Take a Hint, Dani Brown

by Talia Hibbert

  A question spilled out before he could think better of it. “Why are you so against relationships?”

  He felt her cool and stiffen into iron. “They don’t agree with me.”

  “I’m not trying to say you’re wrong,” he added quickly, squeezing her hip. “You know what you’re doing, Dan. And I respect your choices. I’m just . . . wondering.” I want to know the parts of you that aren’t on display. But only because he’d shown her a little of himself, earlier, sharing the details of his past. He wanted this friendship to be balanced. That was all.

  Zain’s voice rang through his head, full of stifled laughter. Lying is haram, little brother.

  Yeah, well.

  Zaf’s words seemed to relax Dani, because she stopped giving him a death glare and shrugged, her lips pursed. “I’ve attempted romantic relationships before, and it never ends well. I don’t have the necessary qualities to make a ‘good girlfriend.’” She made air quotes around the words, rolling her eyes as if that would hide the vulnerable edge to her voice. “I’m too work-focused. I don’t say the right things, or remember romantic little anniversaries. I find excessive affection obnoxious and I don’t enjoy putting other people’s priorities before my career and my family. These facts tend to disappoint prospective partners, and I’m too busy to deal with someone else’s disappointment or the punishment that comes along with it. So I avoid the dynamic altogether.”

  Zaf frowned. “But that’s . . .”

  She arched an eyebrow.

  “That’s not how relationships should be,” he finished, thrown a little off-balance. She’d said those words with such flat, empty hopelessness, as if this was a lesson she’d learned the hard way. As if it was a simple fact that love would ask too much of her, and so she wouldn’t or couldn’t try. He wasn’t sure if the look in her eyes was weariness or an echo of something sharper, harsher. Either way, he didn’t like it.

  “I know,” she told him slowly, as if explaining something to a child. “I don’t do things right, and I don’t think I want to. It all seems awfully dull and inconvenient. That’s why I’ve chosen to abstain.”

  “No. I meant—priorities that don’t match, punishments for being yourself, that’s not how a relationship should be.”

  She opened her mouth, then closed it. Apparently, he’d surprised her.

  “People harp on about compatibility for a reason. If you value family and work, you just need someone who feels the same way, someone who admires that about you. If you can’t do the sappy shit, you just have to find someone who’s okay with that. Someone who understands how awkward you are—”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  He ignored her. “—and loves it. I know you have a busy life, but you make room for the stuff that matters. If it was worth it, and you wanted to, you could make room for a relationship, too. What you get out of being loved, it’s supposed to be worth the compromise. When it’s good, it makes you want to compromise.”

  She eyed him steadily for a moment, her expression unreadable. But something about the line of her mouth, the slow rhythm of her breaths, told him she was thinking. Hard.

  In the end, though, it came to nothing. “I have no idea how you aren’t married yet,” she murmured, studying him like he was some kind of exotic insect. Then she sighed and shook her head, as if brushing away fairy tales. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe there’s some lucky individual out there who’s just dying to spend forever with a bookish workaholic who wants to vomit at the prospect of romance, but I don’t care enough to bother searching for them. I’m not interested in the, er, transformative power of love, or what have you. I don’t need it. I know what I want from life, and I know how to get it.”

  Each word landed with a thump in Zaf’s chest, like a series of death knells, though he couldn’t say exactly what was dying.

  I know what I want from life, and I know how to get it. “So do I,” he said softly.

  Dani nodded. “We’re not that different, you know, even if we’re facing opposite directions. I don’t want to waste my time looking for a diamond in a pile of shit. And you don’t want another unhappy ending.”

  Another. The way she looked at him, as if she saw his every fear and secret hope, was almost enough to make Zaf sweat. He still wanted to chase away the ghosts in her eyes, but if that meant she got to chase his, too . . . no fucking thank you.

  Besides, he hadn’t been lying when he’d said he respected her choices. Didn’t mean he had to like them. But he respected them, because he respected her.

  “I accept your conditions,” he said finally. “But I have a couple of my own.” Needed them, he realized, if he was going to come out of this unscathed.

  “Hit me,” she murmured. Then she wiggled on his lap, and he narrowly avoided biting off his own tongue. “Quick.”

  “First: we can’t do this forever.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “Forever isn’t really my thing.”

  “I know.” His cheeks heated. “I meant . . . maybe, since we put a deadline on the fake relationship, we can put a deadline on this, too.” That would save him from stumbling over boundaries or breaking rules he’d never learned. Dani was so committed to this no-strings shit, she’d actually prayed about it—and Zaf knew from experience that when you started praying, it meant you were deadly serious or about to die or both. The last thing he wanted to do was embarrass himself by holding on too long.

  She eyed him carefully, and if he caught a flash of disappointment in her gaze, it was either wishful thinking or a protest from her sex drive. “All right. Once our charade dies down, you’ll probably get back to looking for your one true love, anyway. I wouldn’t want to get in the way,” she said wryly.

  The idea that Dani could get in the way of anything felt wrong—wrong enough to wrench at something vital in his chest. But she’d made a good point, one that tied up their loose ends neatly. “We should end this when we end the fake relationship. We’ll have to stage some kind of breakup around then, anyway.” Which Zaf had managed to avoid thinking about until this moment. “It’ll be good timing. Which gives us . . . three weeks.”

  “Three weeks,” she echoed. “I can work with that.”

  “Good,” he said, but it didn’t feel good at all. He pushed away nameless, shapeless misgivings and pulled her closer, where she belonged. “I have one last condition.” Because there were a thousand things he wouldn’t push her on, but this? This was different. “I get that you want casual. But as long as we do this, Danika,” he murmured, “no one touches you but me.”

  She swallowed hard, but to his relief, she didn’t argue. When she nodded, something vicious inside him sang to life. “Only you,” she whispered.

  It was terrible, how perfect those words sounded on her lips. Dangerous, how much he wanted to hear them again, in a thousand different ways.

  This might be the best bad idea he’d ever had.

  Chapter Twelve

  Dani bit her lip and tried to look sexily expectant as opposed to painfully, desperately horny. It wasn’t easy, not when Zaf was watching her with a focus that shivered its way across her skin. Not when she could feel him, thick and hard, between her thighs. Not when every inch of her shook with a lust so obvious, she was considering throwing her whole, treacherous body out with the recycling tomorrow.

  She was unraveling for him, as if she needed him, and the intensity of it made her feel alive and horribly exposed all at once. It was dangerous, to be like this, to crave like this. It had to be. But then she realized that Zaf was unraveling, too, and suddenly things weren’t so bad. Through the fog of her own hunger, she noticed the heavy rise and fall of his chest, the way he wet his lips as if he’d been thirsty for centuries and she was an oasis. He reflected her own frantic need right back at her, and Dani’s worry faded until only anticipation was left, dancing through her stomach like starlight. Only you, she’d said, and the words had seemed to vibrate with something like power.

  Which was probably a spiritual
pat on the shoulder from Oshun. You know: Well done for taking the hint, darling! Now take an orgasm or two, as well, so you can stop whining all the time.

  Dani was mentally promising to do just that when Zaf’s free hand rose to cup her nape, and her thoughts scattered.

  Then he kissed her.

  This wasn’t like their first kiss: that had been a test, a surprise, and technically, a fake. It hadn’t felt fake, not when he’d taken her apart piece by piece with each cautious stroke of his tongue, but still. It hadn’t been for them, not really—it had been for show. The same went for their second, short kiss at the security desk, even if that had felt . . . different, at the time.

  But this? This was so real and so raw, Dani might have flinched away if it wasn’t so fucking good.

  Zaf’s mouth was lush and firm against hers, sending electric shivers racing up her spine. His free hand cradled her cheek, and his thumb pushed at the edge of her lips, coaxing her to open wider, to take his tongue deeper. He was always so gentle with her, so unassuming, that she’d never expected his lust to fill the air like rich humidity—but it did. He surrounded her, his taste in her mouth and his hard cock between her thighs, and she wanted to succumb.

  When his other hand kneaded her arse with shameless hunger, heat flooded her pussy in response. She rubbed her swollen nipples against the solid breadth of his chest, rocked her desperate clit against the crude ridge of his erection, and helpless need rose in her like the tide. His tongue slid across the tender seam of her upper lip, and she felt that trembling pleasure in her cunt. He pulled her hard against him, and she felt the damp fabric of her underwear draw tight over her folds. Fuck. Fuck. Thirty seconds of making out on the sofa like teenagers, and she was already fighting the urge to shove him onto his back and sit on his face.

  Oshun, I’m sorry I ever doubted you.

  Even sorrier that she had him for just a few weeks. But she wouldn’t think about that right now—wouldn’t remember the odd pang that had hit her when he’d laid out his first condition. Like she’d said, Dani didn’t do forever.

  A strange melancholy nipped at the heels of her lust, but then Zaf bit her lower lip and squeezed her jaw—just enough to say, Me. You’re with me. So come back. And she did, delicious tension squeezing her core, desire pooling thick and sweet as honey.

  Faintly, she murmured against his mouth, “Are you a sex wizard?”

  His laughter was strained, as if he didn’t have enough air in his lungs to do it properly. “No. But I’ve been thinking about this for a long fucking time.”

  Her breath hitched in her throat, and she pulled back slightly. “How long?”

  “Long enough,” he said, low and rough, “that I’ve thought of a thousand ways to kiss you. So let me.”

  Let me. She slid her fingers into the raw silk of his hair and pulled him closer. He slipped his hands under her shirt, high enough to cradle her ribcage. And then he stopped.

  “Touch me.” Her voice was tight with need.

  “I want to take this off,” he rasped, tugging at her T-shirt.

  “So take it off. And take yours off, while you’re at it.” She dragged at his shirt, and then they broke apart enough to fumble with their clothes until they were both bare-chested and panting. Zaf was as gorgeous as she’d known he would be, big and strong and golden, with a wealth of chest hair that arrowed down to the bulge in his jeans. His eyes seemed almost black as he watched her, his lips slick and parted. He looked like sin and sex and hers.

  “Fuck, Danika,” he breathed, his fingertips skating over the stretch marks on her hips. “You’re so . . .”

  “What?”

  “Beautiful,” he said softly, so softly she almost didn’t hear. Wanted to pretend she hadn’t heard, because the word shook with a reverence that shouldn’t be there, that shouldn’t fill her up inside. She’d never been so conscious of her own breath before, of the rise and fall of her tits and the shift of her lungs and the movement of her belly. But everywhere Zaf looked at her felt realer than before—almost too real, teetering on the line between intensity and discomfort.

  Dani liked walking that line, if the wet fabric clinging to her pussy was any indication.

  Zaf’s palms slid up over her rounded belly, and then his thumbs caressed the sensitive undersides of her breasts.

  “Christ,” she groaned, pleasure igniting over her skin.

  “Like that?” Their gazes held as he stroked his thumbs over her tight, needy nipples. Then he pinched gently, and sweet relief sparked through her, quickly followed by even more tension than before. She leaned forward, pressing her brow against his, trapping them both in a world of heat and skin and soft, slow moans.

  “Tell me,” he murmured, rolling her nipples between finger and thumb. “Tell me you like it.”

  Each quick circle tightened the coil inside her so violently that she could barely speak. “Yes,” she gasped as he kissed her jaw. “Yes, I like it.” Pleasure pulsed through her clit until she had to slide a hand beneath the waistband of her shorts.

  She felt his lashes flutter against her skin as he looked down.

  “Are you touching yourself?” he asked, an edge to his voice that sounded like urgency.

  She spread her legs wider and eased her middle finger through hot, slippery folds. “Yes.”

  “Want some help?” His voice was slow, velvet sin.

  She rubbed her clit frantically, her breaths labored. “Fuck, yes. Please.”

  “Stand up, then.” He leaned back, watching her like an animal waiting to strike. She stood and shoved off her shorts and her underwear in one fast, thoughtless, unsexy move, and his jaw clenched so tight she worried it might break. His hips lifted, just a bit, as if he’d started to thrust against thin air and had barely managed to stop himself. “Turn around,” he said, his voice like iron.

  She turned, and saw her altar, and the statue of Oshun, and thought, Thank you, universe, for sending me—

  Meaningless sex, she ought to have thought.

  —Zafir, her mind supplied.

  If she’d had another second, her lust-soaked brain might’ve sobered in surprise, and she might’ve realized that it wasn’t normal for her entire body to be on fire for one person, wasn’t normal for his voice to thrill her as much as his touch did, wasn’t normal for his hands to squeeze her heart as much as, you know, her tits.

  But Dani’s mind never got the chance to hurtle down Danger Avenue, because Zaf was still talking in that strained, hungry, God, I want you voice. “Bend over,” he ordered, and she leaned forward at the waist until she heard his low, tortured groan. Closing her eyes, she imagined what he could see: the curve of her arse, the hint of her swollen, glistening pussy.

  Then she felt his big hands on her, his fingers digging into her hips. “What’s with the tattoo?” he asked.

  She flushed at the reminder of the words inked onto her arse. “Undergrad. Sorcha.”

  “Ah.” Since Zaf had met Sorcha a few times, that was probably explanation enough. She felt his teeth graze her skin, biting gently, as per the tattoo’s instructions. Something in her stomach clenched like a fist. Then cool air hit her sensitive folds, and the vision in her head changed: now he was holding her open, exposing her ruthlessly, and he’d see more than just a hint. He’d see her cunt, soft and wet for him, and—

  One of his hands slid between her thighs, his finger nudging her clit. Dani’s whole body jerked, so hard and so sudden that he wrapped an arm around her hips to keep her still.

  “Fuck.” The word shuddered out of her, as unsteady as her legs. She put her hands flat on the altar and bit her lip.

  Zaf tapped her clit again and murmured, “Good?”

  “So good,” she gasped, rocking back. “Fuck, Zafir.”

  His finger, wet with her want, circled her clit with brutal slowness, and whatever scraps of cool she’d been clinging to disappeared.

  “Oh my God, Zaf, just lick me or fuck me or something, I need to come so badly—” />
  “Can you do something for me, love?”

  “Anything, I promise, I’ll—just—”

  “If you like it,” he said softly, “scream.” And then he put his mouth on her.

  At which point, Dani realized it was entirely possible, maybe even likely, that Zaf had sold his soul to some dark god in exchange for incredible oral sex skills. If so, Dani thoroughly supported—indeed, approved of—his decision.

  The man didn’t just lick her; he practically fell inside her vagina face-first. Which was a lot sexier than it sounded. His tongue slid through her folds like warm, wet silk, his beard rasped against the tender curve where her thighs met her arse, and his finger worked her stiff little clit so firm and fast that if he stopped, she might kill him. She’d at least try. She’d smack him over the head with her statue of Oshun, probably, because the feel of him burying his face in her pussy was fucking intoxicating, and his tongue made her knees weak, and the arm he wrapped around her upper thighs was the only thing keeping her upright.

  “Please,” she panted, words rushing out like a fall of shattered glass. “Zaf, please.” He rubbed his tongue over her cunt with deliberate, ruinous decadence. The twist of need inside her grew tighter and tighter, until the pressure was just too much. She did exactly as he’d asked: she screamed.

  The sound was short and sharp and shaking, her orgasm hard and unescapable. It ripped through her on a wave of sheer ecstasy, then stuck around, sinking into her bones even as her muscles turned to liquid. Zaf’s tongue stroked her softly through each aftershock. And then, when her knees finally gave out, he caught her in his arms and stood.

  Dani screwed her eyes shut as her stomach flipped. “For heaven’s sake,” she mumbled, each word shivering and breathless. “I am in too delicate a condition to be thrown around right now.”

  “Delicate, hmm?” Zaf sounded amused and . . . smug. The bastard. “I better put you to bed,” he said mildly, at which point Dani discovered heretofore unmined reserves of energy.

  “Yes.” She grinned, opening her eyes. “You’d better.”