against my opening, but my stupid heart won't shut up.

I'm yours , it's screaming. There's no one else.

But this doesn't need to mean anything, right? I can have this with Zane and still protect myself. I can let him ravage my body in unreal ways and walk away… because I have to.

There's no other choice.

One way or another, this is going to end.

"I told you to keep your eyes on me," he snarls.

Before I can blink my eyes open, Zane hooks me around the waist and yanks me backward. He presses me against the wall and pins my wrists over my head. The black tile is cold against my back, but Zane is scorching enough for both of us.

Heat radiates off of him as he kisses my neck, my chest. He flicks my aching nipples with his hot tongue, swirling them into his mouth and sucking until I'm arching for more.

Zane growls and picks me up. My legs wrap around his waist and he shoves the lace aside. I reach for the button of his pants and he helps, freeing himself.

He said he touched himself while thinking of me. I saw him do it. What does that mean?

Does he belong to me?

Do I even want that?

The answer is a terrified knot in my stomach, and I suddenly need to feel him inside of me as much as I need this to be over.

"Fuck, Mira," he groans, pulling out of my hand and sliding between my legs. "You're so wet for me."

He fills me devastatingly slowly. I feel every inch of him working into me, splitting me open to my desperate, heartsick core.

He drops his face to my shoulder, stopping just to breathe.

His scruff scrapes over my skin and I want to feel it between my legs and against my neck. I want to hold his face in my hands and look in his eyes as he fucks me—which is precisely why I close them even tighter.

If the eyes are the windows to the soul, mine are nailed shut and barred.

Zane works out and back in before he grips my chin. "Look at me."

I can't.

He drives into me harder. "Open your eyes, Mira."

This is just sex. It doesn't have to mean anything. I can have this and walk away. This won't change me.

I repeat the words to myself again and again and again, but I know they're all lies.

Zane works a hand between us, his thumb applying the barest pressure to my clit that has me seeing stars against my closed lids. "Open your eyes or I swear to fucking God I'll leave you like this."

I want to argue. He wouldn't.

But I know he would.

"You're mine and I'm going to fuck you like you're mine." He shudders and arranges my leg higher over his hip. "You're going to know who's inside of you, Mira. You're going to look into my eyes and know that it's me. That no one else can make you come like I do. That no one else fills you like I do."

His words feel even dirtier than the fucking.

His mouth is everywhere and his cock is inside of me and I'm in the most exquisite, perfect pain I've ever experienced in my life.

"God, you're close." He drops his forehead to mine. "I can feel you. Don't make me stop, Mira. Open your eyes. Look at me."

Zane is at the brink with me. There's a desperate edge to his command and I don't want this to end. The thought of this moment slipping away is terrifying enough that I do as he says.

I look.

And when I do, the world is his blue eyes. It's sapphire and sky and deep, deep ocean and pitch black desire that matches my own.

"There you are," he murmurs in a filthy rasp. "There you are."

Oh, fucking hell. Here I am.

I should have ran out of that bathroom the day we met and never stopped. I should have booked it right back down the stairs when it was Zane standing in the doorway the day I showed up to the interview.

If I'd known how absolutely and completely this man would destroy me, I never would have given him the chance.

But I did—and there's no going back now.

The dam breaks and I cry out. I curl my fingers in his hair and hold him against me as I come helplessly on Zane's cock. "Zane…"

He drives in deep and stays there. His hips stutter. He groans against my neck as he spills into me.

I stroke his hair and cling to him. I'm shaking, but I don't want him to put me down. As long as we stay in this moment, I don't have to face what comes after.

But eventually, it has to end.

We're tangled together, breathing heavily, when someone knocks on the bathroom door. Zane places my feet on the floor. "We should go. They've been knocking for a few minutes."

"They have…?"

I didn't hear a thing. I'm pretty sure the entire building could have been engulfed in flames and I wouldn't have known.

He smirks and starts unbuttoning his shirt.

"What are you doing? We already had sex," I blurt.

He slips out of his shirt and hands it to me. "I ripped your dress."

I stare at the shirt and his bare chest, my brain working hard to compute anything when so much of his skin is exposed. "I can't walk out there in your shirt! Everyone will know we just had sex in here."

"And what will they think if you walk out naked?"

He makes a good point.

"Fine. Thanks." I take it and shove my arms into the sleeves. It's warm and smells like him. "I'm keeping this."

He looks over his bare shoulder, considering. Then he shrugs. "I guess it's a fair trade."

Sex for a shirt? Maybe.

But as Zane leads me by the hand through the lounge—most people don't even look up to see the demigod walking bare-chested amongst the mortals—I don't think he has any idea of the secret trade I just made.

I'm walking out of this bar with his shirt, but he's walking out with my heart.

There's nothing fair about that at all.