Chapter 21 Salem
CHAPTER 21
SALEM
Salem woke up with a jerk.
She sat up on the bed, looking around her room, daylight filtering in through the closed windows,
looking like it was early morning.
Wait.
Her bed? When did she get there?
Last thing she remembered was going to Merlin’s, almost getting caught, Caz saving her ass. Then the kiss, the hottest, most sultry kiss, the talking, and then her falling asleep on him.
Yes. That was her last memory. When did she get to her room? Moreover, how did she get to her room?
As though in answer to the question, the door to her bathroom opened and Salem panicked, jumping off the bed and moving backward, extending her arms in a fight stance, ready to battle whoever had invaded her space.
Caz stepped out.
A hot, wet, half-naked Caz.
What the hell?
His hair was wet and slicked back from his face, a towel in his hand drying it and another wrapped around his waist, exposing his entire torso to her gaze, and holy hell, what a torso it was. Supple, sun-kissed skin smoothened out over taut, strong muscles, indentations between his pecs and abs bringing them into stark relief. A delicious vein went down the side of his neck, throbbing right next to a vine tattoo, one that she’d usually seen escape into his collar and under his clothes. She could see it now, going down his chest, joining a litter of beautiful artwork, mostly black ink with some color here and there. She could see the expanse of it—a star over his left pec, surrounded by tiny vines and swirls that connected it to wings on the side that disappeared from view. On the right pec, a paintbrush stabbed his skin, blood seeping out of the wound and dripping down, right into the mouth of a snake coiled around his side, something written on its skin. And on his other side, beside the abs, was a bird, watching out intensely.
A vulture.
The image broke Salem out of her ogling, bringing her eyes up to the man, who was watching her back.
And that’s when she realized she was in her tank top and panties, nothing more.
Oh shit.
The urge to immediately dive under the blankets came over her, but she fisted her hands and stood her ground, letting him look, focusing on the more important matter—namely, what he was doing there and why she was half-naked.
His eyes took her in, her exposed skin, her full breasts with hardened nipples evident against the fabric, her little belly and the curve of her hips going down her thighs that touched, creating no crevice for her pussy as it clenched under his scrutiny, down to her nude-painted toes.
“What the hell are you doing here?” She broke the silence, asking the question screaming the loudest in her mind.
“No ‘thanks for carrying me back to my room’?” He threw the towel in his hand in the hamper for dirty laundry on the side.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “I would thank you if I remembered.”
He shrugged, and Salem watched the individual muscles on his body move to aid the action. “Not my fault you sleep like the dead.”
Salem blinked at him in surprise. Like the dead? Her? Salem had trouble sleeping and when she slept, she did so terribly, bothered by dreams and waking up fitfully. Hearing him say that was a shock. How could she have slept like that? Had she been in such desperate need of rest that her mind had completely conked off?
“In fact,” he said, moving to her bed, “I slept like the dead for a few hours too. So good that I don’t think I’ll be leaving your bed anytime soon.”
To say Salem was trying to wrap her head around everything would be an understatement. When had he slept in her bed? Had they slept together ?
And how the hell did they even get out of the lecture hall?
Before she could voice a single question, he dropped the towel to the side and got into her bed, flashing her his very hard, sculpted ass for a few seconds. “I’ll leave in a bit,” he told her, clearly not understanding that she was still catching up, her brain slower at the moment. “Just get in for a bit.”
He wanted her to get in bed, her bed that he had gotten into without asking her, after using her bathroom that he had taken a shower in using her towels, while he was naked ?
The sheer absurdity of it, of everything, hit her out of the blue, and Salem did something she hadn’t done in many, many years.
She began to laugh.
Holding her stomach, bending over, loud peals filling the room, sounds she hadn’t made in more than a decade leaving her mouth, Salem laughed. She laughed until she was red in the face, tears flowing down her cheeks, looking at him as he watched her with mild amusement.
“You’re insane,” she wheezed out when she could manage, still chuckling. “Totally insane.”
“Over you?” he mused, relaxed like a king in her bed. “Yes.”
That sent her on another bout.
She fell onto the bed over the blankets, unable to stand any longer, still holding her stomach, and then suddenly she was on her back.
Her hair spread out over her light blue covers, her hands by the sides of her head as she looked up, finding him looming over her. His naked chest brushed against her straining breasts, nipples rubbing over him, just the fabric separating them. He put his weight on one elbow, his other hand coming to her fanned hair, pulling and spreading the strands out to his liking, his eyes concentrating on the task while she concentrated on him.
“What are we doing?” she asked him softly, her words a murmur, her brain truly trying to understand what was happening.
“I don’t know,” he answered, his words ringing with honesty. “But I like this.”
She did too. And that was dangerous. Because there was something holding him back, pulling him, erecting a wall between them he couldn’t breach. And until she knew what that something was, she couldn’t trust him.
Her eyes flickered momentarily to her murder board, relieved to find it hidden by the cover she had ordered for it especially. No one ever came to her room but she had wanted to be careful, just in case. Though anyone would be able to tell it was a pinboard of some kind underneath it, the contents would be hidden until they uncovered it.
But she hadn’t been too careful right then, not with her look.
As attuned to her eyes as he was, he caught her attention drifting and looked up to see what had it.
Salem leaned up, capturing his mouth, distracting him.
It worked.
He turned to her fully, tilting his head to the side, coercing her to open her lips, and she did, her body humming again with the effect he seemed to have on it. Their breathing became heavy, sheets rustling as they moved, tongues introducing themselves to each other, familiarizing, tasting, consuming.
His hand stroked a path down her neck, over her breasts, plucking a nipple and making her arch before going down her stomach, coming to a stop over her panties. Salem moved her hips in silent invitation and he pushed a hand between her legs, right over her pussy, the cotton a layer between his digits and her walls, clenching and grasping and weeping with arousal.
“You’re fucking soaked,” he spoke over her lips and she panted, biting his lip in response. “Has anyone owned this pussy before?”
“I’ve had sex before.”
“I’m not talking about limp-dicked assholes who left you unsatisfied.”
“How do you know they didn’t satisfy me?” she mused out loud.
His eyes darkened, pupils almost swallowing the grays whole. “Because they didn’t own your mind, not like I do.”
Salem stared up at him, the epiphany triggered by the truth of his words. He was right. She’d never felt bone-deep satisfaction before, not like she suspected he could make her feel.
“You don’t own my mind,” she told him, trying to dispel him of the notion.
He chuckled, kissing the corner of her mouth. “I own your mind. I’m going to own your body. And then, I’ll take your soul. Because you’re coming for mine, aren’t you? Mind, body, and soul. Now tell me, has anyone owned this pussy before?”
Salem shook her head.
He released that amazing sound, the growl-like rumbling from his chest, and she pushed closer to him, writhing on the bed, needing relief, seeking it. But he kept teasing her relentlessly, just stroking over her panties, denying her, building her, inflaming her.
Deciding she needed to do something, she put her hands on the panties and tried to move the fabric to the side, only to have him take both her wrists and trap them over her head with one hand, the one he was leaning over on.
“Caz,” she pleaded, and heard him swear.
“Beg me again, little asp,” he murmured over her lips. “Infect me with your poison.”
It was crazy how she’d thought of his kiss as venomous when he called her the same. Maybe they were both the poison. Maybe they were both the antidote. Maybe what they thought would infect them was going to cure them after all.
She had zero shame in asking for relief. “Caz, please.”
“Please what?” he insisted, his index finger going back and forth over the cotton.
“Please make me come,” she breathed, fluttering her eyes open. “And if you can’t, then let me go so I can take care of it myself.”
His finger stopped at her words, his mouth moving in that smirk. Then, he cupped her completely in his palm. “What if I don’t let you go? What if I keep you right here, hanging on the cusp of an or gasm? What then, hmm?” He nuzzled the side of her neck, sparking new sensations everywhere.
She groaned, almost on the verge of tears.
She, Salem Salazar, cold, frigid bitch, was about to cry and mewl in the hands of a man. Who would’ve ever thought?
“I’ll do anything you want,” she offered, ready for him to just do something.
He leaned up, looking down at her. “That’s a dangerous offer for someone like me, little asp. I could defile you, destroy you, damage you beyond repair. Do you want that?”
She opened her eyes and locked gazes with him. “I want you.” She admitted the truth, one she had been denying to herself for too long.
“Fuck.” It was him who groaned this time, leaning his forehead against hers. “You’re going to unman me.”
Salem watched the expressions flickering over his face in fascination—a scowl that could be mistaken for anger but she knew was desire, a tightness to his jaw that could be mistaken for rage but she knew was control, a wildness in his eyes that could be mistaken for insanity but was need. Need for her.
He stared at her for a long second. “I want two things.”
Salem blinked at him, waiting.
“I want to paint you,” he stated, repeating what he’d said to her after their first real kiss. Salem didn’t really know what that meant or entailed, but she was curious, both to see him work and to see his artwork.
She nodded. “Okay.”
Triumph gleamed in his eyes, an almost unhinged look entering them as he pressed a deep, toe-curling kiss to her mouth.
Salem licked her lips. “And the second?”
“I want you to show me what’s on that,” he said, tilting his head toward her murder board.
Salem froze.
She couldn’t show him that. That was all of her research, her notes, her theories, everything in one place. And she didn’t know either how he would react to the depth of it or how he would use it.
Salem swallowed. “I don’t trust you.”
He grinned. “And I don’t trust you. So?”
It had everything to do with it. Trust was paramount, pivotal, powerful. If she couldn’t trust someone to carry her baggage, how could she share it with them in the first place?
Salem pulled away. It wasn’t worth the orgasm. She could use her own hand later and achieve the same result.
“So, this had something you can only share with trust?” he mused out loud, drawing his conclusions, the correct ones. “Show me and I’ll make your legs shake,” he offered, moving his hand in a way that sent heat arrowing over her spine.
“No.” She shook her head, resolute. “I can make myself come after you leave.”
“I’m not leaving,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Not until you show me what’s there.”
Salem stayed silent, prepared for his aggressive moves. What she hadn’t been prepared for, however, was him suddenly letting her go and ripping her panties off, pushing her legs back. Her chest heaved as he paused, looking into her eyes, and she bit her lip, spreading her legs wider. He fell onto her like a starved beast.
Salem’s thighs strained, the muscles quivering as he held her open, his mouth tasting her, tongue teasing her, tunneling into her and back out, flicking over her clit and back, over and over and over until she was shaking, shouting, shying away from him as he held her down, not letting her move away.
With her arousal already high thanks to his fingers, she began to climb the peak quickly, rapidly, her breasts heaving as she cupped them, tugging at her nipples, feeling the pleasure bound down to his very, very talented mouth. He built her up and up and up, and suddenly, just as she could see the stars behind her eyes, he stopped.
He fucking stopped.
Salem, for the first time, heard a growl come out of her own throat, more animalistic than refined.
She glared down at him, the sight of him between her legs, his mouth wet with her juices, making her pussy clench. “Get out.”
“Let me see it—” He pressed a kiss on her mound, unbothered by her words. “—and I’m going to ravage you.”
She wanted to be ruined, to be ravaged, to be absolutely railed.
She also wanted to trust him, to know that she had the ability, that she could, and more importantly, she wanted him to be able to keep it.
When she didn’t say anything, he began to eat her out again.
He brought her right to the edge again, stopped again, and asked the same thing.
Again, and again, and again, until she was a whimpering mess, and so raw that all she wanted was to turn on her side and hide from the world.
After the fourth time, she lost count.
After the next time, she lost consciousness.
Salem felt flayed open when she came to, her guard completely down, her emotions more vulnerable than they had ever been. She turned on her side on the bed, her eyes burning, both from the contacts she had left in and the multitude of things she was feeling.
She was alone again.
Like always.
Alone and on her own.
Tears streamed down her face, going into her pillow. Her throat tightened and choked on a sob, and she didn’t understand what was happening. Nothing had happened. Nothing. Not someone’s death, not someone calling her names, not something bad. So she didn’t know why she was crying. She rarely cried, if ever.
It must be the hormones, nothing else. Her hormones had fluctuated a lot in the last twenty-four hours. That must be it.
But knowing that didn’t stop the shaking, the hollow feeling in her stomach, the incessant tears that didn’t seem to stop.
She stared at her window in misery, letting whatever was happening pass so her brain and body could settle.
And suddenly, she felt movement behind her.
She turned on the bed, shock coursing through her as she saw him, still in her bed, sleeping.
He was there.
She lightly touched his chest, just to check that he was real, and felt warm flesh under her palm.
Her tears continued streaming down her face, for a completely different reason this time.
He hadn’t left.
He hadn’t left her alone.
After everything, after her denying him over and over again, he still hadn’t left.
Since saving her in Merlin’s office, all through the night and till morning, from the lecture hall to her room, when he could have dropped her and gone, he had stayed.
He hadn’t left her alone.
The thought kept repeating on a loop in her mind and she did what she’d wanted to do for a long time. She snuggled into him, fitting into his body like she’d been carved for it, his hardness and her softness mashing together and falling into place like puzzle pieces.
His arms came around her naturally, in his sleep, and she let out the tightness that had been stuck in her throat. She memorized every part of it, of the feeling of his arms around her, his body against her, just holding her and giving her comfort she hadn’t understood she’d been craving. She had been hungry, so hungry for this, just for something so simple as this. Humans needed other humans, in some way or another. But at its most basic, humans needed affection—children that of parents, teens that of friends, adults that of lovers and families. Salem had never had any of it. Her parents, though good at heart, had never understood her and never extended her the affection she had seen them being capable of with her sister. Her sister had never extended her much affection because Salem herself had blocked it most of their lives. In retrospect, she wondered how much of the blame was her sister’s and how much her own, how much her broken relationship with her mother was because of her own burdens. Maybe, she needed to reevaluate. Friends had been out of the question and she’d only had one sexual partner just to prove to herself that she wasn’t broken, that she could have sex without her baggage burdening her, that she was beyond her traumas. Not that it had worked. The entire experience had lasted all of ten minutes and left her as detached as she’d been before. It was then that she’d decided to sleep with a partner she could trust more next time, to make it less clinical and more emotional. Salem had never given any affection to herself, so how could she have expected the same from anyone else?
As she snuggled in his warm, sleepy embrace, her nose burning, her eyes wet, her chest aching, she tasted affection, tasted what it felt like, tasted it all. She felt protected, from the world, people, and even herself.
And she wanted it.
Realization settled upon her. If not with him, with someone else, but now that she had tasted it, she wanted it for the rest of her life.
Salem glanced at his sleepy form, feeling oddly grateful to him, and something else, something that had bloomed in the frigid winterland of her heart when she’d found him there.
He hadn’t left her alone.
She might not know anything else about him, but she knew that he hadn’t left her alone when he had all the reasons to, and that was enough for now.
One must not transport in?nity into love; one must know that it is a human thing.
—Simone de Beauvoir, Diary of a Philosophy Student: Volume 1, 1926–27