19. Clara
Chapter 19
Clara
“ S he’s been disappearing, in and out of the reception. And then I saw her watching you,” Deniz says, his expression deadly serious. There’s a resoluteness in his eyes that I haven’t seen since that night in the desert. “She hid in the shadows, and as soon as your dad let go of you, the look on her face…”
“You thought, in a room full of Costas, that Beatrice was going to hurt me?” I ask carefully, watching the odd shadows from the phone light move across his face. I slow my breathing, trying to trick my nervous system into calm.
“She came right at you. That’s why I danced with you, to put myself between you and her.”
My pulse skips, thinking about how natural it felt to have his hands on my hips and my arms around his shoulders. The press of our bodies against each other, the warmth, the closest we’ve been since that first night. The memory didn’t do it justice.
But I shove that feeling aside, focusing on the threat of Beatrice instead. She’s not stupid enough to attack me here, if that even was her plan. I may not know the true intentions and loyalties of every person in this building, but I can trust my parents and Charlie.
“Why in god’s name would you think that?” I demand. Deniz doesn’t know about my concerns with Bea, the horrible suspicions I’ve had for months about her involvement with my mother’s attack. I haven’t told him how I worry that maybe my quiet, tolerant, invisible cousin was pushed too far. That years of being scrutinized by her mother, while being subjected to the worst secrets The Syndicate and its enemies have to keep, may have worn her down. That her father’s violent, torturous death at the hands of Syndicate enemies could have made her jaded. I haven’t revealed what Emily, Charlie, and I can barely put into words—that someone could have approached her with ideas of getting revenge on the organization that forced her to live like this.
“You don’t trust her,” Deniz says, lifting an eyebrow at me in the dark.
“I never said that,” I argue. Deniz scoffs, and as he shifts backwards, I realize I still have his shirt in my fist. I don’t let go.
“You’re not subtle about it, and neither is Emily. Something’s going on, and I wasn’t about to allow her near you with that look in her eye.” He says it so casually, like protecting me is second nature, when we both know that can’t be true.
Deniz’s heartbeat thumps beneath my fist, and it’s impossible to compartmentalize the reaction I’m having to his protectiveness.
The press of our bodies on the dance floor wasn’t enough. I needed to be closer, more skin and less clothing separating us. The desire slammed into me so unexpectedly that I didn’t have the wherewithal to stop him from dragging me away from my family and into this closet.
In the tiny space, I’m surrounded by the scent of Deniz. Black pepper, smoke, a hint of rose. It’s overwhelming, distracting, making it impossible to shove my need into a neat little box.
“Regardless of your suspicions, you will never push me into a fucking closet again. I can protect myself,” I say, twisting his shirt tighter in my fist. Deniz’s eyes darken as he leans into my space, his lips not even an inch away from mine.
“ No .” I hate that the denial is like a shot of adrenaline to my system. My pulse pounds, but I can hear his heartbeat, too. “The only threat allowed anywhere near you is me, ????.”
His moon . Every time he says it, I can feel my resistance to touching him weaken. My body is a traitor, shirking reason for the irrational comfort of being claimed. I should let go of his shirt, step back, leave this closet. I should find Emily and tell her we have to confront Bea, or ask Deniz to dig up the information I need on my cousin.
I should kill him.
“I’m not afraid of you,” I lie, pressing my body against him like he did while we danced. I feel when he stops breathing, watching the pain and hate and lust wage a war in his eyes that neither of us will win.
“I’m afraid of you , Clara,” he whispers, his lips barely brushing mine. I try to hide the way my hands shake at the ghost of a touch, but he’s so close that I can feel him smile when he notices.
“I’m still going to kill you,” I remind him and myself, and I erase his responding smirk by pressing my lips to his.
Deniz doesn’t hesitate. With me in heels there’s barely a height difference between us, but he pulls me up and into him, devouring my mouth like he can’t stop himself. This is our first kiss, and I realize how fortunate I am that this has never happened before, because his mouth on mine is going to ruin me. I’ll never escape the feeling of his teeth pressing into my lower lip, the groan he makes when I open for him. Maybe death is preferable to wanting someone this badly.
His hand slides up the slit of my dress, so gentle in comparison to the violence with which he kisses me. But I don’t want gentle. I don’t want the reminder that, contrary to the evidence of the past months, he doesn’t want me dead. I want to bury the knowledge that by putting his body between me and perceived danger, there is some small part of him that cares for me.
So I push him hard, twisting us so he’s shoved through the thicket of coats. His back hits the wall with a thud. I grip his neck, sinking my nails into the place where his pulse is the strongest, and he responds in kind, wrapping his hands around my thighs so tight I can already feel the bruises.
“Tell me to stop, Clara,” he begs, his mouth trailing against my jaw and neck as his fingers drift closer and closer to where I need him most. “I need you to tell me to stop.”
I couldn’t if I wanted to. I’ve denied this desire for so long, giving in is like a dam breaking. The logical part of my brain telling me this is going to make things so much worse is no match for the strength of the flood.
Instead of answering, I trail my fingers down his chest until I’m reaching for his belt. I can already feel how hard he is, brushing against his cock as I undo the buckle. Deniz sinks his teeth into the space where my shoulder and neck meet, releasing a groan into my skin.
There’s barely any light, but I don’t need to see his face to know how affected he is by my touch. He releases my thighs, allowing enough space between us that I can stroke his cock through his boxers. In the low light, I watch him throw his head back, his pleasure so acute it looks painful. I alternate between stroking him with my palm and dragging my nails lightly over the outline of him, reveling in his pained hiss and punishing grip on my hips.
I’m so turned on that my vision goes hazy, and reality seems suspended. I don’t fight it when Deniz grabs my wrist and pulls my hand away from him. I let him turn us so my chest is against the wall, his barely restrained cock pressing against my ass.
“ This is what will kill me,” he murmurs, one hand against the wall near my face while the other pushes my dress up my legs. “Wanting you like this kills me every day. Remembering the way you taste, the way you come.”
I can’t repress a moan as he finally pulls my dress over my hips, his fingertips barely drifting over my soaked pussy. Without thinking, I place my hand over his against the wall, interlacing our fingers. He hesitates before I hear him shift behind me, fabric rustling.
“I’m asking you one last time, Clara. Tell me to stop.” The desperation in his voice is consuming, my desire building, knowing how badly he wants this and how much he hates himself for it. Knowing we’re both on this sinking ship together.
Driven mindless by desire, I use my free hand to shift the neckline of my dress down, freeing my breasts. I can’t answer him, something inside me refusing to give voice to this breaking. Instead, I reach behind me and grab the hand resting on my hip, pulling it to cover one of my tits.
He curses, not in Arabic but in Turkish, as he rolls my nipple between his fingers, the sting so fucking good. I can feel his cock glide against my ass, free from his clothes, and I arch back into him, my body aching.
“Unless you give me a reason to stop, I’m going to fuck you bare and fill you. I’m going to make you beg me to let you come, for me to come inside you. So every time you think about making me plead for my life, you’ll have to remember that you begged first. ”
Every word from his lips sends me deeper and deeper into this spiral of need. He said unless you give me a reason to stop , and I don’ t. I arch my back further, leaving his hand cupped over my breast so I can twist my fingers into his hair.
He doesn’t hesitate this time. Releasing my breast, he lines his cock up with my pussy and thrusts. Not gentle, not sweet, just unrestrained, instinctual need.
I’m thankful the noise from the wedding is loud, because without it my cry would be heard throughout the house. Deniz doesn’t wait for me to adjust to the size of him, pulling out to the tip before filling me again. There should be more pain with how rough he’s being, but I’m so turned on, so wet, that there’s barely a pinch from the stretch of his cock thrusting in and out of me. I grip his hair harder, pulling him closer until his mouth is on my neck again, burying the unholy sounds he makes as he fucks me.
I need more skin against mine, the urge to rip both of our nice outfits to shreds almost unstoppable. But I can’t risk interrupting the pleasure crashing through me. I’ve been denying how badly I’ve wanted this, him, us, but my body knew. And the singular thought running through my mind as Deniz fucks me is how I’m already desperate for this to happen again.
Deniz leans back, and the hand not trapped under mine moves to the small of my back, pressing me harder against the wall until my nipples graze the paneling. The friction renews that perfect bite of pain, matching the feeling of his cock inside me, especially as this angle has him filling me in ways I’ve never experienced. He drives into me, rough fingers spreading my ass wider for him. With anyone else, this position would feel too submissive. But I know this takes as much from Deniz as it does from me. That we lose and gain in equal spades.
“Better than I could have dreamed,” Deniz grunts out as he picks up speed, making me see stars. My orgasm is building so fast my mind can’t catch up to my body. “I’m going to make you come a thousand times, all the ways I’ve imagined.”
My pussy clenches at his words, and I’m so close to the edge it’s torture. Everything around me blurs in a sea of ecstasy and pain as Deniz slams into me, tearing cries from my throat.
“Do you like that, Clara?” he asks as his fingers drift over my exposed hip, closer and closer to my clit. If he touches me there, I know I’ll explode. “Do you like knowing that I fuck my fist thinking about all the ways I wish I could make you scream? Do you enjoy knowing that even though I’m the one watching you, you’re the one who has taken over my life?”
My knees are weak, my skin hot and damp with sweat, every muscle in my body strung tight in anticipation of the life-changing orgasm I know I’m about to have. I just need him to touch me. One tiny, miniscule brush of his fingers over my clit and I’ll be gone.
I can feel him waiting for my answer, and I nod my head, because it’s true.
“Yes, I like it,” I pant, using my leverage on the wall to meet his thrusts. “I want you obsessed.”
His fingers drift closer, brushing over a sensitive spot on my thigh that makes me actually cry, euphoric tears filling my eyes. I force myself to remember that I won’t beg unless he does. I need him to lose as much as I have in this fucking closet.
“Obsessed doesn’t begin to cover it,” he groans, his hand flexing under mine. “I watch you every second I can. Even when I can’t see you, your voice fills my head, and I can smell your fucking perfume.” He doesn’t stop fucking me. It feels like I’m climbing higher than the peak of this mountain I’ve been summiting, like the fall is going to shatter me into a thousand pieces. “Beg for what you want, Clara.”
I can’t. I won’t .
“You first,” I bite out, burying my face into my arm to avoid the inevitable. There’s the whisper of a touch over my clit, and I nearly scream, feeling like I’ve been shoved off that mountain, only for someone to yank me back to safety right before I fall.
“Pity,” he mutters with false indifference, slowing his movements and moving his hand back to my hip. I snap my head up, looking over my shoulder even though I can barely make out his features. I try to convince myself that the orgasm isn’t worth it, that I can make myself come just as well as he can. But even the memory of fucking my fingers in front of him doesn’t compare to this feeling. I’ve been bested by my own lust, by the way he touches me, by his undeniable need for me.
I’ll regret this later. But right now, I have to give my body what it’s begging for.
“Please,” I whisper, barely audible over the indecent sounds of him fucking me, evidence of my need covering my thighs.
“Please, what ?” he demands, picking up his pace. It feels like a reward for my compliance, spurring me on.
“Please make me come,” I say, hating how turned I am by the words coming out of my mouth. “I need you, please.”
“See, you’re so beautiful when you beg,” he praises. Finally, finally, finally , he presses his fingers against my clit and fucks me harder than ever. But even with the perfect and painful sensations ricocheting through me, it’s the sound of him murmuring please come for me in Arabic under his breath that sends me over the edge.
The intensity is indescribable. It’s like every ounce of anger and mistrust has been stacked on one side of the scales, and this moment has swept in to balance them. It sweeps through my body, lighting my veins on fire and turning my body molten. I don’t even recognize the words pouring from my lips as I chant through wave after wave of undiluted bliss, but clear as day, I can hear Deniz whimpering my name.
The orgasm refuses to end. The buzzing beneath my skin intensifies, and I realize I’m going to come again. Jesus fucking Christ I’m going to come again .
“I need to come inside you,” Deniz groans, the restraint in his voice pushing me closer to another break.
I don’t know how I overcome the urge to give in, to nod and say yes and beg again, but I do.
“Ask nicely, then,” I say, the memory of the first time he touched me swimming to the surface of my scattered mind. Deniz doesn’t deny me the way I did to him.
“Please, Clara. Let me fill that pretty cunt.”
I barely have time to nod before Deniz uses his hold on my hip to fuck me harder, his movements uncoordinated and impatient. It’s so unbelievably hot, feeling him lose control, it’s the final push I need to climax on his cock again. He stills, voice breaking as he comes. Like he promised, he fills my pussy as it pulses around him, both of us breathing hard, our sweat-slicked bodies barely remaining upright.
Finally, reality starts to seep back into the bubble we’ve created in this closet.
Deniz must sense the shift in my demeanor, because he pulls out, turning me around to face him as he tucks his dick back into his pants. We’re both still fully clothed, if not deeply disheveled, and if the world hasn’t been flipped on its axis, I would have the urge to laugh.
“Don’t pull away from me,” he demands, his hands on my shoulders. I don’t know how to process this. He’s still Deniz, still my stalker, still a threat. But nothing about the way he treats me, protects me, fucks me, aligns with the danger he presents. “You can still kill me later.”
That does get a laugh out of me, and somehow it calms my racing mind. I shift, my thong still askew, and feel both mine and Deniz’s release drip down my thighs. I should hate that. I force myself to hate it.
“I need to find Emily,” I say, avoiding Deniz’s gaze. It won’t be ideal to leave this closet looking freshly fucked, but no one will say anything. Well, Emily will, but I can handle that.
Deniz grasps my chin and forces me to look at him in the dark. After a beat of silence, he slips his phone off the shelf, the flashlight briefly blinding me. He angles it until it’s illuminating my face without shining directly in my eyes.
“Hold this here,” he requests, and I comply, mostly out of curiosity. He removes his pocket square and lifts my chin, dragging the cloth under my eyes to remove my smudged makeup.
I tell my heart not to stutter. I take deep breaths, like I do every time fear or anxiety worm their way into my nervous system. But it doesn’t help, because Deniz is cleaning my messed up makeup and shifting my dress to cover my shoulders.
When he’s done, he takes the phone from my hand and turns off the light. It’s pitch dark, and the air shifts around me as he drops to his knees in front of me.
“Deniz,” I whisper, finding his hair and tilting his head up, even though he can’t see me. “I have to handle the Beatrice thing.”
“I know,” he mutters, tracing a line up the back of my calves with his fingers. “Let me help clean you up first.”
I’m grateful for the darkness, because I know my expression holds more than lust. He drags his mouth up the inside of my thigh as his fingers find my pussy, pressing his come back inside me. With my eyes closed, I imagine the chessboard and each move I would need to take in order to kill Deniz. For the first time in a very long time, I can’t visualize the next step.
And I can’t force myself to care.