Dirty For Me (Motor City Royals) Page 12

  He carried her into her small, white-tiled bathroom, setting her down on top of the vanity unit while he went over to the bath and turned on the taps, beginning to run the water.

  Tamara stared dumbly at him. “A bath? Seriously?” It was pretty much the last thing she expected from him.

  “Yeah.” He came back over to where she was sitting and before she could move, he gently pushed apart her thighs, glancing down between them. “You look sore too. Some warm water might help.”

  Oh, great. Cheeks burning, she closed her legs firmly. “Okay, thanks for that.”

  His gray gaze lifted, meeting hers. “You’re embarrassed? After that?”

  “You’re still a stranger, don’t forget. I don’t actually know you.”

  He was silent a moment, studying her. “Who hurt you, Tamara?”

  She had to look away. “That was not an invitation.”

  “You didn’t like me holding you down.”

  “Yeah, and I told you why.” Her fingers were clutching onto the edge of the vanity. With a conscious effort, she straightened them. “This is just sex, Zee. We don’t have to get to know each other or anything.”

  Strong fingers took her chin in an irresistible grip, tipping her head back, and she found herself staring into his eyes once more. “Sure it’s just sex. But when some bad shit starts to affect that sex, I wanna know what’s happening. So tell me. Who hurt you?”

  “You can’t tell anyone, Tamara. Not a soul, understand? Not if we want this to work.”

  Her father’s voice rang in her head, hard and sure. It had been eight years, but she remembered every word of that conversation. And she’d done what he’d asked, she’d never told a soul. So she couldn’t tell Zee. Could she?

  Why the hell not? Haven’t you been carrying it long enough? And anyway, you don’t need to tell him the whole truth. Just a bit. After all, wouldn’t it be good to tell someone?

  Oh God, it would. And besides, Zee was only temporary. She’d never see him again after all this was over.

  “My older brother,” she said at last, her voice thickening helplessly on the last word. “He would lose it occasionally, yell at me, that kind of thing. But there were a couple of times when he . . . held me against a wall and tried to choke me.” It felt weird to finally say it out loud to someone else and even now, eight years later, the words sat heavy on her tongue. Like a betrayal of some sort.

  Zee studied her a long moment. “You said he was sick?”

  The illness her parents denied was happening, even though their son was changing right in front of them. Becoming moody and withdrawn, prone to violent rages, talking to things that weren’t there. Because her parents had always denied the problem, he’d never been diagnosed, but Tamara had her suspicions.

  “I think he probably had schizophrenia, though we never knew for sure.”

  Zee’s thumb stroked absently along her jaw and she couldn’t stop the shiver that went through her. “Why not?”

  Again that weird feeling of betrayal twisted inside her. “Mom and Dad didn’t think there was a problem. Diet and exercise. That’s what they thought would make him better.” God, where had that bitterness come from? Even she could hear the note of it in her voice.

  Zee’s gaze was uncomfortably sharp. “So what happened to him?”

  She should have anticipated the question, should have prepared. But all the preparation in the world didn’t stop the sliver of pure ice that drove under her skin.

  Jerking her chin from his grip, she said, “Oh look, the bath is ready.”

  He didn’t move, looking at her. “Tamara—”

  “Do you see me asking you why you like beating the shit out of people? Why you live in a crappy part of town and work in a garage? Or wanting to know all about your crappy childhood?” The words tumbled out of her, the bitterness tainting all of them, and she had to force herself to shut up before any more of them came out.

  Avoiding him and his gaze, she slid off the vanity and brushed past him, going over to the bath and turning the water off. “I’m sorry,” she said after a moment, knowing she needed to say something. “That was uncalled for.”

  There was silence behind her, then he expelled a long breath. “Shit, you got nothing to apologize for. I shouldn’t have asked. We’re not here to tell each other our life stories.”

  No, they weren’t. Even if she’d wanted to, her secrets were ones she couldn’t tell anyone else anyway.

  But as he said the words, something shifted inside of her. Almost like . . . regret.

  She shook away the feeling, kicking off the only thing she was wearing—her shoes—and stepping into the bath. He was right, the water was warm and soothing, her muscles beginning to loosen as the warmth seeped into them.

  She didn’t look at him, but she could hear the sounds of clothing coming off, the heavy sound of boots hitting the floor. Then there was heat at her back, the slide of bare skin along hers, the water of the bath rising massively as he got in behind her. One muscled arm curled around her waist as he brought her back against him, his thighs on either side of hers, her spine to his chest. She could feel his cock pressing against her butt, already semihard, but he made no move to do anything but hold her.

  The position felt too intimate and she tensed, suddenly uncertain about where this was going.

  Then he said, “For the record, it’s not the beating the shit out of people I like, but the chance to let off steam in a controlled environment. I live in Royal ’cause I ran away from home when I was seventeen—my mom died when I was a kid and my dad was an asshole—and that’s where I washed up. That’s where I met Gideon and the others, and they’re the ones that make it home for me. And in a couple of months I won’t be working in a garage at all, but running my own gym.”

  The quiet, measured way he said it made her feel ashamed of herself and her assumptions. Assumptions she hadn’t even realized she’d made until they’d all come spilling out.

  She swallowed, her throat tight.

  “But,” he added, one long-fingered hand running down her side and along her thigh. “You’re right about one thing. I did have a crappy childhood. I haven’t seen my dad for ten years.”

  She should say something more, maybe apologize again. But she was too afraid to open her mouth in case that bitterness was still there. And she didn’t want to hear it again, or examine why it might be, so instead she focused on the arm around her waist, studying the flames and the tail feathers of the phoenix inked onto his skin.

  “A phoenix,” she said, tracing the lines with a finger. He felt smooth and hot beneath her touch. “Rising from the ashes?”

  A pause.

  “Yeah.”

  There was no inflection in his voice, yet she heard the undercurrent in it anyway. The bird on his skin wasn’t the only thing rising from the ashes. He was too.

  “What about the quote on your back?”

  “Just something I like. Nothing special.”

  A lie; she could hear it in his voice. Curiosity shifted inside her, unexpected and unwelcome, but she didn’t push. There were boundaries here that she had to stick to and since she’d been pretty clear of hers, she had to respect his as well.

  “Rachel inked me up,” he said unexpectedly. “She’s got a great studio in Royal. Did you see her sleeve? That’s hers too.”

  Tamara remembered the deep red of the roses on Rachel’s arm. They’d been pretty. “How did you get to meet them? Your friends I mean.” Since he’d offered the information, maybe she could ask. “Though you don’t have to say if you don’t want to.”

  He was silent a moment. “I hung around the Royal outreach center ’cause there was a guy who taught fighting. Met Gideon and Zoe and Rachel there, plus another guy you didn’t get to meet. Levi, he’s currently doing time, but he’ll be out pretty soon.” Zee paused. “Gideon gave me a job, helped me find a place to stay. And the others . . . None of us got family, or at least, none we wanna have anything to do with, so we ma
de our own.”

  No wonder she’d felt like she was interrupting something the night Zee had first taken her to the garage. She kind of had. They’d been having a family get-together and she definitely wasn’t part of it.

  Envy shifted inside her, and a grief for what she’d lost. Her own family had once felt like a family and not a prison, but that had been before Will had gotten sick, before everything had changed.

  Before you destroyed it.

  “So, you have to let off steam often?” she asked in a graceless change of subject. “I mean you seem to do a lot of fights.”

  He shifted, the water swirling around them. “I thought we weren’t going to talk about this.”

  “You don’t have to answer.”

  There was a pause. “Sometimes.” Then he asked, “Why investments?”

  Tamara sighed. Well, she kind of owed him an answer since he’d given her one. “Would you believe it’s my way of letting off steam?”

  “No.”

  “Damn. Okay, it’s my father’s company and I’m following in his footsteps.”

  “Why? You like investing shit?”

  She almost grinned at that—at least until she realized she didn’t have a good explanation, not one that wouldn’t involve the truth. “It’s not so much that as what’s expected. My parents want me to have a great career and it’s a pretty great company to have a career in.”

  His hand firmed on her stomach. “Yeah, but that’s not what I asked. I asked whether you liked it or not.”

  The question needled her. “Sure. Same as you like fixing engines.”

  “That much, huh?”

  She didn’t know what to say to that, so she settled for silence, her fingers moving idly to trace his tattoo. She felt him pressed against her back, hard and ready. But he didn’t speak or make any demands, just kept holding her, one hand splayed possessively on her stomach while the other stroked her thigh.

  There was a lingering tension in the air, but it began to dissipate and, after a while, she turned around in his arms, because her apology had been inadequate and she wanted to give him something more than that.

  She wanted to give, period.

  So far it had all been about her and what she wanted. She hadn’t even thought about him.

  Perhaps she needed to.

  He met her gaze, gray eyes unreadable, and that was kind of intimidating. The fact that she didn’t know him and despite their sexual encounters, she didn’t even know what he liked about the sex, beyond him telling her what to do. And that made her feel ashamed too, that she hadn’t even bothered to ask him.

  So she forced herself to hold his gaze and say, “What would you like?”

  Something flickered in his eyes, though she couldn’t tell what it was. “Don’t wanna keep talking?”

  “Not really. Do you?”

  He stared at her a second, then he reached out with one hand, his fingers sinking into her damp hair, exerting a gentle, relentless pressure, drawing her mouth down on his.

  Her eyes closed, shivers racing through her as he parted her lips with his tongue, holding her in place as he kissed her, at first tentatively, lightly. Then, getting more demanding, exploring deeper into her mouth. She let him, sitting there in the bath with her eyes closed as he ate her up, devoured her, holding her completely still with a steady hand, as he nipped and bit and feasted on her.

  Then at last he drew back, leaving her mouth tingling and almost bruised, the look in his eyes blazing. And slowly he exerted more pressure on the back of her head, easing her head down.

  No prizes for guessing what he wanted.

  Tamara shifted her position so she was lying between his thighs, her hands sliding up, reaching for the hard length of his cock. And when he pushed her head down, she opened her mouth and took him in, tasting water and salt and Zee.

  She didn’t think about herself or her freedom or her choices. She listened to him, let the rough, guttural sounds of his pleasure be her guide. Let his hands in her hair set the pace, his fingers knotting into the damp strands, keeping her just where he wanted her.

  She closed her eyes, focusing on the warmth of the water and the hard, muscular thighs on either side of her, the thrust of his hips and the slide of his cock in her mouth. He tasted good and she licked him like he was her favorite ice cream, curling one of her hands around the base of him, gripping his hip with the other. Then she looked up, circling the head of his cock with her tongue and his silver gaze met hers. So much heat and hunger in that look. It pierced her, sharp as a sword.

  “Slower,” he ordered roughly, his fingers tightening in her hair, showing her what he wanted.

  She shivered at the demand, slowing her movements, giving him long, languid strokes with her tongue, before closing her lips totally around him. Then she took him deep as she could, losing herself in the salty taste of him, in the musky, spicy scent of his body and the shift of the powerful muscles of his thighs.

  He was pure physicality, raw and rough, and straight up. All power, all strength.

  It changed something in her deep inside.

  She wanted to drink him down, take some of that strength and rough physical honesty for herself. Cover herself in it until all the pain and the doubts had gone.

  So she closed her eyes and lost herself completely, letting him guide her, take what he needed from her. Letting him fuck her mouth until the thrust of hips grew wild and the grip in her hair made her eyes water. Until he cursed and threw his head back, a low, gravelly roar escaping him, the sound of it echoing around the hard-tiled surfaces of the bathroom.

  Afterward, the harsh sounds of his breathing filling her ears, he pulled her up for another soul-shattering kiss, his tongue in her mouth as if he wanted to taste himself on her.

  She was panting by the time he released her. Then he scooped her up from the bath and dried her off himself, grabbing his wallet and pulling out a couple of condoms. She said nothing as he picked her up again and carried her into the bedroom, meeting him kiss for kiss as he put her on the bed.

  Then he touched her, stroked her, took his time to caress her before protecting himself and pushing her back, sliding easily inside her. And she lost herself all over again, her legs around his waist, gripping on tight as he moved. Each stroke driving her further away from the person she’d made herself and closer to someone else. Someone new.

  It was frightening and exhilarating and agonizing all at once.

  She sobbed when she came, the pleasure tearing her apart, and all she could do was lie there as Zee buried his face in her neck, biting her as the pleasure took him, too.

  For several minutes afterward neither of them moved or spoke. Then Zee eased from her, got off the bed, and left the room. He was gone for what seemed a long time and when he came back, he was fully dressed again.

  Tamara lay on her side, her knees drawn up to her chest, and she blinked at him, noting his clothes. “You’re going?”

  He put a hand on the doorframe and leaned on it. “Gotta get up for work tomorrow.”

  A creeping disappointment she didn’t want to acknowledge twisted in her gut. “You don’t have to leave,” she said before she could stop herself.

  He looked at her a long moment. “Yeah, I do.”

  She could hear it in his voice, the gentle reminder of the boundaries. The ones they’d both been reminding themselves of, her especially tonight. And part of her wanted to protest. Wanted to say no, he could stay. He could crawl in beside her and help her find herself again. Hold her in his arms, cradle her against that big, warm chest of his.

  But those were stupid thoughts. Stupid wants. Because soon enough she’d have a husband to do that for her. A husband she knew better than a tattooed mechanic from Royal Road.

  So all she said was, “Good night, then.”

  He pushed away from the doorframe. “Good night, pretty girl.” And turned.

  “Can I text you?” God, she hated the desperate sound of her voice.

  He did
n’t turn back. “Yeah.”

  And then just like that he was gone.

  Chapter 9

  Gideon gave Zee a dark look as Zee stalked into the garage the next morning and headed over to the lockers to get his overalls.

  “You’re late,” Gideon said, eyeing him. “Where the hell have you been?”

  “Slept in,” he replied curtly, getting his overalls out and starting to pull them on. Jesus, the last thing he felt like now was questions.

  Gideon, who was standing by the Honda he’d spent the better part of two weeks rebuilding, put the wrench in his hand down and lifted an eyebrow. “You never sleep in.”

  “Yeah, well I did this morning.” Zee slammed his locker closed with more force than was strictly necessary and moved over to the Chevy currently taking up space in the workshop.

  There was a pause. “So what crawled up your butt?”

  “Nothing. I’m fine.” He gave the Chevy’s engine a cursory look-over, then went to the workbench, trying to remember what he was supposed to be doing and what tool he needed. Except his foul temper got in the way and he couldn’t concentrate.

  Fuck it. What the hell was he so pissed about? He’d spent a couple of hours with a hot woman, had three incredible orgasms, and now he was slamming doors and throwing tools around for reasons he couldn’t even begin to guess at himself.

  “Okay. Don’t give me that shit, Zee.” Gideon leaned his hip against his bench and folded his arms. “You look like you could grind rocks with your fucking teeth.”

  Goddamn Gideon. The guy took his role as parent/big brother figure way too seriously, especially given Zee wasn’t seventeen anymore. “It’s nothing.” Where the fuck was the wrench he wanted?

  “Yeah, it is.” Gideon folded his arms. “Look, if you don’t want to tell me about it, that’s fine, but I don’t want your fucking bad temper in the workshop. You know that. We got enough problems to deal with as it is let alone fielding any mistakes you might make because you’re too angry to do a proper job.”