His gaze licked her from head to toe. Longing pounded through him. He could barely hear anything save the frenetic beating of his own heart. And his body, starved of sensation for so long, instantly responded to the images cascading through his mind—images of her straddling him, his hands at her hips, her full breasts bobbing as she rose and fell, her sheath milking the length of his cock, riding them both to breath-stealing completion.
He must have groaned or made some noise for abruptly her chin lifted, and before he could school his thoughts she’d gazed into his eyes, into his soul…. And gods-be-damned if he didn’t blush like a stripling gazing upon the glory of a naked woman for the very first time.
She knew what he wanted. Answering heat painted her cheeks. She swallowed, and when she moistened her lower lip with the tip of her tongue his own mouth was desert-dry as he waited for her to seal his fate.
“There will be no kissing,” she said, enunciating each word slowly and clearly, her speech affliction still nowhere in evidence.
“Of course not.” He smoothed his expression to better disguise his disappointment—nay, his despair—that only dreams of having her would accompany him into the darkness.
“I’m not going to kiss you.”
She hadn’t taken her gaze from his face and he nodded sharply, mutely cursing whatever she’d read in his eyes. It would do him no favors if she knew how much she meant to him and—
He blinked, fighting the need to pinch himself. Was he imagining it, or had she inched closer to him?
“There will be no ‘making up’ with you, either.”
She’d raised her hands and curled both forefingers in a gesture he guessed was meant to again emphasize these statements for his benefit. And he’d have believed she meant every word if she hadn’t moved closer still.
Somehow he managed to form a suitable response. “I understand.”
“I believe I’ve made it quite clear where we stand.”
His heart missed a beat. And then raced like battle-eager steed as she shifted restlessly again. One hand-span more and he could reach out and touch her. “You have,” he heard himself saying, the words soft and calm as an oasis pond, belying the hope boiling beneath the surface.
“Good. Just so’s we’re clear.”
He’d angled his body toward her when he’d sat, and this time when she moved her knee nudged his. He waited, muscles thrumming with tension, for her to ease back and create a measure of distance. But she didn’t. And that mere nudge of her knee against his devastated his senses. His control wavered and he crossed his arms over his chest, burrowing clenched fists beneath his armpits to prevent from snatching her against him and seducing her right here, right now, on the Crystal Guardian’s couch. And all the while she gazed into his eyes, unaware of what she was doing to him.
He had to swallow to moisten his throat before he could speak. “We are clear,” he said. Hah. A bald-faced lie, because nothing about this situation was clear to him. Her words, and the delivery of those words, killed all hope. But her actions called to mind the stealthy pursuit of a wily predator lulling its prey before it pounced.
“I’m very glad to hear it.” She shifted closer, her knee skimming his to nestle firmly against his thigh.
Gods. Did she not see what she was doing to him? How hard he was fighting not to give in to the need that burned through him? If she were any other woman he would believe she was playing games, teasing and titillating and enticing, but all the while waiting to smack him down the instant he made a move. The Opal he knew didn’t play games of that nature. Then again, the woman he knew stuttered, and the affliction worsened when her emotions ran high. She wasn’t stuttering. She sounded calm and certain, in complete control of her emotions. And if it hadn’t been for the spark burning in the depths of those cool green eyes he might have believed she felt nothing at all.
Alas, whether that spark was desire or anger or hatred, right now he was too confused to tell.
And then she braced her palms on his thigh and leaned in close enough that he could almost count the pale freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her nose. His breath hitched painfully in his chest and desire—sweet and deadly—coiled in his belly, waiting to strike.
“Why can’t I stay away from you?” he heard her whisper. “Damn you to hell, Danbur. You’re like a drug that I crave.”
And, while he was processing that wholly unexpected statement, he glimpsed something akin to despair flashing in her eyes. “I can’t fight it any more,” she said, and leaned closer still, her breath stroking his face with a sweet, gentle caress.
“Then gods help us both,” he murmured, and she must have detected the fervor in his voice, the need in his soul, because her lips curved. And then she closed the gap between them and kissed him.
She tasted of sunshine and light, spicy-sweetness with a hint of herbs, and Mother of all Gods, he yearned to sip and lick and taste her—every inch of her. But he held back, fearing his need would overwhelm her, scare her away and leave him bereft and even more broken than before.
Her lips were soft on his, tentative and uncertain, but potent all the same, and he was so focused on each silken-soft touch of those lips that it took him a moment to realize she’d moved to straddle his thighs. Her hands drifted upward to cup his face, and her kisses became bolder, more demanding, until he surrendered and opened his mouth and met her, tongue to tongue, lick for lick.
She sighed, a satisfied, wholly feminine sound that hardened his cock to the point where he had to bit his tongue against a groan. If she felt his too obvious need for her, she would shy away, and so he unfolded his arms, eased them from between their bodies, and skimmed his hands down her sides to rest on the swell of her hips. She began to sink down into his lap and it took every iota of control he possessed to keep hold of her hips and maintain the space between them, when all he wanted to do was to cup her bottom in his hands and spread her thighs and—
“Dinner’s ready!” Sera’s voice cut through the haze of sexual desire.
Opal froze. Her head snapped up and she reared back so abruptly Danbur thrust an arm across her back to prevent her toppling to the floor. “N-N-No!” she whispered, staring down at him, her eyes wide and shocked. “W-W-What was I th-thi-thinking?”
“Coming, ready or not!” Sera’s shout was accompanied by a gleeful giggle and a muted response from Pieter.
Opal snatched her hands from Danbur’s face and pressed them to her flushed cheeks. “G-G-God!” she said, obviously horrified by her daughter’s announcement but incapable of moving.
Danbur lifted her from his lap and settled her beside him on the couch. Wordlessly she handed him a cushion.
He glanced down. His erection tented the thin material of his pants. And with Sera and Pieter heading toward them, his only recourse was to place the cushion in his lap. “We will finish this later,” he murmured, pitching his voice for her ears only.
Opal shivered, and chafed her arms with her palms. She ripped her gaze from him to level a smile at Sera, and hold out her hands for the tray of food the little girl was struggling to keep level.
Danbur smoothed his expression to hide his thoughts from Pieter’s too-sharp gaze. “Later” couldn’t come quickly enough.
Chapter Twelve
He led her from the dance floor, draping an arm around her waist to steer her toward the bar. She still couldn’t believe he’d asked her out. Her, the thin, gangly-legged blonde with the weird green eyes. Sure, she was a bona fide model now, but deep down she still felt like the freaky alien creature popular girls had sneered at and most boys hadn’t given a second glance. Deep down she didn’t believe she belonged in this glittering world full of beautiful people. But he made her feel like she wasn’t an imposter. And terribly grown-up, too—old enough to flirt a little, take a few risks. Which was why when he handed her a flute of champagne, she accepted it and took a healthy swig.
Yuck. Revolting. She generally avoided alcohol and this stuff tasted like
… cough syrup. Why anyone would choose to drink it was beyond her. But hey, what did she know about champagne? She hid a grimace and took another sip. And another. And was abruptly grateful for the heat of the alcohol thawing the cold mass of nerves in her belly. Clubs weren’t really her scene, either, but he’d pleaded for her to come—so he could show off the beautiful girl he’d convinced to go out with him to his friends, he’d said. How could she resist?
It was a huge relief to slide into a booth seat and take the weight off her aching feet. The shoes she’d borrowed from one of her roommates were über-sexy and uncomfortable as hell. But comfort wasn’t something you cared about. It was all about how you looked and giving the right impression.
A round of drinks arrived and he handed her another glass of champagne. God. She must look such an idiot juggling two glasses. She smiled her thanks, drained the first glass, and set it quickly aside.
The two other women in the group were both older, highly educated professionals—one a lawyer, the other in real estate—and they shut down her halting attempts at conversation. The men were talking stocks and high finance, so she leaned against the seatback, letting their voices swirl around her while she observed the action on the dance floor.
She didn’t realize she’d closed her eyes until she heard him say, “Looks like someone needs her beauty sleep.” She didn’t catch the comment one of his friends made in response but it must have been witty because everyone laughed. And if their laughter had a brittle, cruel edge to it, she didn’t pay it much mind as she shuffled from the padded booth, holding her skirt so she didn’t flash her panties.
The frenetic dance floor lights were like darts piercing her eyeballs, but when she dropped her gaze she felt dizzy and a little sick. Wow. Champagne sure was potent—she’d only had a couple of sips from the second glass. She made a mental note to avoid champagne from now on. She didn’t have the head for it.
He extended an arm to steady her as she swayed on heels that had morphed into stilt-like menaces. Such a gentleman. She was so lucky he’d picked her over one of her older, more sophisticated roommates. She grasped his arm tightly as he led her from the club and out into the street.
Everything had become a little blurry and the fresh, chilly air biting her face felt heaven-sent. He increased his pace and she clung more tightly to his arm, willing herself not to stumble. She didn’t want him to think she couldn’t even handle a couple of drinks.
They’d been walking a while when she glanced around, realized there was no taxi rack in sight. A tiny worm of unease oozed down her spine. She didn’t recall him arranging to drive her home, and he’d surely drunk a little too much to consider driving.
“How far is the taxi rack?” she asked as they rounded a corner and headed down a dark alleyway between two buildings. Her voice had gone all high and quivery, like some whiny kid protesting the walk to the car. She cringed. Tried again. “Maybe I’ll call us both a cab, then?”
His continued lack of response unsettled her. She darted him a glance. His profile revealed downturned lips and tightly clenched jaw. Oh God. She’d pissed him off. He’d decided she was too young and silly and annoying. He’d obviously parked his car somewhere around here and presumed he’d be driving her home. How would he react if she refused to get in the car with him?
Her stomach roiled as she concentrated on watching her feet and avoiding noxious-looking puddles. If she got these shoes wet they’d be ruined, and Robyn would kill her… then bring her back to life and kill her all over again—after she’d extracted payment for a new pair of shoes, of course. Robyn was generous when it came to lending clothes but not that generous and—
He swung her around to face him. He kissed her, hard, thrusting his tongue into her mouth. She should have felt relieved, triumphant. This was what she’d hoped for, wasn’t it? For him to kiss her? But she hadn’t thought their first kiss would be rough and demanding and scary. Like this.
She made a noise of protest, hoping he would hear and understand, hoping he would give her space to breathe. Instead, he backed her against the brick wall of the alleyway. The rough surface scraped the knobs of her spine. It had to be wreaking havoc on the delicate material of the dress she’d bought specially for this date. And when she tried to push him away, to tell him that his grip was bruising her arms and she was sorry but she wasn’t ready for this after all, he shoved his knee between her thighs and pinned her against that unforgiving wall.
Panicked, she bit his lip, tasted blood.
He tore his mouth away. Swore.
“Please, stop. Please—”
“Shut up, bitch.”
She was so shocked by the venom in his voice she didn’t see it coming. The slap snapped her skull against the wall so hard the world flashed to black and then exploded with silvery stars.
When she could see again, his lips were moving but his words were a buzz of static in her head. Then, with a burst of pain, her brain came back online and she found herself staring into blue eyes gone wintry-cold and hard and mean. She finally understood what he wanted…. And that he wasn’t going to take “no” for an answer.
She kicked and struggled, tried to claw his face, but he was bigger, stronger, and she was so tired. Why was she so goddamned tired?
She managed to turn her head aside, had opened her mouth to scream for help but he smacked his hand over her mouth, mashing her lips against her teeth. Through the creeping haze of exhaustion she heard him swear and mutter something like “it’s taking too long”. And then the world around her spun and the buildings seemed to close in, blocking out what little light the pinprick-sized stars overhead provided.
She blinked, and when she dragged her eyelids open again her panties were down around her knees and her dress up over her hips. And then there was more pain, because he was shoving inside her. She fought to stay conscious because somehow it seemed like giving in if she blacked out to escape what he was doing to her. But it was so hard to keep her eyes open, so hard to stay awake, so hard not to give up and shut it all out and drift away.
She couldn’t help it. She closed her eyes and then there was only his violent thrusts slamming her spine against the bricks, and the bruising pressure of his hand against her mouth and his hoarse voice telling her to “shut the fuck up just shut the fuck up you little slut shut up and stop whining because we know this is what you wanted and now you’re getting what you wanted so shut the fuck up and if you tell anyone no one will believe you and if you tell anyone I’ll make you sorry you were ever born….”
~~~
Opal curled into a tight ball and lay shivering, biting her lips to keep the whimpers bottled up inside so she didn’t wake Sera. She tasted blood and licked her lip, grateful for the self-inflicted wound because the throbbing pain confirmed that here and now, lying in this bed, was real. Her seventeen-year-old self in that alleyway had only been a memory. She was safe. She was still anonymous. Sera was asleep in the next room.
Eventually the frantic kicking of her pulse slowed and the sweat slicking her body dried. With a hand that shook more than a little she reached out to fumble with the bedside lamp. The soft golden glow pooling across the light comforter helped but it couldn’t banish the past. And rather than fight to suppress the memories Opal confronted them head on, knowing from experience it was the quickest way to get past them and move on so she could get some sleep.
She inhaled, holding her breath until little stars blinked behind her eyes, and then exhaled slowly, steadily, sloughing off the residual fear and panic, refusing to let it own her again. She propped herself higher on the pillows. Right. Let’s do this.
She fixed the aftermath of that night in her mind, and mentally walked herself through it. Only this time, she put a frame around the memories, containing them. And she pictured them in black and white rather than color, a technique that helped her distance herself even more and become a dispassionate observer.
He hadn’t stuck around once he’d finished with her. He’d
zipped up his pants and lurched off down the alleyway. She’d waited until the darkness swallowed him, and then waited some more. Only when she was certain he wasn’t coming back did she crumple to her knees and vomit up the contents of her stomach. The champagne had burned her throat on the way up—she hadn’t been able to stomach the taste of champagne since that night—and she’d slumped against the wall in that filthy alley, pulling the pieces of herself together, bit by painful bit, until she could function again.
Even now Opal vividly recalled being pathetically grateful she’d not puked all over Robyn’s shoes… and thinking she was incredibly lucky that the tiny purse she’d bought to match the dress had fallen to the ground a mere foot away. Funny how many useless, banal details stuck in her mind.
Sick and shaking and muzzy-headed from whatever he’d used to spike her champagne, she’d fished out her mobile and called a cab to take her home. But that hadn’t been the end of the night’s humiliation. The cab driver gave her attitude, threatening to toss her from the car if she puked over his backseat. He’d obviously tagged her as just another silly young thing who’d drunk too much in search of a good time.
She hadn’t bothered to correct his impression. It only cemented what Rick had told her: no one would believe her. So she hadn’t told a soul what had truly happened that night. The bruise on her cheek she explained away with a self-deprecating reference to her own clumsiness. And if a glimpse of red hair in a crowd had made her break out in a cold sweat, well, no one noticed. She’d been doing okay, putting it all behind her and moving forward… until the absence of her always erratic periods and a weight gain could no longer be ignored. The pregnancy test confirmed it. And her world had fallen apart all over again.
Opal's Wish: Book Four of The Crystal Warriors Series Page 18