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His reaction hit me like a punch to the gut and I sat up, pushing back against the headboard and wrapping my arms around my knees as if that would soften the blow. He got to his feet and stood gazing down at me, his eyes glittering with fear and confusion. Then he whirled on his heel and kicked aside my clothes piled before the door and was gone, his footsteps fading into the distance.
I sat in silence for a solid twenty minutes, staring into space. Everything was numb for a long moment and then the pain began seeping through. Fuck him. How dare he draw me in and hurt me like that. The tears started and I fell onto my side, pulling the covers over my head, and let them fall on the sheets.
I cried my heart out, not just for Duran, but for my family and the danger they were in and because I was terribly homesick and I hadn’t realized it until now. As much as I disliked the city, I desperately wanted to be back home, curled up in my own bed with my parents just a few minutes away.
I cried everything out into the pillow. About an hour later, I forced myself to get up and went to clean up and blow my nose in the bathroom. The swollen, red face in the mirror looked back at me out of miserable eyes. I put on a soft pair of pajamas and sat on the edge of the bed and drank a glass of cool water. The pressure in my sinuses subsided, so I went back to bed, hoping I would feel better in the morning.
My rest was fitful and I was awoken by a faint click. Heart pounding, I sat up in bed and blinked into the dark, trying to make sense of what was happening. There was a faint shuffling and then gentle footfalls and the curtains were drawn aside and moonlight flooded through the balcony doors and fell across the bed.
Duran stood there with his shirt tousled and his perfect chest and stomach exposed between the rows of buttons. His face was sober and unshaven, his dark eyes framed in heavy lashes fixed on me. There was a softness about his face that hadn’t been there before, as if he’d come to some kind of revelation that washed away everything that had happened.
I sat up slowly and he moved closer until he towered over me, his hands clenched at his sides. His right fingers came up and slide over my throat and tilted my chin up to look at him. Then he knelt and his brows pushed together as he studied my face, his thumb gently caressing the sensitive skin of my neck.
“I’m sorry I made you cry, princess,” he said, his voice husky.
I took a deep breath. “I shouldn’t have said what I said.”
“No, I’m not sorry you did.”
“What does that mean?”
“Fuck if I know, Iris.”
He was falling for me too, I knew it, even if he wasn’t able to speak the words. It felt like the wind had been knocked out of me for the second time, but this time it wasn’t unpleasant. I exhaled and he leaned forward, his mouth just brushing mine, and kissed me softly. Then with a crescendo of intensity that lit my body on fire as he pushed me back onto the bed.
“I want this,” he said. “I’m not sure of a goddamn thing, but I want you now. Let me fuck you, Iris.”
His words were anything but romantic, but they were his, unfiltered and honest. I nodded, searching him out in the dark to cling to, my heart beating so hard I could hear it in my head.
He eased me back until my head rested on the pillows and stripped my pajama pants from my legs and unfastened my top with almost frantic fingers. My clothes fell to the floor with a finalizing thump and he looked down at me, fully naked beneath him, and a shiver went through my body. He hesitated, eyes roaming over me for a moment before they closed and his chest rose and fell with deep breaths.
“What’s wrong?” I whispered.
“Nothing,” he said, opening his eyes. “I’ve just never wanted anyone the way I do now.”
Then his mouth was on me, tearing a whirlwind of sensation from my body, leaving burning trails over my skin. I arched, biting my tongue to keep from crying out. His tongue was on my breasts, licking the sensitive skin of my nipples, and raking his teeth gently over the edges. All the while, his hand slid further down until it rested between my thighs and his fingers slid rhythmically over the wet entrance of my sex. I followed the curve of his arm with my eyes, the muscles working in his bicep, to where it disappeared between my legs. A wave of heat swept through my core at the sight.
He stood abruptly and pulled me to my feet, and lifting one of my legs to prop my knee on the bed. Then he sank to his knees, brushing his unkempt hair from his forehead, and pushed his mouth between my thighs.
His tongue ran over my sex in long, hot strokes. I gasped and swayed, reaching out to grab his shoulder to steady myself. He took my wrists and held them firmly in one hand and put the other on my lower back to keep me still.
I looked down at him, at his dark head moving below me, and my orgasm began rising. I’d never come this fast, not even the first time he’d gone down on me. But now pleasure was mounting more quickly than I’d thought possible and it tingled through my thighs and pooled, warm and wet, between them.
He flicked his tongue once, then twice, and then I cried out at the barrage of sensations as I drew nearer to climax. I dared to look down at him, on his knees in front of me, and he looked up at me for a second, dark eyes flashing and face flushed. Then I closed my eyes as my body rode the sensation of his tongue higher and higher until I balanced on the edge of climax. One flick or stroke of his tongue would undo me completely.
“I’m going to come,” I whispered, barely able to get the words out.
Then I collapsed, pulsing with a clear, overwhelming pleasure that exploded inside me and rode its way out in hot, blissful waves. My body jerked, my legs shaking, and he caught me and gently let me down onto my back.
“You’re beautiful when you come,” he murmured.
He rolled over me, unfastening the front of his belt and pants and pushing them down just enough to free himself. I glanced down and saw him, large and aroused and hard between us, and my breath caught and a flicker of fear went through me.
What would it be like? Would it be invasive and painful or would it be pleasurable as I secretly hoped it might be?
“Hold on,” he said, panting through his teeth.
He got up and went to the bathroom and returned with a white towel that he laid out on the bed and helped me lay down with my lower half on it. I didn’t have to ask what it was for; we both knew it was to keep the blood from staining the sheets. My stomach turned over, a wave of panic hitting me, and I considered asking him to stop. But no, fear aside, I wanted this and I’d wanted it for a long time.
