In the Shadows (The Club, #10) by M.A. Grant Page A

sigh.
    “I’m tired,” he admitted, voice low, defeated.
    “So quit. Do something else.”
    “I was going to.”
    “ Was? What happened–?” She trailed off when his eyebrow rose and he tilted his head the tiniest bit.
    “Me?” she squeaked.
    The barest hint of a nod.
    Dammit . Her throat tightened and tears rose, prickling her eyes. How many years had he spent looking over his shoulder, trying to put the violence of his past behind him? And now she’d dragged him into her hell when he was so close to getting away...
    “Stop,” he ordered.
    “No,” she retorted, swiping at her eyes with the back of a hand.
    Zeke cupped her face in his hands, leaning down so his forehead pressed against hers. “No crying over me, Viv. Save those tears for a better man.”
    “You’re a good man,” she sniffled, pressing her hands to his, willing him to understand how much she believed that.
    “My one job as a soldier was to protect the men at my side. I failed in that. My job as a son was to keep my mother happy. I failed in that too. Both times I failed, someone I cared about died.” His chest heaved and a muscle in his jaw flexed. “I care about you , Viv. And what if I can’t protect you?”
    His question festered there, a nightmare too frightening to be brought from the silence. So she ignored it.
    He groaned when she pressed her lips to his, a low, guttural noise of need and longing. Tilting her face up, he kissed her with the desperation of a damned man. She clutched the hem of his shirt, peeling it up his torso, making him hiss against her mouth as her fingertips grazed over his ribs. He drew away from her mouth only to rip the shirt off over his head.
    She fumbled with his belt buckle. Her fingers shook as she pulled down the tab of his zipper and even when he sprang free into her eager grip, she wanted more. He snarled something foul when she untangled her lips from his, but his oath was cut short when she knelt and wrapped her lips around the crown of his penis.
    The harsh intake of his breath spurred her on. He was thick, forcing her to relax her jaw so she could slide her lips down his shaft. His legs shook when she drew back, her teeth lightly scouring his skin, and she reveled in the knowledge that she was in complete control of the moment.
    She worked him to the brink of orgasm, until he clung to the edge of the table, grunting and swaying with every flutter of her tongue, every slick thrust toward the back of her throat. Without warning she let him slip from her mouth and smiled when his knees almost went out from under him.
    “Floor,” she ordered and he obeyed without question.
    She skinned off her shirt and shorts, giving him the briefest moment to view her sheer underwear before that too joined the pile of clothes. The heat of his hands on her hips when she straddled him made up for the cold, hard floor of the apartment and his hips shifted up to meet hers, his cock sliding into place.
    She moaned as he filled her, roiling emotions boiling down to the simple relief only found in the vulnerability of bare skin. She forgot the way her knees protested with each rocking undulation she made, ignored the sound of late night traffic through the open windows in favor his harsh breathing, and selfishly claimed whatever bare flesh she could.
    Her rhythm was broken for a moment, when he forced her hips to a halt. Sweat glistened on his brow and he panted as she strained against him.
    “No condom,” he protested.
    “Women have birth control too.”
    So much control in his taut body. So much stubbornness. The feverish heat of his skin gave away his desire. But he still held her above him.
    Frustrated, she leaned down and nipped his lower lip before nuzzling against his temple. He shivered when her lips brushed her ear and she swore he stopped breathing when she whispered, “I want you to come inside.”
    Emboldened by his reaction, she pressed on, voice husky as she imagined it. “I want my thighs slick with