Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty-Three

GREY

As soon as Zane's big body settles into the backseat, I'm on him. My mouth falls on his and I sneak my hand beneath his Redwood Prep jacket, feeling heated skin and muscle.

The softness of his lips steals my breath and sanity. I let both slip away from me, tracing the seam of his mouth with my tongue.

You can't turn them to good. They'll turn you to darkness.

Mom's voice echoes back to me.

Shame is thick, carrying me kicking and screaming back to that dark familiar place where I felt trapped and alone.

Breath heavy, I pull back from Zane.

He's watching me with this hard, impenetrable look on his face. My gaze skitters away and lands on his Redwood Prep jacket. The symbol of propriety glares at me. My breath falters and I move in, wrenching his jacket off with my hands.

He allows me.

I still feel uneasy.

My pulse plays in tune to my skittered breaths.

Something eerie joins the tension. Something ugly. It keeps pulling, and pulling at me, threatening to snap me in two.

I bite my tongue and glance away, reaching for my purse. Silence falls as I rummage through it.

Where? Where?

A glint from a diamond.

I take out my wedding ring. I slip it on.

Instantly I feel better.

Pushing my curls behind my ear, I throw a leg over Zane's lap and straddle him. An ache blooms between my thighs and I grind down, moaning low. He hisses between his teeth, his harsh expression wavering for the first time.

Anticipation eats away at me, raking its hungry claws through my insides. I tremble as I wrap myself around him, ivy climbing up a post. My lips meet the underside of his jaw. The shell of his ear. The corner of his mouth.

I tilt my head toward his, watching with half-lidded and hazy eyes.

He isn't kissing me back. Isn't doing anything.

Fine.

I push the limits of his restraint. Making fists in his shirt, I lean forward and press my mouth to his. It's a conquering, possessive move more than it is anything resembling a kiss. I follow it up with a long, sultry lick of his mouth and smirk when a groan resounds in his chest.

I look at him victoriously.

He looks back at me, annoyed.

Feeling braver, I kiss his neck, flicking my tongue out along the edges of a tattoo that meets the base of his spine.

The shame goes away, replaced by a roaring heat. Diving headfirst into that relief, I slam one hand against the backseat for balance. Arching my back, I move on top of him. He responds with a half-groan, half growl. I'm not sure if it's a warning or encouragement.

I take it as a little of both.

Unwanted thoughts spill out of my head, escaping in the trickles of sweat beading on my forehead. Seeping into the dampness of my underclothes.

I shed a layer.

Redwood Prep blouse, given to all the teachers.

Fitted knee-length pencil skirt.

I reach for Zane's belt, eager to relive the night we first met.

The clang of metal fills the car and seeps between the cracks of our heated breathing.

My hands shake like a drug addict on the street begging for change. Mom, Jarod Cross, The Grateful Project, they're so far away. Almost forgotten. I'd do anything to have Zane kill what's left of those thoughts. Anything.

I don't care that it's broad daylight, that we're in his brother's car, that we're only a few minutes away from Redwood.

No matter how wrong this is, something about Zane Cross has always done it for me. Since our eyes caught at the bar. It's been months in the making. I'm wound tighter than a coil about to spring from the long wait.

I lean in to unzip him but Zane puts a hand on my shoulder. There's a tortured, volatile energy buzzing off his skin. Like he's at war with himself. Like he's being torn apart from the inside.

"Why did you put on your wedding ring?" He speaks slowly, like he thinks I might have forgotten how to speak English. Like maybe we're in two different worlds right now.

"These windows are tinted."

"Grey."

"Not grey. Black."

He watches me like I'm being cheeky. I guess I am.

I slip my hands under his shirt. Skin on skin. Not enough. Not completely. "No one will know."

"Know what?"

I swallow hard.

He twirls his fingers, moving that imaginary drum stick. "That we're married?"

"Sure."

Another twirl of his fingers. "You need to see that ring to be okay with having sex with me?"

I don't deny it. "I'm assuming Dutch keeps protection in his car."

He lets out a sardonic, breathy laugh.

A different kind of unease slides down my back. Zane's not pleased, yet he's not pushing me off his lap.

He just keeps staring at me with that serious expression that seems very out of place on his face under usual circumstances, but especially right now when all I want is for him to finally, fully take me as his wife.

Inspiring such a lack of control in me should be payment enough, but Zane seems determined to take more. Not that I even know what more he's searching for as he sits here, piercing me with those blue, blue eyes.

"You need this?" He asks quietly, darkly, with an edge of displeasure that sends agitation aflame in my stomach.

"Define this ."

"You heard me, Grey," he bites out.

Annoyed and starting to feel embarrassed, I inch away. "If you don't want to, I'm not going to force?—"

His fingers grip my hip in a hold that's sure to leave bruises. His eyes are two unwavering pools of black-blue.

"I'm about to lose my control and my mind, tiger. So I need you to stop playing games."

I've never seen Zane Cross truly lose it, but I know he's close. It won't be long until he tips over the edge.

Smiling slightly, I ease my fingers over his abs, stroking a line down the grooves. His eyes grow hazy as I explore under his shirt, as I move my hips, as I let the fire between us grow hotter and brighter until it threatens to consume the entire car.

A frightened breath escapes me when Zane grabs my hand and sets it on top of his pants.

Pressing down so I can't mistake his meaning, he growls. "Is this really what you need right now?"

I want to deny it, but this game of cat and mouse never felt right. It often left me with a restless feeling, like something unfinished. Like not quite remembering if I took the stove off when I left the house.

I want to be honest for once. Just to feel what it's like.

Staring boldly into his eyes, I nod.

His jaw ticks. I see a slight glimpse of disappointment, but it's blinked away so fast that I'm sure I'm mistaken.

"I didn't want our honeymoon to be in the back of a car." As he speaks, his fingers slide over the back of my thighs.

"It's a nice car."

"That was filled with trash last semester."

"I'm not going to ask why."

"No, you're not." He blows out a breath. "And you're not going to tell why you need this from me either."

"Marriage is all about compromise," I answer.

His lips curl up a smidge and, for some reason, seeing him smile gives me a taste of sunshine.

But that warmth soon turns to a red-hot blaze as Zane moves in. With one hand, he slips his fingers under my bra strap. Then he's undressing the rest of me.

I breathe hard, exposed before him as he looks me up and down.

His gaze burns, from my chest to my stomach, to my thighs. He licks his lips and I can almost feel his tongue on me, sliding down my body, as near as the sharp rays of sunlight edging through the back windshield.

"I'll always give you what you want, Grey. Always."

I nod, wondering why this promise feels as weighty as the wedding vows he made at the hospital chapel.

Zane kisses me.

And in between his mouth sucking the soul out of mine, I hear the sound of his zipper moving.

By the time I open my eyes and realize what he's unleashed, it's too late to second guess. In a hot, roaring blaze, Zane and I consummate our marriage.