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I already knew this room. I’d spent countless hours in it during the game, but also in my dream tonight. Had Zane designed Dorian’s room based on his own? It shouldn’t surprise me. The physical similarities between Dorian and Zane were clear.

You have a chance at a real, better Dorian. The worst he can do is shoot you down.

I turned toward Zane and swallowed at the way he loomed over me. The reptilian part of my brain knew he was dangerous, but he’d shown me nothing but care.

“Don’t take the couch. This bed is huge.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course. I promise, I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

Zane closed the distance between us and looped his arm around my waist. “What if I don’t want you to?”

SEVEN

“I’ve never been with a man,” I blurted. I took a step back, but the bed connected with the backs of my thighs.

Zane’s eyes glowed in the low light. “I figured.”

“How?” My voice came out barely above a whisper.

He took another step, close enough for me to feel the heat radiating from him, and I wanted to wrap myself around him and melt into his warmth.

“You watch me like you want to touch, but you’re surprised by it.” Zane hooked his fingers into the waistband of my jeans. “Do you want to touch me?”

I tried to swallow, but my throat was too dry. I nodded.

Zane cupped my cheek, leaving a scorching brand on my skin. I leaned into his touch.

“Go ahead.” His eyes grew impossibly darker.

I clutched the hem of his T-shirt as if it were the only anchor tethering me to my body. He stood still, but his posture was tense, like it took everything not to touch me back. I shuddered at the power he gave me.

Forcing my hands to unclench, I palmed the smooth skin covering his ridiculous abs. More. I needed to see more, so I pushed his shirt up and revealed tattoos inked on his perfect skin. He tugged it over his head and let it fall to the floor.

What the…wings across his chest and a biohazard symbol around his navel. Something niggled at my memory. Dream Zane had that tattoo, plus the reddish shading on the wings. In the game, Damien’s wings tattoo had no color. The gold chain, too.

It made no sense. I hadn’t seen him shirtless until now, so how could my brain have known to supply those details in my dream? I brushed it off. My brain must be retroactively filled in specifics now that I had them.

“You used your tattoo in the game. On Damien.”

Zane’s eyebrow arched in amusement. “You’ve seen that, huh?”

My skin flushed at the implication. It required going down the romance path with Damien for a while before he revealed his tattoo and explained the exile curse that resulted in his clipped wings.

I tilted my head and met his eyes. “I choose Damien every time.”

“Marcus…” My name came out like a plea. The need written across his face mirrored my own.

With a shaking hand, I traced the wings, and he sucked in a breath when my knuckles brushed across his nipple. Zane’s hands splayed across my hips in a barely there touch. Despite having the strength to toss me across the room, his touch was gentle, as though he were coaxing a starved stray cat to accept a meal.

I wanted the confidence I’d had in the dream. Why can’t I? Zane is into this. I’m into this. He knows I’m inexperienced. Just fucking go for it.

I pressed a kiss to his sternum at the point where the wings met. Nuzzling my cheek into his warmth, I flicked my tongue across his nipple, earning a sharp intake of breath.

“Tell me what you want. I’ll make this good for you.”

Everything was what I wanted to say. This was my chance to live out my Damien fantasy, but Zane was real and even better. I dragged my cheek across his chest to lick his other nipple.