Didn't You Promise (A Bad for You Novel) (9 page)

I brushed hair from my face, and stood.

“Excuse me,” I said and scooted past him, giving him a view of the backside he enjoyed so much.

His hand dashed out and grabbed my wrist.

I looked at him, and need pulsed between us.

“Where are you going?”

“To the bathroom,” I said.

If you dare join me.

I stared.

He stared back. Then dropped my wrist.

I made my way down the short aisle to the first-class bathrooms and shut the door without locking it. I peeled the thong over my hips then dropped the useless thing into the sanitary bin.

I watched the door, every breath rushing through my lungs taking me a little higher.
He’ll come
. I leaned against the wall, hand on my belly, palm moving with every shove of my diaphragm.

The door rolled open.

He filled the space to capacity before he even stepped inside.

My lips rubbed together. I’d imagined this little banter in my head. He’d say something about the way I’d tormented him. I’d ask him to teach me a lesson. I needed a lesson—a little rough handling to shake my senses into place.

He shut the door.

There’d be no banter.

No talking.

No explaining.

No playing.

Not with the way he reached for me. The look on his face—like he’d come to the cubicle to catch himself dinner. The kind of dinner you hunt then eat with nothing but your hands and teeth. My heart shuddered like a stalling engine. I wouldn’t run. Even if I wasn’t cornered, I’d let him devour me.

I’d lay myself down, and stretch myself out for the eating.

His hands captured my hips. The rush of his breath fanned across my forehead. I tilted my chin up for a kiss. His face hovered over me for a moment, then he spun me around, bending me over with a hand between my shoulders. I fell forward, palms splayed on the cubicle wall. He touched me from the space between my shoulder blades, down my spine, to my tailbone. Not quite a caress. More of a brand. His fingers left an invisible mark on each of my vertebrae.

He pulled up my dress just enough to slip a hand between my legs.

I rocked forward onto my palms, pushing back my ass.

His hand glided straight over wet flesh.

My spine dipped further.

“Where is that thong?” His growl trembled over my skin.

“I threw it away.”

Two fingers pushed between my folds, made deliberate circles over my nub. Pressure built between my legs, in my abdomen, in more indefinable places.

He slid round and round, gliding over my clitoris. “Next time, you don’t take it off until I tell you to.”

His fingers plunged into my pussy. Both of them at once. Those big fingers filling and completing my emptiness.

My head dropped, and hair spilled over my face.

Then the fingers were gone.

His zipper creaked. I leaned with one hand, and hitched my dress to my waist. The tantalizing head of his crown stroked my crease.

I planted both palms against the wall.

He squeezed my waist and entered me with one deep stroke. I bit my tongue to break the gasp. My eyes flew wider, and everything brightened. I couldn’t take it. There wasn’t room in me. He filled me to bursting. Stretched my insides and pressed against my cervix.

My triceps shook.

“Yes, you can,” he whispered.

Mind reader.

He moved in my pussy. Just a rock, not a thrust. Heat exploded over me. I’d set off the smoke alarms like this. He reached all my places, butting against that one corner that made my vision blur. I could, could take it—every damn time. My pussy stretched to meet his girth, juices flowing to accept him. He pulled out. Every one of my nerves tingled.

His fingers slid up my side and curled around my shoulder. He impaled me, this time with no resistance. Tension wound through my body. I buried my face against the fleshy inside of my arm. He thrust again, pushing me toward the edge. Then again, this time hauling me back so only my fingertips brushed the wall. I panted, tasting my own skin and sweat on my arm. He used me, not thrusting into me so much as using my hips to fuck himself. Dragging me off my palms, off balance, so all I could do was fall into the cradle of his hands, and sink over his cock.

Moans made their way up my throat. I could only clamp my teeth together, without the muffle of my skin as a buffer. My fingers slipped again, and again, and again.

Agony built in me—it was an agony—of pressure and pleasure.

He filled me. The entire rock hard length getting harder than hard, pushing in, rocking up.

Light exploded in my vision. I came, rising onto my toes and grinding against him. Bliss unraveled though every muscle, contracting some, releasing others. My teeth closed over my lips, cutting off the howl.

He squeezed my hips, then it was him moving, pounding me like he always did, so hard I thought I’d break—every single time—yet never did. The pleasure didn’t stop, couldn’t stop. Kept on slamming me with more, until his hands flexed, and his body stiffened, and his cock twitched.

Until he spilled liquid heat inside me.

My hands met the wall again. It was all I could do to keep myself upright.

He didn’t hug me, kiss me, or hold me. He didn’t say a word. He pulled my ass cheek apart a little while he watched himself withdraw.

Then tugged my dress down over my ass—and left.

I panted into the small space then reach a shaking hand to lock the door.

There’d been mutual savagery in this. Something beyond tenderness. Wetness seeped out of me. I placed my hand between my legs so it didn’t splatter, and tugged toilet paper from the dispenser, cleaning myself up.

We’d shared lovemaking before, especially on the yacht. A lot of it I’d call lovemaking. Sometimes sweet, sometimes tender. Sometimes less so. Love softens need. Affection blunts passion’s fangs, so what once was a sting, becomes a tickle. The kind that makes you shiver. Still delicious, but no longer dangerous. I’d missed this—this carnal thing between us. What being on the run seemed to bring out in us.

I washed my hands, and ran fingers through the wig.

Haithem and I would always have more than passion.

There’d still be lovemaking, but the fangs were there, still sharp, we just didn’t always have to use them.

Chapter Ten

The airport in Thailand was the sweet little sister to India’s big bad brother. We made it through immigration without breaking a sweat, even taking a regular taxi all the way to the quiet resort Haithem had organized.

Paradise wiped away the tension of previous days.

A breeze sifted through the open plantation shutters to caress my bare back. Haithem’s chest flexed under my ear. I couldn’t move, my bones melted against the mattress and into him. Maybe there was more to see in Thailand than this, but I couldn’t be interested in anything other than what I had right between these walls.

A view to kill for—white sand, amethyst seas, complete isolation—and the man I loved.

Two days here could’ve been two weeks. Time dragged its feet in the heat. Even time found this place irresistible. He shifted underneath me. I groaned. He better not expect me to move. I mean I’d shag again, wouldn’t say no to more of that, but I’d just have to lay here. Let him do his thing. God knows when a man’s that good at something, then leave him to his gift. Me, though, I had nothing left to fuel muscles.

He rolled to his side then pulled a bottle of sparkling water from the ice bucket. Water ran into his glass with a trickle that made my bladder clench.

Who has the energy to get up and pee?

I lay an arm over my eyes.

Cold streaked across my ribs. A gasp flew from my lips.

I dropped the arm from my eyes over my head.

“Don’t move.” He held a cube of ice between his fingers. “Stay right as you are—arms up.”

He pressed the cube to my skin. Water oozed from his hand, ice dissolving on the heat of my flesh. The hairs on my body stood on end. He ran the ice between my breasts over my sternum. I leaned into the breath of cool delivering me from humidity.

He ran his hand across my collarbone then down over my breast. My nipple puckered. He looked at me, eyes hooded, hair a mess. If I had the energy, I’d raise my arms and bury my hands in that hair.

He leaned down, running his tongue over the path the ice had been.

Hot over cold.

His mouth closed over my nipple. My back arched. My spine curved into a flurry of sensation. Desire pooled in my core.

How is there more?

My vagina must be grazed by now, worn out from loving, yet there it was again, insatiable desire. I’d have him again even if it hurt.

He moved on, bringing the last of that melting ice down over my stomach, and dropped it in my belly button. He dived after it, sucking the moisture from my skin.

I laughed—abdominals curling from ticklishness.

His tongue dipped into my belly button. My hands flew to his hair, fisting around those thick locks.

He lifted his head, gaze pinning me from under lush lashes. “I thought I told you to stay still.”

“Or what?” I smiled a tight little smile. What could he do, what was there left to be done that he hadn’t done already?

“Or, I’ll have to hold you down.” He smiled his own smile, full of wickedness.

I shivered, fingers sliding through his hair. Maybe I’d pull these locks—dare him to flatten me out and pin me down.

A gurgle emerged from my belly. He turned his face back to my stomach. A rumble echoed through the room. He laughed, the sound drawing joy right out of my heart.

His teeth flashed, then he kissed my belly. “Order some food, you, I’m having a shower.”

“Fine,” I said. Maybe I was a little hungry—starving. “What would you like?”

“Anything edible.” He walked across the room, the curves of his ass contracting with each step.

Fuck me
,
what an ass.

I watched him disappear into the bathroom, unable to look away until he’d gone, because really, that backside deserved to be admired.

I sighed and looked over the room service menu.

But what to eat?

Prawns—prawns and
all
the seafood. Plus, ice cream. The amount of calories we’d burned today alone demanded an ice cream counterbalance. I dialed room service. A flat beeping busy signal met my ear.

Another rumble emerged from my stomach.

Must’ve burned more calories than I’d thought.

I hung up the phone, then reached for the television remote and flicked through the channels. Nothing, nothing and a whole bunch of nothing. The international channel blared something about cricket. I watched for a moment before trying room service again.

The operator answered. I placed the order, maybe ordered one or two more things than we needed. A voice I’d know anywhere cut through the conversation.

I glanced at the television.

“Miss? Miss, is there anything else?”

I dropped the receiver. Agony tore between my ribs. I rolled off the bed, then stumbled to the screen, and fell to my knees.

“
Please
,
anyone with any information about our daughter we beg you
—”

My father’s voice flowed from the television screen like arrows into my lungs. I gasped for air. Pressed my palm to the screen, images so crisp and clear, longing might just sink my hand through the plasma.

Dad kept talking—
begging
.

My dad the mayor, who’d never begged. I clenched me teeth and the ringing in my ears bled out the sound. Mum stood beside my father. She didn’t say anything.

She can’t speak.

I knew she couldn’t speak. She wouldn’t be speaking for weeks. My hand slid from the screen and hit my knee.

I’d seen this pain before. The grief. Mum’s sobs echoing down the hallway. Dad’s retreat to his office where he’d pace back and forth—back and forth—his face drained, pinched and tight.

He wouldn’t say, never ever say, how much he hurt.

But
I’d
felt it. Every day they’d mourned I’d carried their grief on top of all my own. Probably why there’d never been any room for me to cry. No room for me to suffer out loud. To throw a tantrum. To go out with my friends and get plastered.

History revisited itself on the screen and in my mind.

Pain.

Grief.

Suffering.

I
did this.

I stared at their faces zoomed in on the television. I couldn’t cry. Again I couldn’t cry. I didn’t deserve to cry. You have to breathe to cry. I tried to get the air in. Oxygen didn’t want to relieve me.

“Angelina.” Haithem’s voice penetrated the haze.

He fell to his knees beside me, the towel wrapped around his waist parting across his thighs. He hauled me against him.

Then he looked at the screen.

His expression froze. Stiffened fraction by fraction into something I couldn’t digest. I grabbed his shoulders. He looked at me.

Is he even there?

I breathed again. “I have to tell them.”

Every line on his face came to life—the horizontal creases across his forehead, the slashes between his brows, the squint lines fanning from his eyes—they all drew tight.

“No,” he said.

Blunt. Final. Absolute.

My fingers squeezed, digging hard into muscle. “I
have
to tell them.”

“You can’t.” The lines smoothed, not all the way, but relaxed with his tone.

I let go of his shoulders and held his face. Made him look at me, see what I needed to tell him, what I needed him to understand. “I’ll just call them once—tell them they can’t say anything to anyone—”

He took me by the wrists, pulling my touch from his face. “It’s not safe.”

“Please—”

“Stop.” He let go of my hands. “It’s not possible.”

My chest went hollow. He stood, rewrapping the towel around his waist.

“You can’t decide.” I rose to my feet. “You can’t just tell me what’s not possible. We could be careful—take precautions.”

Did he even feel guilt? Maybe, but not like I did. Not like
my
guilt.

“I can,” he said, rough words grazing my aching heart. “I’m responsible—” He reached for me and my chest hit the naked expanse of his. “For you, and for them now, too.”

My head spun.

I should’ve known better. I’d done this before. Allowed something,
somethings
, to overcrowd my mind. I’d pushed out the inconvenient thoughts. Things like grief and guilt and unhappiness. University. Nursing homes. Animal shelters. Big sister programs.

Except,
this
adventure provided complete emotional monopoly.

The news moved on, my parents no longer on the screen but their images, their tears and torment, punctured into the back of my brain. I’d never be able to push them out again. Wouldn’t be able to disappear with Haithem, pretending that any end could ever justify
this
means.

Not now I’d seen what we’d done.

I blinked, a veil forming between us. Tears I couldn’t spill. A distance I couldn’t breach. There’d always be this hurt between us. So big, loving around the pain would always leave us stretched. I’d chosen him over everything.

I’d made that choice but it cost me more than I could take.

“We can’t do this.” I tried to focus on him through the cloud over my eyes. “Not to them, and not to us.”

“Can’t you see it’s for their own good?” He touched my cheek.

I pointed to the television. My voice rose, my chest panted. “They won’t recover from that.”

I couldn’t breathe. Needed air. The humidity was suffocating.

I pushed out of his grip.

He came after me, reaching for me even as I withdrew, sliding from his grip like a lizard. “Yes they will.” He caught me up, and held me to him again. “When you are home, they will recover.”

“No.” He didn’t know them like I did, He didn’t understand what we put them through. I squirmed out of his arms and crossed the room.

He didn’t follow. His jaw hardened. “You can recover from anything—anything.” He pointed at me, his index finger directed at me like an arrow. “Even when you think you can’t, you can.”

I hiccupped, and grabbed my face with my fingers.

I couldn’t do this—how could I do this?

“The only thing you can’t recover from is
death
.” He delivered that last word,
death
, like a snake, the—
th
dragging on.

He yanked the wardrobe door opened.

I dropped my hands, trying to breathe through sobs.

He turned his back, yanking a shirt over his head. “You should understand that better than anyone.”

I crawled onto the bed, and lay on my side.

Yes
,
I
knew.

Yes, he was right. Maybe this was the lesser of a great many evils. But everything comes back to us eventually. I hadn’t begun to pay for my choices yet. I would though, sooner or later, there’d be no avoiding it.

He walked to the door.

“Where are you going?” I leaned up off the bed.

He’d put on pants and shoes too. “I’m getting some air.” His hand paused on the door handle but he didn’t look at me. “Be ready to leave when I get back.”

I swung my legs off the bed, starting towards him. The door shook shut, rattling my insides.