Take Me Deeper Read online

  He was a man who was usually prepared for every eventuality, but he was not, in any way, prepared for Iris’s kiss. It was gentle, tentative, as if she didn’t do it very often, and the shock of it held him still as she touched her tongue to the seam of his lips, delicately trying to find a way inside.

  No one kissed him, at least not without permission since he was also a man who liked control, especially in bed. In fact, it had been a very long time since he’d been kissed, period.

  He didn’t have relationships—as a soldier, it was difficult even if he’d wanted them—but he also didn’t like random hookups in bars. What he did have was an understanding with several female colleagues who liked his particular brand of control and who could give him their bodies for a night without demanding anything else. Who knew what they were letting themselves in for and got off on it as much as he did.

  But Iris wasn’t one of his fuck-buddies. She was guarded and wary and vulnerable, and she didn’t know that what he wanted wasn’t just sex. It was everything.

  Zane kept himself still. The shock had begun to wear off, a deep, intense hunger replacing it, and he wanted very badly to strip her bare, explore her, find out exactly what made her shake, what made her cry out, what made her sob. Discover the thing that only he could give her.

  But he didn’t, not yet. The light touch of her mouth was so new and soft, almost hesitant, as if she were asking him a question and wasn’t quite sure of his answer.

  Except he knew what his answer would be. And he knew she wouldn’t like it.

  Which makes it exactly what she needs.

  Yeah, and he really didn’t need that thought in his head, not when this wasn’t going to go anywhere, not if he could help it.

  Sliding the hand cupping her cheek along her jaw and around to the back of her head, he threaded his fingers through her silky dark hair and gently tugged her away.

  Her eyes were black, her mouth full and red, and he could taste her in his mouth, a honey sweetness with the bite of dry champagne. She blinked at him, a dazed look on her face. “Why did you stop?”

  “Sweetheart, I can’t stop what I didn’t start.” He tightened his grip on her hair as she tried to lean forward to kiss him again. “No. We’re not going there.”

  “Why not? You wanted to know what I needed. Maybe I need this.”

  “Maybe you do. But not with me.”

  Her forehead creased. “You said that—”

  “I said that I knew what you needed. I didn’t say I was going to give it to you.”

  She stared at him, a frown settling between her brows. Her hand hadn’t moved from his chest, the light warmth of it like a sunbeam, and he wanted his shirt not to be there, for there to be nothing between her palm and his skin.

  It had been a long time since he’d held a woman like this, since he’d had silky hair wound around his fingers and soft, giving curves pressing against him. Six months maybe. The last time had been in Frankfurt while on leave from his last posting, with one of his friends with benefits, a lush blonde whom he’d enjoyed and yet, for all that, in the end he’d felt like he was missing something. He hadn’t known exactly what and hadn’t explored the feeling, too busy preparing for his next mission and not wanting to know the answer anyway, because he had a feeling he wasn’t going to like it.

  You wanted her to look at you the way Charlie looked at you. And she didn’t. None of them ever do.

  No, he didn’t like that thought, not one bit. Charlie’s death had hit him hard, but she’d been gone a long time and he’d moved on. Besides, Iris was one complication too far and he was done with complications in his life.

  Sure, that’s why you’ve involved yourself with her, because you don’t want complications. Makes total sense.

  There was pressure against his chest now, Iris leaning into him. “But you want to, don’t you,” she said quietly, and it wasn’t a question. Her gaze had sharpened and he had the feeling that she could see him, really see him in a way he hadn’t been seen for years.

  He didn’t like that either.

  Disturbed, he tried to make himself let her go, but his fingers remained exactly where they were, wound through her hair. His other hand was now resting on her hip, the warmth of her body like a fire on a cold winter’s day. What the hell was she doing to him? “No,” he said, trying to make his voice firm and authoritative. “You’re probably still drunk and I’m not having sex with you because you want to pay me back. That’s not how it works.”

  She leaned further into him, her palm pressing harder to his chest. “So why don’t you tell me how it works then?”

  This was crazy. He shouldn’t be doing this. Yet he found himself lifting his other hand from her hip, unable to resist the urge to stroke the velvety softness of her jawline. “How it works is that you’re with me because you want to be. Because you have to. Because you can’t think of anything else you’d rather do.”

  She gave a shiver as his fingers trailed up to her cheekbone, following the red flush that stained her pale skin. “I can’t think of anything else I’d rather do right now than to follow up on that blow job,” she said thickly. “How does that work for you?”

  It worked for him just fine, but he wasn’t settling for that.

  What do you mean settling? Weren’t you supposed to keep your hands off her?

  Except that hadn’t turned out so good. It still wasn’t turning out so good, not when her skin felt like warm silk and he wanted to explore every inch of it with his fingers, his mouth, his tongue…

  “I haven’t finished,” he murmured, letting his fingers caress the side of her face and down to her jaw again to trace the curve of her lush lower lip. “The other thing I need you to do is trust me.” Which was a pity, because he was sure she didn’t and if ever there was a woman who had to trust someone, it was her.

  She probably shouldn’t be trusting you though.

  No, she probably shouldn’t. Because he was done with playing the hero, with being the white knight. One night, back when he was fifteen, he’d systematically emptied out all the bourbon in the house in a misguided attempt to get his father to pay attention to the way their family was falling apart. Joe had found him and beat the living crap out of him. That’s how much the bastard had cared about his family. That’s how much Redmonds actually stuck together.

  Christ, that was how Charlie had died. Because Joe had preferred drinking to anything else, and he’d been drunk going in to pick up her brother.

  If you hadn’t emptied those bottles…

  Yeah. Well, that was just another reason why he should be letting her go and standing back. He’d fucked up one too many times.

  Her eyes were very dark and he could see the pulse beating fast at the base of her throat. He wanted to lick it, feel the rush of it beneath his tongue. “I do trust you.” Her voice had gotten hoarse. “I mean, for one night I could.”

  One night…Jesus, it was so tempting. He was going to have to stay here anyway and it didn’t have to mean anything. She needed someone, that was obvious, and maybe so did he. A night where they could make each other feel good without any commitments.

  He spread his fingers wide on her jaw, feeling the delicate bone structure beneath. She was so fragile and yet there was a definite strength to her. No, her life hadn’t been easy, and she hadn’t survived by being weak. “I was serious about the trust part of it.”

  She blinked up at him. “That sounds ominous. What are you going to do to me?”

  He firmed his grip on her jaw, a light warning. “Everything.”

  Her eyes went wide, something that looked like fear flickering in the depths. But she didn’t pull away, her hand remaining right where it was, pressed to his chest. “And by everything you mean…?”

  “Anything I want.” He paused. “This is where the trust part comes into it.”

  “Oh.” She looked down at where her hand rested against his shirt, moving her thumb over the cotton in a light caress that sent a bolt of el
ectricity straight to his cock.

  “If you’re afraid, I’m not going to—”

  “I’m not afraid.” She lifted her head and met his gaze, a spark of irritation glittering in the depths of her eyes.

  Which of course meant she was lying and determined to hide it from him.

  “Iris…”

  “Oh, come on. All this fuss over one silly blow job.” The hand on his chest began to slide downward, heading straight for the fly of his pants. “I told you I’d trust you for the night, so let’s get on with it.”

  He knew what she was trying to do. She was trying to cover up her trepidation by acting like this wasn’t a big deal, like she’d done it many times before. But he was starting to think that she wasn’t as experienced as she seemed.

  Which makes this one hell of a mistake, right?

  Yes, it probably was, and if he was any kind of gentleman, he’d stop. But he hadn’t been able to before and he couldn’t now. He ached. He wanted. And he’d been denying himself too long.

  Reaching out, Zane grabbed her wrist, halting her wandering hand. “First things first,” he said calmly. “I’m in charge, understand? You do what I tell you to do.”

  A look of surprise crossed her face. “What?”

  He ignored the question. “Also, you don’t touch me without permission.”

  “But I—”

  “You said you’d trust me.”

  There was confusion in her eyes, a deep crease between her brows.

  “I won’t hurt you, Iris,” he said, his voice quiet. “I would never hurt you, okay?”

  She stared at him, her gaze narrowing as if she was weighing some kind of decision. Then she said slowly, “Okay.”

  That one word made his mouth dry and his heart beat faster.

  He released her hand, kept his gaze on hers. “Raise your arms.”

  There was only a brief hesitation before she did as he asked, lifting her arms into the air, a look of puzzlement on her face.

  He reached for the hem of her T-shirt. “I’m going to take this off, and all I want you to do is stand there quietly and let me do it.”

  Without waiting for her to nod, he began to draw the cotton up, revealing the slender curve of her hips and waist, the pale skin of her stomach, the black lace of her bra, and the swell of her small, but perfectly round breasts. She didn’t make a sound as he lifted the T-shirt over her head and off, but she was blushing again as he let it fall onto the floor, his gaze wandering all over her.

  God, she was perfect. All slender curves and delicately pink skin, and she had too many clothes on. Way too many. He wanted to see all of her, every damn inch.

  “Turn around,” he said.

  Her throat moved in a convulsive swallow and he caught another glimpse of that fear, moving like a cold current in the heated depths of her eyes.

  Oh no, he wasn’t having that. She’d been afraid for too long and he didn’t want her afraid now, not while he was here.

  He put his hands on her shoulders and gently but firmly turned her around, then he stepped right up close behind her, sliding his arms around her waist, drawing her back toward him so her spine was pressed against the entire length of his body. She was so warm, the scent of flowers and feminine musk clouding his senses, and when he rested his palms on her stomach, he felt her muscles tighten and heard her breathing hitch.

  Turning his face into her silky black hair, he bent to nuzzle her ear, her body trembling slightly as he did so. “Easy, baby,” he murmured. “Think of it like being in the army. All you have to do is follow orders and trust I would never put you in the line of fire, okay?”

  “O-Okay.” The word was soft, hoarse. “J-just don’t tell me to drop and give you fifty.”

  There was still fear beneath the attempt at lightness, he could hear it.

  “I won’t.” Nuzzling behind her ear again, he brushed his mouth over the tender skin there, stroking her stomach as he did so, soothing her. “All you have to give me is your complete trust and total obedience.”

  She gave a soft, gasping laugh. “Right, so nothing major then.”

  “Stop talking now,” he ordered, injecting enough calm authority into his voice to let her know he meant business, but not enough to startle her. “That’s not going to help.”

  “Oh, but I—”

  He nipped the lobe of her ear, a sensual warning that had her breaking off in a sudden choked gasp. “Like I said,” he murmured, “stop talking.”

  “Or what?” She sounded deliciously breathless.

  “Or I’ll have to punish you.” He pressed his mouth to the side of her neck, letting her feel the hard edge of his teeth.

  She shuddered. “S-so…if this is what the army is like, where do I sign up?”

  Little witch. She was pushing him in exactly the kind of way he liked, and it had to be subconsciously, because he was pretty sure she had no idea what she was doing.

  He was also sure it was making him painfully hard.

  Flattening his palms on her stomach, he held her firmly, flexing his hips and pressing the painful ridge in his pants against the soft curve of her ass. She trembled, which was gratifying. “What did I say, hmm?” He brushed his mouth over her shoulder. “I told you to stop talking.”

  “You’re not really going to bite—”

  He bit the delicate cord at the side of her neck and she jerked in his arms, gasping. Satisfied with her response, he eased his palms higher, over the plane of her abdomen, avoiding the scratch from the window latch the previous day, and up to the gentle curve of her breasts, cupping the soft weight of them in his palms.

  She shuddered again, a groan escaping her. Her head fell back against his shoulder and he could feel her arching, as if she wanted him to touch her very badly. The tension in her body was subtly different, he could feel it, and it made the hungry thing inside him want to push harder, take more.

  He let his thumbs move over the lace of her bra, finding the hard tips of her nipples and stroking back and forth, teasing her. She gave another gasp and he bit her again, gentler this time, before soothing the spot with a kiss.

  “Z-Zane…”

  His name sounded so good in that breathless, husky little voice of hers, so needy and desperate. Just the way he liked it. As if he were the only person in the world who could give her what she craved.

  “Good girl,” he murmured, kissing her, tasting the sweetness of her skin. “You’re being such a good girl for me.” His fingers began to explore the delicate fabric that held the cups of her bra together. It was flimsy and thin. If he pulled hard enough, he could rip it apart. Exerting a bit of focused pressure, he pulled and felt the fabric give, then tear, the cups falling away to leave all that delicious, petal-soft skin bare.

  She made a protesting sound, but he ignored it, cupping her breasts in his hands. The heat of her skin seared his palms, the soft give of her flesh intoxicating. Then she made another noise, like a sigh, her back arching as she tried to press herself more firmly into his hands.

  He stroked her nipples with his thumbs again, the peaks hard as small pebbles, and she gasped, arching even more. Christ, she was so responsive, so sensitive. It made him even hungrier than he was already. He bent to her neck, kissing down the length of it before closing his teeth in the tender place where it met her shoulder, listening to the sounds she made.

  But it wasn’t enough. He wanted more. He wanted her desperate, sobbing, crying out for him and only him.

  He slid one hand down to her stomach and she tried to twist in his arms, to turn to face him, but he held her tight, keeping her right where she was. “What did I say? Eyes front.”

  “But I want to touch you.”

  “Not until I say.”

  She was panting, he could hear the short, hard bursts of it. “So say it.”

  “No.” He found the button of her jeans and flicked it open. “Not yet.”

  “Zane…”

  “If you want another punishment, baby, you only have
to ask.” Gripping the tab of her zipper, he drew it down.

  “I’m not your baby.” Her voice was thick with frustration and annoyance.

  He smiled against her hair. “You’re whatever I say you are.” Gently he slipped his fingers inside her jeans, stroking down the front of her panties.

  She stiffened. “Oh…” But it wasn’t an offended sound, it was more like shock or surprise.

  He stroked her again, feeling wetness and silken heat against his fingertips, and he had to take a deep, silent breath, get himself under control, because Jesus Christ, he was going to lose it.

  “Z-Zane…I don’t…I can’t…” There was something in her voice, something a little desperate, a little frightened.

  “Shhh.” He stopped stroking but didn’t remove his hand, cupping her in his palm instead. “Remember what I said? You don’t have to be afraid. You only have to follow orders and trust me.”

  The room was loud with the sound of her frantic breathing. “But I’m n-not afraid.”

  It took all of his considerable control not to move, to stand there and simply hold her, the soft weight of her bare breast in one hand, the heat of her pussy pressing against the other. “Yes, you are. I can hear it in your voice.” He paused. “Am I scaring you, baby?”

  Chapter 8

  Iris wanted to tell him that of course he wasn’t. She wasn’t scared of anything, least of all him, but that would have been a lie. A complete, giant lie.

  She was scared. She was completely fucking terrified. And she didn’t even really know why.

  Bullshit. You so do, Callahan.

  Okay, she did. She’d never felt this way before, like she couldn’t stop trembling, like she’d fall into pieces, break apart. The touch of his hand on her bare flesh was too much, as if all her skin had been stripped away and she was nothing but a mass of bare, acutely sensitive nerve endings.

  No one had made her feel like this ever and she didn’t like it. As if he knew her, even better than she knew herself, which was a completely terrifying thought. She didn’t want anyone to know her. It was easier to survive if she was entirely self-contained and didn’t need anyone. Needing people only led to betrayal, to hurt.