THE WINDUP GIRL #3
I brushed a stray lock of spun garnet hair from his forehead. “Hey, it’s ok. I’ve been very fortunate that my only bad sexual experiences were disappointing rather than traumatic. My trauma revolves more around religion and relationship betrayal.”
“What kind of fucking idiot would run out on you?” He gave me a ferocious look.
My belly quivered. “Pretty much everyone.” Pretty much guaranteed he would too, given his powerful charisma.
“Elaine, I have said words are cheap. But if all I wanted was sex, I would not make such an effort.” Rafael caressed the side of my face. “You are all too willing to be seduced.”
This cocky motherfucker. I wanted to protest, but god, was I ever willing. “How do you read me so well?”
He smiled. “You are not as subtle as you think.”
My ears burned.
“Yes, I attract people easily, but my ho phase is long over and did lasting damage to everyone involved. No more of that. I am tired of being so fucking lonely.”
“I am too. And I’m tired of being with men who want a Manic Pixie Dream Girl, discard me when I can’t fix them, and are too cowardly to tell me they want to move on. Somehow, making me cry is harder to deal with than fucking around on me in the first place.” Whew, that came out bitter.
“We are mirrored.” He kissed my forehead. “Most people cannot handle my trauma. The majority of those I did not dump first cheated out of fear of confrontation. I swear to you, I will break things off before it ever comes to that. All I ask is patience and understanding.”
I stared into his eyes, tugging on a lock of his hair. “Somehow, I trust you even though you’re like a literal red flag.”
Rafael expelled an amused huff. “Is it too soon to ask you to move in with me? I do not want you to leave.”
“You are intense, Mr. Nazim.”
“So I have been told, Ms. Parham.” He kissed me again.
I folded like a sheet under the heat of his mouth. If he repeated that question, I’d say yes without another thought in my head. I cupped his heavy pecs through the thin cotton tank, wishing I could rip the cloth down the middle.
“I want you,” he whispered against my lips.
“Then take me,” I whispered back.
Rafael laid me down on the sofa, and I invited him on top of me. I spread my legs cautiously, unsure if wrapping them around his waist might be upsetting. He wrapped them himself, securing my legs with a hand under my thigh. The touch shot straight to my clit as he seized my mouth with his.
His weight on my body squeezed the last of my good sense out of my head. This man could say he wanted to fuck me with a knife at this point and I’d go for it.
“I can’t remember the last time I was this turned on,” I gasped against his lips.
He smiled against the side of my neck. “I have not stopped thinking about you since I saw your little dance in the bookstore. Should have asked you to repeat it while sitting on my face.” His words whipped through me like wildfire.
“You like my voice, but I think yours is sexy; how you embrace a lower pitch instead of forcing it higher.” He licked the edge of my jaw, and I shuddered with appreciation.
“Your wit turns me on. That ravenous look in your eyes. The needy way you kiss. Your soft body.”
A sharp little gasp escaped my mouth, and I ran my hands over his broad back.
“May I touch your breasts?” Rafael’s breath was hot on my neck. Full of intent.
Ye olde insecurity raised its ugly head like Nessie emerging from the loch. “I’m not fit like you.”
He sat up with a scowl. “Why would I want you to be fit like me? I build muscle solely to beat the shit out of people. We say a woman with your lovely curves is balik etli; fish-fleshed. It sounds terrible in English, but please believe me, it is a compliment. I have been with all body types. I prefer the softness.”
Self-doubt laughed at me. “Are you sure you don’t mind a stomach roll?”
“Who does not like a roll with dinner?” His dark purr shivered down my spine.
The insidious beast in my head refused to be silenced. “But-but I have violin hips!”
Rafael pressed a finger to my lips with an imperious glare. “Now you are insulting me. Are you implying again that I am unable to play the violin? Me? When I am already composing my next symphony for the exquisite instrument of your body?”
Damn, he’s good.
“No more of this.” He lifted the restraining finger to stroke it along my cheek.
“Who taught you to find yourself unworthy?” Rafael shook his head sharply, tossing his hair.
“You could just as easily decide I am not worthy of you. Shh, no. Maybe you do not like my face, or my scars, or my lack of a beard, or chest hair, or tattoos. Maybe I am too muscular. I have heard all of these things.”
“What? No, I’m so fucking attracted to you I can’t think straight.” I licked my lips. How had he so adroitly cornered me into accepting myself?
“Then listen to me. Your figure is delectable.” His eyes lingered on my chest again.
“And you must think it too, or you would not have worn that sexy fucking dress yesterday. Cruel, testing my resolve to be respectful with so much cleavage. I wanted to bury my face in your tits the second I opened the car door.”
Was that why he’d acted strangely?
“Wow, you hid it well!” My entire pussy throbbed. Delirious, I arched my back. “Touch, kiss, get off on my cleavage, whatever you want. Make me yours.” I hardly knew what I was saying, but I endorsed it with my whole heart. “I want you so bad I can’t sleep at night.”
His palms easily covered my ample bosom as he experimentally hefted one breast, then the other. He caressed me through my sweater with gentle sweeps of his thumbs, teasing my nipples into hardening. Even with my bra as a barrier, my body yearned for him.
Rafael reached under my back and expertly unhooked the offending bra with one hand. I shimmied out of it, pulling the straps down my arms and whipping it off without lifting my cropped sweater. My nipples made peaks in the soft wool. Reverently, he plucked at them, teasing until I moaned.
When he bent and covered one with his mouth, I bucked beneath him.
He sucked through the sweater, gently at first, and slowly increased the force, flicking my other nipple until I cried out and writhed.
He took the lower hem of my top in his teeth, tugging at it with a questioning look.
I ripped the sweater off over my head and threw it.
Probably stretched it all to hell, but whatever. It was cheap.
Worth it to offer my flesh to the trickster god. The man with the devil’s feather2.
Rafael licked slowly, reverently. He shifted from one bared nipple to the other, taking each one carefully in his teeth, rolling and tugging until I whimpered.
“You are so wet you have soaked through your jeans and my undershirt,” he murmured against my breast.
“Fuck what I said about going slow,” I hissed. “I had no idea how talented you are.”
“Shall we go to the bedroom? Much more comfortable.”
“Does it include taking clothes off? Because yes.”
Rafael sat back and peeled off the tank top. I reflexively wolf-whistled at the reveal.
A grin spread across his face. “I am perpetually dehydrated, so good to know I receive some benefit from it.”
Forget a six-pack. This man had a full on eight-pack and a distinct Adonis belt—the kind of muscle I’d only ever seen in pictures.
A teasing trail of darker red hair on his lower abdomen drew my eye to the waistband of his pants.
Fucking hell, the carpet does match. I’d be drowning in my own juices shortly if I didn’t do something drastic.
“Your body is unreal.” I swallowed hard. “Can I touch you? From the waist up, I mean?”
His eyes crinkled at the corners. “It is only fair. Except for my throat, you may touch or kiss any skin I expose.”
I immediately smashed my face between his pecs, running my greedy hands over his sculpted abs and the impossible ripple of serratus muscles wrapping his ribs.
He rumbled encouragement, wrapping his arms around me.
I sighed at the vibration, kissing the center of his chest, arching my back to better press my breasts against him.
Biceps, pecs, and abs snared attention, but the serratus were the sexiest muscles. His were the most defined I’d ever seen. Rafael’s bare skin on mine threatened to short-circuit my brain.
I stroked his side, trying to come back down to earth. “Do you have any tattoos?”
“No. Do you?”
“A few little ones, but I want more. A red dragon on my left shoulder to celebrate when I published my debut, a blown-out Cancer symbol on my right ankle I got on my 18th birthday, and JRR Tolkien’s signature monogram on my low back.”
“You have a Tolkien tramp stamp?”
“Don’t judge me.” I turned to show him.
“I like it.” Rafael’s fingers grazed the dragon on my shoulder, trailing down to Tolkien’s monogram. “Looks like a keyhole. If I insert a key and wind you up, will you sing for me?”
My brain made static noises.
“Do you like to be dominated?” His lips brushed the monogram. “Or would you rather be in control?”
My nipples were hard as diamonds. “Fuck, you’re making it hard to think. Um… Yes? Both?” Shit, when was the last time a man actually asked what I liked? “I want to be dominated tonight. I think. Gently. Just don’t call me ‘good girl’. It feels too generic.” Was that kinkshaming? Shit!
“Spoken like a true author.” Rafael flipped me over, lifting me off the sofa like I weighed less than a feather. “No generic praise, and I will be very gentle. Say ‘stop’ when you want to stop. How do you feel about restraints?”
Feverish, my words crowded on my tongue. All that came out was a pitiful “Meep!”
He laughed under his breath and kissed my forehead. “No restraints tonight.”
Rafael carried me through the gym and up the stairs. I latched onto the dark nipple so tantalizingly close to my face. His hissed intake of breath gave me pause.
“Bite me,” he commanded.
I obeyed.
“Harder. As hard as you can.”
Trusting him to know his body, I bit until I feared I’d draw blood.