by Amber Bardan
The loss of those same things a reflection in her eyes.
She touched my cheek again, her hand warm and soft.
I’d give it all. Success, ambition, wealth. I’d lay it at the feet of anyone who could give my old world back. For a moment that world shifted, and I felt them alive in the way she touched my face and looked at me.
Her chin tilted forward and her breath flowed a new seduction into my lungs. Purpose—vengeance—justice. What did they matter with what we’d lost?
My will screamed—Games—I seized her wrist, and jerked her touch from me. Her breath caught, but her eyes went still. For all I’ve seen her earnest, this was the thing that had suspicion burning in my throat and dripping to my heart. That look. I held her wrist, caught like a speared fish between us. That one. The I-see-you-Haithem.
With her tricks and bartering. Her hand clutching diamonds over the ocean. Secrets for orgasms. Games and dares. None could claim to have known, or tested, or seen me the same. Not since I’d become this single-minded thing. Who could see past this shadow?
Angelina.
My muscles contracted and I tossed her wrist before I could squeeze it in a way I couldn’t undo. “What are you playing at?”
* * *
THE PLETHORA OF things he’d failed to hide slammed closed as his jaw set in that familiar way. I rubbed my wrist, my heart a dull aching thump in my chest. Don’t know what I thought I’d win from him, only that I’d pry whatever I could free.
“Truth or dare.”
I hadn’t expected to find so much. I hadn’t expected to see grief as deep as my own. And I’d never have thought I’d find hope.
My fingers opened and closed, and even though he scowled I wanted to set my hand on him again. I wanted to see what else there was to him he wouldn’t show.
“And what did you hope to dare? What truth did you want from me?” He stood. “Go on, ask me—maybe this time I’ll answer.”
The dull thump of my heart turned deeper, harder and fuller. No he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t answer. He was hunting for ulterior motives.
“You accuse me of games, but you’re the one who played me.” I stood, too. My bare toes, inches from his black shoes on carpet. “You made me tell you personal things and pretended you cared.”
His scowl turned further down.
“You made me think you really liked me.” My bottom lip pulled in. I filled my lungs, because no, I wouldn’t get emotional again.
His expression shivered, the anger and grit clearing. “I never agreed with what you suggested,” he said. “If you’re upset, it’s because you’ve made assumptions.”
His eyes were dark, and his gaze bored into me.
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I never said I was playing you—you assumed that.” He touched his chin with his fingertip.
“Is this you trying to apologize? You’re not saying you said that, but you’re not denying it, either?” I leaned up a little higher. “That is not an apology.”
“I’m sorry you’re upset.” He dropped his hand to my arm. A frown edged into his expression.
The warmth of his touch shot into my skin. I breathed hard, and the movement pushed my chest against my dress. The fabric suddenly didn’t seem like much of a barrier between him and me. Neither did the tiny fraction of space between us.
My gaze flicked to his lips. I could still taste them. Still remember exactly how they felt against mine. Heat and need crawled through me, harder and sharper than I’d ever experienced.
“That is the worst apology I’ve ever heard, and it’s not even what you should be apologizing for.” I hadn’t meant to sound so breathless.
He’d played me in so many ways, but one was the most infuriating. He’d lured me here with something I’d desperately wanted. Something I hadn’t been able to block from my mind or dreams even in my angriest moments. Something I still wanted and he should’ve damn well given to me already.
“Really? What should I be apologizing for?”
I brought my mouth so close to his he’d taste my answer. “You should apologize because I’ve been here for a week, and I still haven’t gotten laid.”
There could only be two reasons he hadn’t been all over me. Either he didn’t want me—or he was afraid of what would happen if he fucked me. A furious burn rose in my esophagus at the first possibility. And maybe my whole body did ache to have him, but what could he be afraid of? What would happen if we did? My heart raced at the idea. My core pooled with desire. Would it be like before, when I touched him and he couldn’t keep himself inside?
Things couldn’t get much worse between us, but maybe they could get more. Maybe I could have more. Be more to him.
If he gave in.
If I pushed him there.
“So, maybe you should shut your face and apologize to my vagina—with your prick.”
I don’t know how I came up with such vulgar words, but they worked. Air hissed between his lips. I wanted to feel okay again. Wanted to feel sexy and good and not shredded and anxious. I didn’t need it to be sweet. I just needed it to happen.
The fingers wrapped around my arm squeezed.
“That’s not a very nice way to talk.” Each word he said tickled my mouth.
“Thought we established I didn’t need to be nice with you?”
Haithem released my arm. “I’m going to get you something to eat.” He strode to the door, then paused. “I hope you’re done moping.”
My pulse galloped and I watched him leave.
Big bad Haithem was afraid of me.
* * *
IT MUST’VE BEEN midnight when I heard the rustling next door. In the locked room. Strange, since I hadn’t heard anyone outside on the deck.
And I’d been listening.
Ever since Karim delivered something that tasted very much like fresh-caught squid, I’d been listening. Wondering if Haithem would come back up.
Wondering if the chef had frozen squid somewhere, or if Haithem had sent someone out to catch some—or maybe he’d ventured out himself.
But the question running through my mind again was why Haithem, Mr. Balls of Steel, had chickened out of shagging me?
Either way, it wasn’t fair—I couldn’t stop thinking about him. Couldn’t stop sitting there, staring at the wall, picturing what it’d actually be like to be taken by Haithem.
I’d lost a piece of my mind.
A beat thumped in my head.
Sex, sex, sex.
The same beat that had hummed away under the surface of my skin since I’d stepped out of that damn elevator.
Sex, sex, sex.
Whispering in my blood dark with promises of what Haithem offered.
It was fucked-up, I’m sure.
I had hate and anger and pain all twisted up with a mighty lust. Yet that promise kept me going. The promise that had drawn me here, to his yacht, to him. Sex. I’d always been such a bloody good girl. Careful, dependable, good. Too bogged down in responsibility and grief to even know myself.
Another sound echoed from the other room, and I stared at the door.
I wanted to peel off my skin and see what lay underneath. That same skin shook with uncertainty—the fear of rejection. Even so, nothing he said or did could take away what I knew. He’d sought me out, brought me here—he desired me, too.
No amount of self-doubt could erase that.
That knowledge alone empowered me. That knowledge made me believe more about myself than I could have accepted on my own.
I am desirable.
I walked to the door and pressed my fist on the wood.
I’d use that desirability to my advantage. Because, fuck him—he’d messed with my life. He’d played god with my existence and had the
audacity to deny me the one thing that had been an unspoken vow between us—that he would take me.
I raised my fist and knocked.
The room went quiet.
I knocked again.
The door opened. Once again, my heart faltered. Haithem, hair mussed, jaw rugged, shirtsleeves rolled up, freaking barefoot.
I pushed my way into the room and looked around.
An office.
Big wood desk, wingback chair, a couple of armchairs. A bookshelf with glass doors.
Made sense, really—high-powered businessmen on yachts, maybe they’d need an adjoining office.
“I didn’t hear you on the deck.”
Haithem shut the door and pushed his hands into his pockets. “That’s because I came up the internal stairs.”
“There’s internal stairs?” I glanced around the room. My gaze caught on a shut door across the room. “So, why have I been going down the outside ones?”
“Because you’re not allowed in here.”
“Not allowed?” I smiled. “I thought this time with you was all about being allowed to do anything.” I walked to his desk. Picked up a narrow wooden box.
He stepped up behind me.
I opened the lid.
A letter opener.
I touched the edge. Rounded and smooth. Not sharp enough to be exciting.
“You’re such a liar.”
He took the box from me and set it back on the desk. “Never claimed otherwise.”
“But you did say something about keeping promises.” I turned. “You were fairly adamant about your ability to keep a promise.”
“And what promises have I broken?”
There was definitely something about being up late that gave me courage. “You said you’d give me whatever I asked for.” I stepped closer to him. “And I’ve asked you to fuck me, and yet I remain completely unfucked.” I lowered my voice “Liar.”
His teeth clamped shut with a snap.
Finally, a button.
Push.
I smiled, high on electric energy. “We both know I came here for one thing, but you lost your nerve.”
His fingers twitched.
Push.
“You pretend to be so big and bad, with all your warnings—but I think all you are is one big bluff.”
Shove.
He clenched his fists. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were fishing for trouble.”
“I don’t need trouble. Believe me, I’m suffering enough.” I looked up at him. “But if you think I’m scared of being hurt a little bit, don’t worry—I’m used to being hurt a lot.”
His eyelids drooped. “That’s why I’m not doing this.”
I laughed—tipped my head back and laughed bitterly at the ceiling.
“You care, do you?” I lowered my chin and stared at him. “You think I don’t know what you wanted. Why you invited me here in the first place. To fuck me, use me, make me your little sex doll for two weeks?”
Silence pulsed between us.
His jaw ticked, once, twice, three times. “I didn’t know you then. Now, I’m trying not to hurt you—a lot.”
I wanted to hit him, to pound my fists against his chest like a lunatic. How dare he decide for me? I was done with that.
My choice.
I didn’t need any more protecting.
I pushed his chest. He grabbed my wrist, stopped the futile action.
“No, you’re being a pussy. Man up and fuck me.”
His entire face twitched.
He jerked my hand up, turned me around and brought my hand up behind me.
He bent me over his desk.
My chest hit wood with a thud.
“Like this?”
His voice sent a chill into me—partly due to the underlying note of anger, partly because of the way it shook, as though I could snap his control with the slightest movement.
I wouldn’t say no, wouldn’t tell him this was not what I’d pictured when I’d thought of us together. Right then, though, any way we came together was better than being denied another moment.
My arm strained behind my back, stretching muscles in my shoulder. My nightgown was pushed up by the hand now manacled to the small of my back. Air flew back into my lungs. The silken fabric of his pants skimmed the back of my thighs. And his heat—his heat branded my skin. Made me hyperconscious of his body positioned behind me. Made my pussy wet and ready and willing. Made me all too aware of just what would happen now.
That he’d finally take me.
That he’d fuck me angry.
That he might fuck me roughly and callously, the way you take a woman who knows how to fuck. Because I’d shown him the most wanton side of myself. The side I hadn’t really known was there until he drew it out of me. He didn’t know that no other man had ever seen me naked.
And I’d rather he never found out.
The past week showed me I didn’t believe in labels like virgin. I could demand cock and not blush. I wasn’t innocent. I’d just never had the chance to take what I needed.
His knee drove between mine and opened my thighs.
Thought evaporated, leaving only lust in its wake.
“Is this what you want, Angel?” His hand moved between my legs, and his fingers curled around the crotch of my underwear.
I refused to let out the gasp that caught in my chest.
His body heat brushed the folds of my sex. His skin against my sensitive skin. His thumb moved, stroking my slickness.
My legs jerked.
“You want me to fuck you?” He tugged on my panties, slamming my backside into his hips and pulling fabric taut against my swelling clitoris. “Fuck you, use you, make you my doll?” His voice dripped with venomous sweetness.
He rotated his hips, and the full length of his cock rubbed against the curve of my ass through his pants. My stomach tightened, my core throbbed and my body reacted as if by instinct, rolling against that delicious hardness.
I moistened my lips, willing them to form the words to call his bluff. “So, stop talking about it, and do something.”
I couldn’t see his face, but his grip on my wrist tightened. I knew what I’d done—sliced a vein open in front of a shark and dared him to eat me.
You don’t dare a shark—they have no soul.
He tugged my panties. The fabric dug into my hips, then gave way with a rip that echoed through the cabin. His hand covered me—his huge hand, fingertips hovering over my clit and thumb stretched all the way back to the top of my ass. My stomach squeezed. He rubbed a slow circle over my nerves. My eyes stretched open, pleasure lighting up my insides.
He moved his thumb, prodding against my pussy.
“So wet...” he said, and swirled his thumb in my heat. “You think you want this...” He delved back quickly, violently, jammed the pad of his thumb against my ass. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
I jerked and gasped, breathing in air that tasted of varnish. My spine curled as if I was a cat. He pinned my wrist tighter to the small of my back, pushing me toward him. His thumb pressed deeper, the tip stretching my entrance. My hips twisted.
“All you have to say is no. All you have to say is stop.”
I sucked in more air, torn between the need to yelp and the need to beg for more.
“Say it.” He leaned over me, his fingers slipping and brushing my clitoris. Sensations streaked through me.
I squirmed, involuntarily releasing a sound.
“Say you’ve had enough.” Haithem released my wrist. Blood rushed back into my shoulder muscles. He brushed hair from my face with his free hand and leaned over me, then sank a fraction farther into my ass.
I squeezed my eyes shut, braci
ng against the fullness.
“Just push me away,” he whispered, his breath rushing against my temple.
My pulse raced hard and fast.
He was right. I had no clue what I’d asked for. Even the thrill couldn’t combat the system overload.
I couldn’t have imaged he’d do this—want this.
He rocked his fingers simultaneously against my ass and my pussy. The tension in my pelvis coiled tightly and urgently, caused my vision to blur. Even half out of my mind, I knew he held back. He toyed with me, still tried to scare me away, convince me of his badness—prove I couldn’t handle it.
But I wanted his wickedness. Needed it to balance the bleakness inside me.
I breathed out slowly, expelling all the air from my lungs. Forced my muscles to relax, to comply with his invasion—then I pushed back.
I stretched. His thumb sank in to the first knuckle. He stilled behind me and whispered a foreign word against my hair.
Playtime ended.
He impaled me with his thumb, rubbing my clit with two fingers. This time, I couldn’t control the squeal that burst out of my chest. He stroked hard and methodically, no playing, no teasing. My slippery flesh quivered under the pump of his fingers. My insides strained, my pelvis jerked, every cell contracted, stiffened—then let go.
I screamed, the hoarse sound grating against my throat. Raw ecstasy smashed into me. I pulsed, vibrated, unraveled. I thrashed as though stung with electricity.
My breaths slowed, and the hand between my legs slid free. His weight left me, and cold touched my rear. I rested on the desk, arms over my head, muscles limp and useless.
I turned my head to the side.
Haithem stood beside me, staring at me as if he either wanted to devour me or tear me apart. Passion streaked his features. Something opened inside me, and energy flowed in. I climbed off the desk and onto the floor in front of Haithem.
He towered over me, all hard man. I placed my hands on his thighs and leaned into him. At any other time, I might have been nervous, but now I realized this was where I’d always wanted to be.
I became catlike around him. No bones, just stretching, arching muscle, desperate to rub against him. I wanted to lie at his feet, had felt it the moment I saw him. Like some primitive response to his masculine energy—everything female in me desperate to crawl to him. I rested my cheek against his pants, his erection reaching me through the fabric. My hands stroked toward his belt, but I couldn’t resist—couldn’t resist the desire to bite that bulge. I scraped my teeth over a hardness that could have been made of metal.