Chapter 4
MARA
Is this a bad idea?
I don’t know this man. He hasn’t given me a straight answer about why he keeps popping up in my life.
Yet there’s this weird warmth in me. Like a growing reassurance that I can, that I should trust him.
It’s a connection that makes no sense. One, I should fight with everything I have. Where is sensible when I need it?
He moves even closer. Almost touching me now. His hard body radiates waves of heat.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says huskily. “If that’s what you’re afraid of.”
“How do I know I can trust you?” I whisper.
“Because you feel it. I know you do.”
I bite down. That makes his eyes blow wide for a second. He scans me every time I move. Like each movement makes him think something savage and urgent. His chest heaves, and his tattooed hands twitch at his sides.
“Feel, what?”
“Come on, Mara,” he says. “Let me help you.”
He turns. Walks across the street. In my head, Dad scolds, I taught you better than this …
But despite feelings of uncertainty, I listen to the improbable voice. The one that tells me I can trust this stranger.
He leads me to a sleek sedan and opens the passenger-side door. When I move to climb in, he steps forward. His body brushes up against mine.
Oh my … Electric passion seizes me, my clothes are suddenly way too tight. Through his jeans, I’m sure I see the huge outline of his desire. Maybe it’s just the way his jeans are twisted. Is he seriously as hard as a freaking rock for me? Here, in public?
I climb in, smooth my hands up and down my legs. Fight the insane urge to press my hand between my legs and ride my own palm.
He gets into the driver’s seat, takes a toothpick from his pocket. Chews on it as he starts the engine.
“Address?” he says.
I give it to him.
“An apartment.”
“I’m living with a friend,” I murmur. “I was in a house until … well, I was in a house.”
He glances at me. Eyes dark yet sparking with hunger, with curiosity. “You don’t want to talk about it.”
An image flashes into my mind. Dad. The blood. The horror.
The emptiness I feel. And I know I am not yet fully grieving.
“No,” I whisper.
“Tell me about your photography instead, then,” he says as we drive.
Before I reply, my phone buzzes. A text from Kate.
Hey, I’m staying at Ryan’s tonight. I think there are some leftovers in the fridge if you want them.
I quickly put my phone down. Swallow a ball of nerves.
And try hard to swallow some other feelings; a mix of nerves and tingly, but guilt-ridden, excitement. I’ve got the apartment to myself. It’s like fate is messing with me. Big time!
“Mara?” Radomir growls.
“Why do you want to know?” I counter.
“I’m interested in you. Not just your body. Or those lips of yours. All of you.”
I look out the window. My body. My lips. What he doesn’t know is that his words make my other lips tingle almost unbearably. I squeeze my legs together, trying to release some of the tension.
Should I tell him I’m a virgin? Whatever else is happening in this insane situation, there’s sexual tension, right? Or maybe I’m imagining that. It’s not like I’ve got enough experience.
Maybe I’m just cray-cray.
“I just … love it,” I murmur.
“Sure. But why? When did you start?”
“I started a few months after my mom died,” I tell him.
“I was ten. She’d died in a car accident.
The grief counsellor suggested I use the gift she got me before she died.
A camera. I wasn’t really into it … but then, with Mom as fuel, I fell in love…
with photography”, I clarify, a little too quickly.
“I started taking photos everywhere I went. It became a part of my identity. Something I can’t shake. ”
“Something you don’t want to shake,” he says knowingly, his eyes fixed on me.
“Hmm, exactly.”
“I can feel your passion,” he says, then adds, “beautiful.”
I shiver slightly, daring a sideways look at him. “Beautiful?” I repeat. “My passion for photography, or…?
“You.”
Are you kidding?”
His grip tightens on the wheel, his knuckles turn whiter. “Why does that seem like a, umm, “ He searches for the apt word, “joke, to you?”
“Nobody calls me ‘beautiful’.”
“Then I just learned the whole damn world is blind,” he snaps.
I laugh, rolling my eyes.
“I mean it,” he snarls. “You’re beautiful, Mara. Your wavy, dark hair. Those big na?ve eyes. Those pouting, sassy lips. And your body … fuck, girl, don’t even get me started on your body.”
My virgin body. But I can’t bring myself to say it.
My heart has never beat like this before.
I try not to shake all over, but it’s difficult. Luckily, the car ride is short. Soon, we’re parked up opposite the apartment building.
“Okay, Mr. Coincidence,” I say. “So, this is me.”
“Don’t pretend you want to leave and have that be the end of it,” he snarls.
I turn away from the door. Stare at him. He’s got that smirk on his face again, his dark eyes glinting. His huge chest rises and falls with each breath.
“I don’t know anything about you. Yes, you’ve been kind to me, but…”
“I know you, Mara,” he growls. “I know you’re going to be the best photographer in the whole city, the whole damn state. Your passion alone tells me that. I know you’re not as innocent as you pretend to be. I know you’ve been eye-fucking me just as hungrily as I’ve been eye-fucking you.”
He leans in. I should stop this.
Should …
But there’s something about doing the opposite that makes me ache. I stay where I am, letting him lean all the way down. No 90/10 kissing rule in play here. He crushes his rough lips against mine. He growls through the kiss, parting my lips with his tongue, opening my mouth, finding my tongue.
I gasp, muffled, as his tongue strokes against me. My sex has never ached like this, pulsing with desperate need. My head swims.
Was he following me? Why? Is he a criminal? A PI? What and who is he?
The questions sink into my gut.
Tell him you’re a virgin, at least. Now’s a good time.
But I can’t even blurt that out. My lips move, but no words form, no sound emerges.
“You need to ask me inside,” he snarls, keeping his lips close to mine, staring into my soul.
“You’re very bossy,” I whisper, laughing.
Laughing. It’s the first time that’s even seemed possible since I found my dad’s body.
“Maybe you need me to be bossy,” he says. “You need someone to take control. Like your car, for example. You’re going to need me to arrange for that to be sorted, right?”
I roll my eyes. Smiling. Grinning like a fool and somehow forgetting about how heartbroken I’m supposed to be.
“Okay, Dad,” I say.
I lean back. Gasp. Cover my mouth with my hand. I didn’t mean to say that. It just popped out.
He shudders. Makes a groaning, almost helpless sound. “What the fuck did you just call me?”
My sex is flowing. Wetness flooding my panties. It’s tidal down there. My nipples have never been this hard.
“Why do you sound like you … like it?” I murmur.
“Say it properly,” he demands.
“I don’t—”
“And don’t lie to me. You know exactly what I mean.”
I risk a look down. At his crotch. His huge cock is outlined clearly under the denim, pushing against his zipper, massive, but trapped.
He’s right. I know what he’s asking.
How fucked-up is this?
But my body aches all over, taunting me to say it.
“Daddy,” I whisper. Barely.
He crushes me with another kiss. “Good fucking girl,” he groans, his warm breath washes over me. “That’s exactly what Daddy needed to hear. Now, you’d better invite me inside. Because if anybody else sees me touching or kissing you, I’ll have to break their fuckin’ necks.”
He squeezes down on my leg. His touch scorches through my leggings, making me ache all over.
I know this is wrong. But it feels so, so right.
“Radomir,” I murmur. “Would you like to see my room?”
He smirks. His eyes burn with everything he’s holding back.
“Fuck yes,” he snarls.