Belonging (31 page)

My orgasm detonated with little
warning and I yelled as I shot all over the underside of the table,
pushing back hard, trying to get him into me as deep as I possibly
could. After a few more thrusts that rocked me and the solid table
beneath us, Zan cried out and began cumming in me. He slammed into
my body, over and over, and it was so fucking perfect, rough and
wild, claiming me, showing me I was his more profoundly than words
ever could.

By the time those massive orgasms
ebbed, my energy was utterly depleted and I was sweating and
gasping for breath. He cleaned up quickly with some paper towels
(both us and the underside of the table) then pulled me down onto
the kitchen floor with him. As we both sprawled out on our backs,
he entwined his hand with mine and asked, “You okay?” I nodded, too
spent to speak. He rolled onto his side and draped his arm over me,
the fingers of his other hand still tangled with mine.

After a minute he said, “I intended to
be gentler this time. I’m sorry, I—”

I interrupted him with a kiss and
said, “You did exactly what I wanted. Please don’t apologize. I’d
hate it if you fucked me like I was some breakable little
thing.”

“You drive me absolutely wild,
Gianni,” he said, curling up against me and draping his leg over
mine. “I can’t comprehend how any one person could be so sweet,
sexy and beautiful, all at the same time.” I grinned at the
compliment, letting my eyes slide shut.

When I shivered a bit as the sweat
cooled on my skin, Zan was up like a shot. “You’re cold, love. Come
with me, let’s warm you up again.”

I let him pull me to my feet, and we
went into the main room of the cabin. It was incredibly cozy, with
cedar walls and floors, plaid curtains at the big windows, and lots
of little folk art trinkets, including a series of hand-carved
wooden fish that seemed to swim along the mantel, weaving among
family photos and other treasures. Zan spread a blanket on top of
the rug in front of the big river rock fireplace, then dropped a
couple pillows onto it. After I settled in, he draped another
blanket over me, then got busy building a fire.

I watched him as he worked, the
muscles in his arms and shoulders flexing as he piled wood into the
hearth. When his dark hair swung to the side, I got a glimpse of a
big, round tattoo between his shoulder blades. I’d spotted it
before, but had never gotten a good look.

After he started the fire and sat back
on his heels to watch it, I brushed his thick hair over his left
shoulder, then traced the outline of the tattoo with my fingertip.
It was an incredibly intricate Celtic knot about eight inches in
diameter, dozens of lines interwoven gracefully in a perfectly
symmetrical pattern. “This is incredibly beautiful,” I
murmured.

“Thanks. I forget it’s there half the
time.”

“What’s the story behind
it?”

He shifted around so he was facing me
and pulled the blanket up over my shoulders. “It’s stupid, the
wistfulness of a much younger me. I don’t know if I should tell
you. Generally, I find stories making me sound like a sap are best
avoided.”

“It won’t be sappy. Just tell
me.”

He looked down at his hands, which
were smoothing out a corner of the blanket, and said, “It had to do
with the idea of home and family, especially my mum, and to a
lesser extent, my dad. He was crap as a father, but he was still a
part of me, like it or not.” Zan sighed and looked into the fire,
which was just beginning to catch. “I’d been so lost in my early
twenties. I’d had my first number-one pop hit, which was already
overwhelming, and on top of that, my agent had convinced me to move
to America to help boost my career. I felt completely adrift,
and...I don’t know. I guess I got the tattoo to remind myself that
all of that was still a part of me, my mum and dad and England and
everything I missed so profoundly. It was all interwoven, like the
pattern in that tattoo, coming together to form who I was. I wanted
to remind myself that I carried all of that with me, no matter
where I went or how alone I felt.”

“Didn’t your mom come with you when
you moved to the U.S.?”

“Nah. She’d gotten married the year
before and stayed behind to be with her new husband. She’d toured
with me all throughout my childhood and teens, but figured I was
grown up by that point and didn’t need her anymore.”

“You mentioned once you’d been raised
by a single mom,” I said gently. “What happened to your
dad?”

“Nothing happened to him. He just
couldn’t bother to be a father to me, from the time I was born. He
only came around when he wanted something, usually money. My
mother’s a smart woman, but for some reason she had a huge blind
spot where that man was concerned. She kept falling for his charm
and wit and letting him come back, only to be hurt by him again and
again. When I started earning money from my music, my father showed
up with his hand out, wanting a piece of it. My mum would have none
of that, and that was when she finally cut him out of our lives,
once and for all.”

“Is she still in England?”

“Yeah. I bought her and her new family
a lovely estate outside London. Her husband had been a widower with
two kids. She raised them with him, then went on to dote on half a
dozen grandbabies.”

“Does she ever come see
you?”

He shook his head. “She hasn’t spoken
to me in years. I hear about what she’s up to from my lawyer. He
sends me twice-yearly updates on all my financial matters and
always includes a paragraph on my mum. They’ve gotten to be friends
over the years.”

“Why doesn’t your mother speak to
you?” I asked.

“She was furious that I walked away
from that concert, and became even angrier as I stayed away all
those years. She felt I’d thrown away everything she and I had
worked for, and called me ungrateful and spoiled. When I told her
I’d almost had a breakdown, she added weak and pathetic to my list
of faults. She demanded I pull myself up by my bootstraps, get my
shite together and get back out there, and when I told her I
couldn’t, she stopped speaking to me.”

I stared at him, totally dumbfounded.
“How could she do that? You didn’t choose to have a breakdown, and
you dealt with it the best you could.”

“But you just don’t do that in our
family. The expression keep calm and carry on could have been
coined specifically for the Tillanes. You don’t give in to your
problems, you ignore them, pretend everything’s fine and keep
moving forward. I bought into that for years, actually, before I
reached my breaking point.”

“I’m so sorry she did that to you,” I
told him.

Zan grinned, but it didn’t mask the
sadness in his eyes. “Come here, love,” he said, holding an arm out
to me. I pivoted around so I was curled against him and pulled the
blanket over both of us as he hugged me. “I apologize for going off
on that long, awkward tangent. I should have just said I got the
tattoo on a lark and left it at that. I’d never tried to explain
the why of it to anyone before, and apparently my answer was as
convoluted as the design.”

“I’m so glad you explained it to
me.”

He kissed me softly, then rested his
forehead against mine as he murmured, “My sweet, beautiful Gianni.”
I climbed onto his lap, straddling him and hugging him as he
stroked my hair and kissed me again.

We built each other back up gradually,
with soft kisses and caresses. The fire crackled and warmed our
naked bodies as the sun began to set outside, bathing us and the
room in golden light. I lowered myself onto Zan’s hard cock, then
rode him slowly as I looked into his handsome face. He smiled up at
me blissfully, his eyes sparkling as laugh lines formed in their
corners.

He’d never believe me, but I liked the
subtle signs of aging on him. Zan had survived, making it this far
despite so much pain and personal struggle. It broke my heart to
think he’d been so close to suicide at one point, but he’d found
his way out of the darkness. Every line and grey hair was a
testament to all those extra years he’d given himself, and I loved
what they represented.

I began to ride him harder and he
exhaled and tilted his head back, his eyes sliding shut. It felt
really good and my cock was throbbing, but I ignored it and
concentrated on his pleasure. He didn’t, though, and took my
erection in his big hand, stroking me rhythmically. This went on
for a long time, both of us savoring each other.

I came before he did, spraying his
chest, and a minute later he came too, bucking up into me as he
cried out. I kept riding him through to the end, slowing gradually
and finally stilling. Afterwards, I cleaned him up with some nearby
tissues and laid down on top of him, propped up with my elbows so I
didn’t put too much weight on him, and he wrapped his arms around
me. I tried to remain very still so his cock didn’t slip from me.
“Thank you, Alexzander,” I whispered.

“Thank you too, love.” The sun was
down by then, the sky outside the big windows a gorgeous indigo
blue. He pulled a blanket over both of us, and after a while he
asked gently, “Can I ask why you do that? Use my full name, I mean.
You did it once before when we were having sex.”

I thought about that and said quietly,
“I guess it’s because, to all the world, you’re Zan. But when
you’re fucking me, you’re nobody else’s in that moment, you’re only
mine. Nobody calls you Alexzander, so that’s my special piece of
you, the part no one else can have, at least for now.”

“What do you mean, for
now?”

“I’m not kidding myself,” I said
softly. “I know you’ll tire of me just like everyone else does, and
you’ll move on. I want you to know I won’t be angry and resentful
when you do that. I’ll completely understand.”

He shifted a bit, and his cock slid
from me. I hated the sudden feeling of emptiness. “Why would you
expect me to move on from you?”

“Well, see, I was thinking about this
earlier. When you were isolated at your house, I was literally the
only one for you because you had no other options. But you’re back
out in the world now. You’re going to meet so many people, and
you’ll find someone much better suited to you than I
am.”

“What does that mean, someone better
suited to me?”

I wasn’t looking at him, my head on
his shoulder as I said, “You know. Someone like you. Someone
talented and successful and interesting. I realized earlier, when I
was watching you sing, that you and I are practically two different
species, and someone like me can’t expect to hold your interest for
long.” When he didn’t say anything, I snuck a look at him. Zan was
staring at me incredulously.

He sat up, taking me with
him so I was on my knees with his thighs between my legs, and
exclaimed, “How the bloody hell could you possibly come up with the
idea that it’s
you
that’s somehow not good enough for
me
? I’m a forty-eight-year-old
has-been. I’m so fucking cracked that I just spent the last decade
in isolation because I couldn’t fucking deal with anything!
But
you’re
not
good enough for
me?
How could you possibly arrive at that conclusion?”

I knit my brows at him. “How many
has-beens have news helicopters stalking them, and hundreds of
people flocking to get a glimpse of them?”

“That’s just because I stirred up all
that drama with my disappearing act. I’m such a freak show that
people can’t help but be curious.”

I got up, stepping back
from him as I wrapped the blanket around myself. My voice rose as I
said, “Oh, come on! You saw those people on TV. They fucking
adore
you.”

He stood up too, unashamedly naked as
he put his hands on his hips. “Why are you getting angry? I didn’t
ask for any of that. And I’m sure as hell not looking to fucking
move on from you so I can bed half my fan base, if that’s what
you’re somehow thinking!”

“Well, why not? You could do that
easily.”

“Why not?” he yelled. “Why not?
Because I’m totally fucking in love with you, Gianni
Dombruso!”

I blinked at him.
“You’re...what?”

“You heard me. I’ve been in love with
you for months, Gianni. I tried to talk myself out of it, because
it seemed completely daft that a gorgeous, intelligent, absolutely
extraordinary twenty-nine-year-old would want anything whatsoever
to do with me. But no matter how much I tried to distance myself
and push you away, you kept doing the sweetest things, like busting
your cute little arse on my blasted landscaping, because you were
worried about what would happen to me in a fucking wildfire. Who
does that? Who shows so much concern for someone that gives them
nothing in return?”

“I...I really didn’t want your house
to burn down. I was afraid you’d stay there and burn with it,” I
murmured. I was still staring at him, still trying to make sense of
this conversation. “You love me?”

Zan raised an eyebrow. “How can this
possibly be news to you? I left my house for the first time in
thirteen fucking years, rode a damned lawnmower, and plunged myself
into one of the world’s busiest airports so I could find you. What
the bloody hell did you think my message was after all that? I’m
somewhat keen on you?”