Zephyr
confused would be an understatement. She had no idea what the hell had happened.
For the last two weeks, her husband had gone back on his ‘no sexual contact’ policy, their relationship going from roommates to fuck buddies in the blink of an eye, with terms and conditions applied that she had no idea about.
After the very thrilling and mildly scandalizing way he’d taken her in his office while casually chatting with his men like she’d not been a hair-trigger away from a massive orgasm, he’d taken her home. He’d greeted the dogs, they’d had dinner, and then while she’d been putting the dishes away, he’d bent her over the kitchen counter, fisted her hair, and growled, “Yes or no?”
She’d said yes, and she’d gotten fucked. Slowly, deliberately, in a manner so controlled it made her want to break whatever leash he was putting on his pace, try to get the beast out to play. She’d tried to talk, and he’d just pulled her hair back, craning her neck and hitting somewhere so deep inside her she’d lost all rational thought. After she’d been lax, he’d picked her up and put her in her bed, leaving her alone in the aftermath.
And since then he’d fucked her all over the house—in her bed, on the couch, over his balcony, bent over his hammock, pushed against her shower stall. Everywhere. And not that she was sorry, but it left her confused and mildly unsatisfied. Because while he took her everywhere he could, whenever he wanted, he kept himself distant. It was always controlled, always slow-paced, and left her cold afterward. He also never came inside her. In the beginning, she’d thought it had been for protection and he’d simply forgotten condoms in the heat of passion, so she’d told him it was okay and she was on the pill. It hadn’t changed anything. He didn’t come inside her, he didn’t cuddle her, he didn’t kiss her, and though they were more physically intimate than they’d ever been, she’d never felt as far away from him as she did then.
They’d stopped talking the way they used to. Every time she began a conversation, deciding she was going to succumb and tell him the truth, he would bend her over. Always from the back. Always slow and steady. Always distant.
It made her want to cry.
She hated when he did that—slowly fuck her brains out and then leave her unfulfilled, wanting more. And over the two weeks, he did it a lot. She was unable to say no every time he asked, both because she enjoyed the feeling of his body pressed into her and because she carried the hope that this time would be better, that this time he would hold her.
And he never did.
She’d become moodier in the last week, more withdrawn, and she hated that. The more she reached out to hold him, the farther he slipped away. The more she wanted to talk to him and communicate, the higher his walls went. She didn’t even know what she could do anymore.
Zephyr leaned on the side of the pool, looking out at the vista that had lost its beauty for her. It was a weekend, her day off, and she was spending the morning in the pool under the sun before she had to go to SLF. The dogs lazed around on the deck, and while Zephyr had never been much of a swimmer, she liked the pool and liked being in the water. Floating on her back, looking up at the blue sky and listening to the sounds of nature, she could almost forget herself for a few minutes, escape into a world inside her head.
A loud splash on the other side of the pool had her opening her eyes, shattering her fantasy.
Her husband cut through the water smoothly, going under before coming up, slicking water back with his large hand, his gold eye light in the sun.
She hated how her heart still fluttered every time he was close.
Little sucker.
Zephyr put her elbows on the sides, leaning against the wall of the pool, and watched him cut through to her in powerful strokes. He stopped before her, their faces level, and Zephyr kept watching him, trying to understand where his head was at. He was probably doing the same.
Quietly, she raised her hand and touched her fingers to the scar on the side of his face, running it to the corner of his mouth, trying one more time.
“How did you get this?” she asked softly, feeling the deep groove of the marred flesh.
“I don’t know.” His voice was gruff, his arms coming to her sides to cage her in.
Just as she’d thought. The possibility of his memory being permanently gone or warped was becoming more and more real. And if he didn’t remember the reason for his scarring in the last decade, and didn’t remember her after the last months of being together, she doubted he ever would, and she had to make peace with that.
And that was one of the reasons that held her back from telling him the truth about their past no matter how much she’d wanted to let it slip—there was a reason his brain had forgotten her. What if she triggered something in his memory that his brain was clearly trying to protect him from? What if she unleashed some heavy trauma that his mind had suppressed? She couldn’t risk that, not after seeing how far he’d come, how much he’d trained to overcome his disadvantage, how at ease he’d become with his missing eye.
She slowly let her fingers drift, up to his eye patch, feeling the texture in the leather. He stayed still, letting her explore.
Hesitating, she looked at him for permission. “May I?”
His arms tightened as he gripped the side of the pool. Zephyr was aware of his breathing escalating as her finger stayed on his eye patch. Something was happening right there, in that pool of water, in the broad daylight. As his single eye stayed on her, as he gave a perceptible nod, something was happening, shifting, realigning. Heart pounding, she lifted the flap up, slowly, until it was on his head.
And her heart broke.
His eyelids were healed shut. The skin was most probably sown together back when he’d had the injury, the scar that began from his scalp a vertical, ugly line that went over the flesh of the lids. Once, there had been a powerful, beautiful golden orb there that had looked at her with love. She’d seen it light up in amusement, in heat, in affection.
Something had taken that from him, ripped it from his being, and left him with nothing but the scar.
Her eyes burning, she gently touched the slash over his eyelid, letting her finger feel the raised flesh. He tensed when her fingers made the contact, watching her with keen alertness with his other eye. Zephyr studied the scar he hid under the leather patch, and leaned forward, placing a soft kiss over it.
He inhaled sharply, his breath warm on her neck.
Whatever was going on between them, whatever thoughts he had about them, he had shared something intimate, something important, something deeply private with her. And that counted more than anything ever could, right? That gave her more hope than anything else could have.
He had let her under his skin. She just needed to make herself a home there.
Pressing soft, gentle kisses to his scar, she followed the trail of the jagged line, holding the sides of his jaw in her hands, feeling his facial hair cushion her palms. She kissed him over his cheek, down the line to the corner of his mouth, all the while aware of the way he held himself, taut and rigid while still taking her affection. And she gave it freely, loving him as her heart desired, openly, shamelessly, abundantly.
She stopped at the corner of his mouth, pulling back an inch to look at him, her chest heaving.
Since that first night at the fight when she’d jumped him, he hadn’t kissed her. Through all their romps and ruckus around the house, he’d not once kissed her even though she’d been dying for his mouth, gnawing for his taste, hungry in ways she’d never been because he’d been right there yet so far away.
She held his gaze, the moment suspended between them, the invitation, the plea, the call clear as she closed her eyes, waiting, praying, hoping that he didn’t leave her cold again, that he closed the distance and restarted her heart where it lay struggling in her chest.
He pushed her into the back of the pool subtly, his minty breath over her face, his bulky arms contracting at her sides, the wall of his chest pressing against her breasts. Her nipples, as sensitive as they were, pebbled against him. She stayed still, like a river waiting for the earth to change its course, flowing where it took her, turning as it bent.
“You shouldn’t have done that, Zephyr.”
His words were soft, a lethal edge to them that made her squeeze her eyes shut tighter. Zephyr. Still not ‘rainbow’ in so long it had become a memory like ‘sunshine’ had, a name she kept tucked safely in a mental drawer, to pull out when she needed the comfort.
She didn’t say anything, simply held his face, the urge to tell him who she’d once been to him clashing with the urge to protect his mind from itself. She’d take the burden gladly if it kept him sane and safe.
And it was really sad, but she missed him.
He was right there against her, and she missed him with every cell in her body.
“Look at me,” he commanded, and she complied, her eyes opening, her gaze locking with his.
His thumb came to her chin, held her face in place, and his face dipped.
Heart thundering in her chest, Zephyr held his gaze as he pressed his mouth to hers, her lips parting on a gasp as he pulled back, watching her like a hawk, swooped in again, pressing another soft kiss to her mouth that belied the aggression simmering in his body.
She closed her eyes, surrendering to the sensation of his lips on hers, his facial hair rubbing around her mouth, his tongue flicking over the edge for a little taste, his chin holding her steady. She took it and touched his scar with her fingers again.
And the dam burst.
In a heartbeat he pressed her flush against the pool wall, her mouth opening as he plundered it like a savage in a treasure cove, taking and claiming and controlling everything he could reach. Water lapped around her as she wrapped her legs around his muscular waist, tilting her head to the side, going where he took her, following his lead as he fed on her soul.
It was sloppy and hungry and aggressive, all lips and teeth and tongue. And Zephyr had never felt as cherished, as desired, as wanted as she did right then.
They made out in the pool for long minutes, kissed and kissed and kissed. At one point, he slid aside her bikini top and squeezed her breast, and tugged her nipple until she was writhing against him. At one point, she scratched her nails down his back and rode against the hardness pressing into her core. At one point, he let her breathe as he bit her chin before diving in for another taste, like he couldn’t get enough of her, like he needed her kiss to make it through, like she was salvation for his sins.
She didn’t know how long they stayed in the pool, just kissing, dancing the oldest dance in the world with bodies that knew the steps even before they thought it, in synchronicity that made it seem like they’d been doing it for years.
The sound of barks broke their bubble.
Alpha pulled back, his chest heaving, his lips slightly swollen, the pupil in his golden eye blown as she panted, catching her breath, her heart full and body on fire, watching him. His hands flexed on her hips once, and he inhaled, letting her go. He fixed his eye patch and ducked under the water, swimming to the other side.
Zephyr watched as he heaved himself out, water sluicing down his powerful body, and went to the pool chair with the towel on it. As he wrapped the large towel around his hips, she turned to look at what had made the dogs bark. Hector stood on the deck, his face grim, waiting for her husband, the dogs standing around him. The look on his face wasn’t good, and Zephyr wondered if everything was okay.
She would’ve gotten out of the water had she been wearing her usual swimsuit, but she’d started wearing minuscule bikinis at the house, comfortable in her body and skin as she’d never been before, not giving a thought to her buddha belly or butt cellulite or lack of thigh gap or untoned arms, not in front of Alpha, not with the way he looked at her, not with the way he made her feel around him. But she sure as hell wasn’t going to get out and give Hector a view of it all.
Alpha knotted the towel around his hip as he strode to the deck, the man who’d been in the pool with her disappearing with each step, the dark underworld leader taking his place. The dogs gave him a sniff before dispersing, Bear coming to where Zephyr floated at the edge of the pool. He bent his head for a scratch and she obliged.
“You think he’ll detach again, Mr. Bear?” she asked the canine softly, rubbing his head, her eyes on her husband and his right-hand man, both of them talking seriously. The dog gave a woof.
“I hope he doesn’t too.”
