Chapter 12 #2
How can he know that? Who is he? What does he know? What is he doing here?
Panic starts churning in my gut and my heart beats painfully against my ribs.
His rough, deep laugh tingles over my skin. “Do you honestly believe I’m that arrogant?” he asks through the laughter.
My confusion starts overriding my panic and I realize he doesn’t know anything. He was flirting with me. Terribly, too.
My heart rate slows, and I start breathing again. I wait a moment for him to stop laughing.
“How would I know?” I ask. “I don’t know you and that was an absolutely atrocious line. I should get up and walk away because of it.” I lean back, crossing my arms over my chest. His eyes stray to my cleavage but quickly come back to my face.
His eyes sparkle with amusement.
“You should. But you won’t.” His confidence is annoying. But he’s right. I’m not going anywhere.
He smiles fully at me, revealing dimples under his neat beard. Butterflies erupt in my stomach. Along with another, more enticing sensation lower in my abdomen.
Really? Dimples? Could you be any more unfairly attractive, you asshole?
I settle into my seat, and as the conversation and whiskey start flowing, I slowly realize he isn’t just a pretty face.
He’s smart and funny and charming. Albeit, a terrible flirt.
More than once I have to keep from laughing at his obvious and godsawful pickup lines.
Even so, he’s someone I could easily fall for if I’m not careful.
With that understanding, I know it’s time to go.
I can’t take the risk of getting to know him any better.
My life doesn’t allow for anything more than flirtation and casual sex.
I can’t have that with him. I’m already in too deep as it is.
Isi and Feron are all I need, all I can handle.
“I should find my friend. It’s getting late,” I say, still reluctant to leave.
He nods. I lean forward, placing my hand on his shoulder for balance, and press a kiss to his stubbled cheek, taking one final whiff of his earthy scent with me.
I lean back, meet his eyes, and smile as I get up from the bar and start looking for Isirae.
I wander the tavern, fairly certain I won’t find her. I doubt she and Orryn would want to hang around this place. They’d probably rather be alone to make goo-goo eyes at each other.
Gross.
After a few minutes of searching through the thinning crowd, I decide my efforts are pointless and make my way to the door. I take a moment to consider my next move. I could stay away from the bordello, spend the night on the streets, but it’s a cold night and I don’t know where Isi is.
No, it’s best to go back and face the music. Face Berttom. I look over my shoulder, hoping to get one last look at the man with the tiny scar. I realize then I don’t even know his name.
Not that there would be any point knowing it.
I’ll probably never see him again and I must admit, there’s something undeniably sexy in the mystery.
I sigh, my shoulders sagging slightly in disappointment when I don’t find him.
He has probably moved on to someone else, someone more willing, someone who will ask his damn name.
I can’t say I blame him. I doubt he has any trouble finding women despite his atrocious flirting. It’s probably for the best anyway.
I step out the front door into the cool night, breathing in my last night of relative freedom, trying to ignore the man vomiting on the street beside me.
Before I have the chance to turn in the direction of the bordello, someone reaches out and grabs my arm.
I’m pulled into the shadows and pushed back into the wall, a large body covering mine.
My hands curl into fists, readying to fight.
This isn’t the first time someone has jumped me at this particular establishment, and I know it will likely not be the last. I try to shove him away, but he’s enormous and strong.
“Couldn’t find your friend?” a deep voice rumbles in my ear. I freeze, then look up and meet green eyes practically glowing in the shadows.
He’s pressing my back into the building, our bodies connected everywhere sending fire roaring through me.
His forearms are braced on the wall beside my head.
He brushes a stray hair from my face gently, then leans down and feathers a kiss across my lips before pulling back and looking into my eyes. I realize he’s waiting for permission.
Fuck it.
I push up on my toes, kissing him. The kiss is soft at first, gentle, then turns demanding, almost feral, like all his restraint is fraying.
I know mine is. His tongue parts my lips and slips inside, deepening the kiss, claiming.
He breaks from my lips to trail nips and kisses down my neck and onto my collarbone.
His hands slide up my sides from my hips.
I’m not even sure when he dropped them down there; I’ve been too preoccupied with his lips.
His thumbs brush over my peaked nipples through my bustier and an embarrassing whimper escapes me.
He brings his lips back to mine, bending slightly to grip my thighs, then hoisting me up as though I weigh nothing.
I wrap my legs around him, gripping onto his shoulders to steady myself.
He pushes me back into the building, not once breaking contact with my lips, kissing me with so much passion I think I might implode.
His hands continue to explore, and his kisses continue to consume.
He pulls away and looks into my eyes, his cock straining through his trousers and pressing into my core.
He grinds into me, and I can’t stop the moan.
I bury my face into his shoulder to muffle it, suddenly very aware that we are in public.
My cheeks redden as I realize people are talking not ten feet from us.
I’ve done some reckless things—I’m not exactly known for my impulse control— but public sex is not something I’m into.
“I’ve got a room upstairs.” His voice is rough as he looks at me with hooded eyes.
I respond with a sultry smile and nod. He lowers me to my feet, wraps his hand around mine, engulfing it, and pulls me back through the tavern to the stairs in the far corner beside the bar that leads to the few rooms for rent upstairs.
He hauls me up the short flight of stairs and down the hall.
He stops in front of a door and pushes me up against it, kissing me desperately.
There’s no way this man should ever be desperate.
I push the thought aside and kiss him back just as desperately.
He reaches around me and opens the door, catching me around the waist before I fall in, hauling me back to his hard body.
I catch a brief glimpse of the room. It’s small and pretty filthy, but you can’t expect anything else from the Rookery.
We don’t exactly cater to a wealthy clientele down here.
He pushes me gently onto the bed and climbs on top of me, my legs opening for him.
I can feel how much he wants me through my billowing trousers.
He kisses me, then slowly trails kisses down my body.
He reaches between my breasts and begins undoing the hooks of my bustier, peeling it away so slowly it’s almost painful.
His mouth closes around my pebbled nipple.
My breath hitches as he licks and sucks the hard bud, swirling his tongue around it, while his other hand gently pinches the other one.
I writhe and moan under his expert touch, unable to control myself, lost to everything else but the sensations he’s awakening in my body.
His hands continue to move down my body, taking their time, exploring every inch of my exposed flesh.
He finds the waistband of my trousers and he leans back, peeling them down my legs, along with my undergarments.
He stares down at me, naked and exposed, his eyes leaving a trail of fire over my bare skin.
He spots the dagger I have strapped to my calf and gives me another lopsided smile, revealing a dimple.
I start to feel awkward having such a beautiful man staring at me like that and try to cover myself with my arms. I’m not ashamed of my scars or my body—it’s all a part of what makes me who I am—but being scrutinized by someone like him has me feeling all kinds of nervous. He shakes his head.
“Never hide. From anyone. You’re far too beautiful for that,” he says with a kind of reverence, his voice low and gravelly, before he pulls his shirt and trousers off, letting them fall to the floor with a soft thud.
I knew he’d be muscular, you could tell that much through his clothes, but I hadn’t been prepared for how staggering his body would be.
Every muscle in his body is well-defined and hard as stone.
He’s covered in scars as well. He must be a soldier, and a high-ranking one.
It’s possible he’s a member of the Garrison, but I doubt it.
Those men don’t fight fair enough to earn scars like this.
He’s obviously wealthy enough to not live in the Rookery though, and there aren’t many jobs among the rich that would cause that many injuries.
My eyes trail down his body, over every muscle, through the dusting of hair on his chest and down from his belly button to the deep v in his pelvis until they find his hard cock.
I’ve seen and had my fair share of men, but none of them compare to him.
Not even close. It is somewhat unnerving just how massive this man is, in every aspect.
I trail my eyes back up to meet his, and they’re hazy with want.
He’s waiting, I realize. Waiting for my consent to continue.
Suddenly the thought that I could so easily lose myself to this man, lose everything I’ve fought for, everything I’ve gained, hits me like a bolt of lightning.
I can’t go through with this. I don’t even know him and, while that has never stopped me before, something about this feels different, feels more significant.
I can feel the panic begin to bubble in my chest.
I grab for the blankets, trying desperately to wrap them around myself, trying to keep my breathing even, then reach for my necklace with a shaking hand, putting it beneath my nose.
I close my eyes and start taking slow, deep breaths.
I feel the bed sink next to me, his hand coming to cup my cheek, pulling my attention to him.
I look into his malachite eyes. The lustful want behind them has been rapidly replaced with concern.
I also can't help but notice he’s put his trousers back on.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper on a shaky breath.
I wait for the rage that always comes when this happens.
This isn’t the first time the panic has affected my sex life.
It’s happened a few times where I'm ready and willing to sleep with a man, but something snaps and my fear drowns me.
Every other time my partner has been extremely agitated, some even going so far as to try to force it on me, saying I owe them.
“You have nothing to be sorry for.” His deep, calming voice skates over me. “Lie down.”
I hesitate only a moment before doing as he says, sensing he’s not going to do anything I don’t want him to.
He has waited for consent at every stage.
Why would now be any different? I curl up on my side, still clinging to the silver pendant around my neck and the scratchy blanket wrapped tightly around my chest. The bed shifts as he curls his massive body around me, comforting me, calming me, coaxing me to breathe in his calming, deep voice.
I can’t help but feel safe in his arms. Another reason I need to get out of this situation as soon as possible.
But wrapped in his warmth and earthy scent, I feel myself relaxing, my breath coming in easier, my heart calming.
Before I can convince myself to get dressed and go home, I’m drifting off.
In that space between asleep and awake, I’m sure I feel him press a soft kiss to my temple.