Broken. Rebecca Zanetti

was too good to be true. She explored his chest, the whipped cream starting to dry and get sticky. “Your bed will be a mess.”

      “Then let’s make it good.” Somehow, he found the can and sprayed more whipped cream across her chest.

      She laughed, widening her legs; she hadn’t expected Wolfe to be fun, just mind-blowing.

      He pressed against her, sliding the head of his cock through her wetness, and she stopped laughing. Even after her orgasm, she was tight, and her body tried to resist his size. Pleasure and pain caught her, and she panted, then held her breath.

      His gaze kept hers, dark and intense, as he pushed inside her inch by inch, filling her until she wasn’t sure where she began and he ended.

      Finally, he stopped, deep inside her. Fully taking her. This was more than fun and more than friendship, but she couldn’t land on the right feeling.

      As if sensing her sudden vulnerability, he caressed her jawline. “Deep breaths, baby.”

      She took a deep breath, and the craving inside her intensified, pleasure overtaking the pain.

      “There we go.” Shadows deepened the strong hollows of his face, and his eyes blazed as darkness finished falling outside. He moved within her, and she bit her lip against a moan at the delicious friction.

      He eased out and pushed back in, watching her closely. She dug her nails into the rigid muscles of his arms, his movements increasing in strength and speed and rocketing need through her body. The room smelled like whipped cream and male, and she held tighter, each thrust of his powerful body pressing him against her still engorged clit.

      Pressure built, live wires uncoiled, and he hammered harder, his concentration almost intimidating. She had to shut her eyes and just let the colors take her away. Spasms of raw pleasure burst from her core, spreading throughout her body, making her toes curl. She whispered his name, overtaken, shocked by the intensity.

      He kept powering into her, faster and even harder, and then came with a husky groan. His head dropped to her nape, and his chest panted.

      Whoa. She tried to breathe normally, overwhelmed. This wasn’t just sex.

      He lifted his head and slowly licked whipped cream from her collarbone to her ear. His voice was a pleased rumble. “You’re all sticky. Let’s take this to the shower.”

      She blinked. “We’re not done?”

      “Not even close.”

      Chapter Eleven

      Well after midnight, Dana snuggled into Wolfe’s side, his heartbeat steady and sure beneath her palm. They’d gone three times, and her body was done. She’d barely helped with changing the sheets. “You’re not sleeping,” she murmured, her eyelids closing.

      “I know.”

      “Do you sleep often?” She tried to hide a yawn, her body shutting down.

      He didn’t answer and instead played with her hand on his chest.

      She sighed. “Tell me you’re not regretting tonight.” Did she have the energy to get upset? Probably not.

      “I’m not regretting tonight.” His voice remained steady and thoughtful, not giving away his thoughts. “Those marks on your thighs won’t scar. I’m glad.”

      What was going on in his head? She tried to track his reasoning when all she wanted was to sink into his warmth and relax. “Your wounds won’t?”

      “No. There’s a place inside you, one you never even knew existed, that can be broken. There’s an actual sound when it happens, and then your whole body is like a puzzle that doesn’t go together any longer.” He rolled them over and spooned his body around hers, offering comfort whether or not he realized it.

      She relaxed against him, even as her heart hurt for him. “I don’t have the right words, but I think the puzzle you’ve put back into place is a good one. I trust you. It can’t be easy, but anything broken can be fixed.”

      He hugged her closer. The gesture was all the more special for its brevity. Then he gentled his hold. “The final configuration can be unstable, though, and I can’t risk that with you—with anybody—and that’s final.”

      “We’ve already gone over this.” If he hadn’t sounded so serious, she’d mess with him a bit and tease him about getting married or something. Instead, she tried to follow his mood, which seemed a little off, though she couldn’t pin down what was bothering him. Was it about earlier that afternoon? “It wasn’t your fault Malcolm was hurt.”

      “Yeah, it was.”

      Ah. So that’s what was happening.

      His phone buzzed.

      She jerked against him. “Who in the world would be calling this late?”

      “Dunno.” Keeping her in place, he stretched an arm to his bedtable and pulled the phone to his ear. “Who the hell is calling so late?” he answered.

      He listened, his body warm beneath her touch. “Oh, yeah. I forgot I told you to call any time. What do you want?” Then he paused “Yeah? What’s the consensus?” He listened for a while, and then shook his head. “Absolutely not. We signed an NDA, remember?”

      Whoever was on the other end of the line replied with something Wolfe didn’t like, if the stiffening of his torso was any indication. “Right. Who do the cops think killed him?”

      Dana lifted her head from his chest to watch his reactions during the call.

      A muscle twitched in Wolfe’s jaw. “Is that right? Absolutely nothing, huh? What about the party on Tuesday?” He listened, remaining still in that odd way he had. “Is it private with no cops?” A male voice echoed slightly over the phone. “Good. I’ll be there, and I’m bringing a sub. And Trentington? I want full details on who the dead guy was and why the hell he was murdered at one of our parties—as well as any leads.” He clicked off.

      Dana played with his chest. “Did Trentington have any information?”