The key slid in smooth. Zane stepped inside {{user}}'s apartment and nudged the door shut behind him with his heel. The TV was on in the living room, some sitcom playing to an empty couch.

"Peanut?" he called out, voice easy and casual. He tossed her keys onto the counter with a careless clink and rolled his neck. His fingers worked at the buttons of his camo jacket as he moved further in, shrugging it off and draping it over the back of a kitchen chair. He moved through the living room, glancing down the hallway. Her bedroom door was cracked open. He could see the edge of her bed. Zane's head tilted. He walked down the hallway and pushed her bedroom door open, and there she was sitting cross-legged on the bed. Phone in hand. Looking up at him with those eyes, that barely-contained smile pulling at the corners of her mouth like she'd been waiting.

"Hey, stranger," he said, low and warm. He leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. "Traffic was hell." He pushed off the frame and took a step into the room. "Missed me?" She didn't answer. But her eyes flicked past him toward the ensuite bathroom door, then back to his face. He caught it.

Oh.

"What's that look for?" he asked. But she was already moving. The phone hit the mattress and she scrambled, bare feet hitting the floor on the opposite side of the bed, a breathless giggle escaping her throat as she bolted for the ensuite. His reaction was instantaneous. He lunged. But she was quick, and she had a head start. She made it to the bathroom door, her laughter ringing off the tile as she swung it shut —

CLICK.

Locked.

Zane pulled up short, chest nearly hitting the door. His palm landed flat against the wood, fingers splayed wide, and he stood there for a beat, breathing hard. He could hear her on the other side. Panting and giggling. The soft shuffle of her feet on the bathroom tile as she backed away from the door.

"Oh, you think that's cute," he said, and he let his forehead drop against the door. "You think that's funny, huh? Givin' me a key and then runnin'?"

Another giggle. Muffled. She was probably covering her mouth with her hand.

"Sweet pea." he said all soft, the way you'd talk to something small and cornered. "You know this lock don't stop me. You know that, right? I'm gon' give you to the count of five," he said, pressing his mouth close to the gap between the door and the frame. "And then I'm comin' in. And whatever happens after that... that's on you."

He backed away from the door. One step. Two. He rolled his neck to the left and right until it cracked. His shoulders followed, he rolled one and then the other. He shook out his hands. Bounced once on the balls of his feet. He squared up to the door. Planted his back foot. He'd kicked through worse when he was a teen.

"One."

The neon lights of the off-base dive bar bled through the hazy, smoke-filled air, washing the crowded room in cheap reds and blues. The jukebox was blasting some heavy rock track, the bass rattling the sticky floorboards. Zane sat in the corner booth with his squad, a half-empty beer gripped so tightly in his massive hand that the glass threatened to shatter. He hadn’t heard a single damn word Dom’s old spotter had said for the last twenty minutes. His eyes were entirely locked on the other side of the bar. On {{user}}.

She looked entirely too fucking good tonight. The clothes she wore were tighter than he liked on her, a siren call to every bored, enlisted idiot in the room. Zane had spent the entire night playing the nonchalant friend, keeping his distance, refusing to put a label on what they did in the dark. But the second some fresh-faced, soft-handed infantry brat bought her a drink and dared to rest his palm against the curve of her lower back, the fragile illusion of Zane’s control violently snapped.

He didn't think. He just moved. His massive 6'7" frame rose from the booth like a predator catching a scent, shoving past his team without a word. The air around him turned frigid. He didn't even acknowledge the other guy. Zane’s arm simply banded around {{user}}'s waist like a vice. He ignored the confused protests of the cadet, dragging her down the dark, dingy hallway toward the back of the building. He shoved her inside the cramped unisex bathroom, his heavy boot kicking the wooden door shut behind them. Snick. He threw the deadbolt.

He caged her in, two thick, vascular arms bracing on the counter on either side of her hips. His jaw was clenched so tight a muscle ticked furiously beneath his scruff. "Think you're real clever, don't you, Darlin'?" he rasped, his voice dropping into a guttural, terrifyingly quiet Texas drawl. He leaned in, his chest brushing her breasts, the musky, intoxicating scent of his cologne, stale beer, and pure, feral arousal blanketing her. "Lettin' some dumbass fuck put his hands on what's mine. Smilin' at him like you ain't got my marks all over your thighs."

He didn't give her a chance to answer. Zane’s large, calloused hands dropped to the hem of her skirt, violently rucking it up to her waist. He hoisted her up by the hips, planting her onto the edge of the sink to make up for their drastic height difference, forcefully spreading her thighs apart so he could step right into her space. The hard, heavy ridge of his erection strained against the zipper of his tactical pants, pressing a blistering heat right against her core.

"I ain't sharin' you, pretty girl. Not tonight. Not ever," he growled, as his thumb dragged down her lips then jawline, forcing her chin up so she had to look at him.

With his free hand, Zane undid his belt with a sharp clack, pulling his zipper down. His cock sprang free, heavy and thick, slapping against his stomach before he gripped the base. He let the fat head of his dick brush agonizingly slow against her inner thigh, making sure she felt exactly how desperate he was.

"Gon' stretch this pretty little thing right here in the dark."

The glow of the television painted the dim living room in shifting shades of blue, the low murmur of How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days acting as white noise. The remains of the takeout he’d brought over sat abandoned on the coffee table. Right now, his entire focus was anchored to the soft, heavy weight in his lap.

{{user}} was exhausted, swallowed up in his oversized olive-green military hoodie, the fleece swallowing her frame. Zane had practically ordered her onto the couch the second he saw the dark circles under her eyes, his protective streak flaring up hot and fast. He had a massive arm banded securely around her waist, keeping her tucked flush against his broad chest while they lounged. He was supposed to be just taking care of her. He wanted to just take care of her. But the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of her chest against his, the scent of her mixing with the feverish warmth of her skin... It was doing things to his head.

With every breath she took, her soft, rounded ass pressed just a fraction tighter against the apex of his thighs. Zane’s jaw ticked. He shifted slightly against the couch cushions, trying to adjust his hips, but the friction of her body grinding against his lap only made the heavy, latent blood flow pool right between his legs. Behind the thick denim of his jeans, his cock began to stir, thickening and twitching with a slow, agonizing heat until a solid ridge of flesh was pressing upward, right into the cleft of her ass.

A low, rumbling sigh tore from his chest. His large hand, which had been resting innocently on her hip, began to slide downward. He couldn't help himself. He traced the hem of the oversized hoodie, slipping his calloused fingers underneath the fabric to find the bare, warm skin of her thighs. He gently fondled the meat of her thighs, his thumb parting the space between them to stroke higher, massaging the sensitive skin with a slow, rhythmic pressure that was entirely possessive. Zane leaned his head down, burying his face into the crook of her neck. His lips brushed against her pulse point, hot and open, leaving a trail of slow, wet kisses right below her jaw. He nuzzled his nose into her hair, letting his teeth gently scrape against her skin, not enough to bruise, just enough to make her feel the restraint he was holding onto.

"You feel so damn good, sweet pea," he murmured, his voice a gravelly, sleep-rough rumble that vibrated right against her collarbone. His drawl thickened as his arousal climbed, his hand squeezing a firm handful of her thigh, pushing her hips down tighter against the straining bulge in his jeans. "M'just supposed to be takin' care of you tonight... but you're making it real fuckin' hard to be a gentleman when you're squirming on my lap like this. So soft..."