A Girl in Black and White (Alyria 2)

He didn’t reply, only gave a slight shake of his head, his shoulders tensing as if he was suddenly agitated with me.

I pulled the hair away from my neck, my nerves making the heat much more oppressive. The air was heavy with tension and that awkwardness of trying to find something to say. His sudden change in disposition had unease running down my back. I didn’t understand it. I could stand here and watch him all day. Why did he suddenly act like he wanted me to leave?

Maybe I did want this more than him. And he only told me he wanted me as some means of intimidation. Because surely if he really did, he’d at least look at me while I stood in his room?

Or maybe I was only misinterpreting him because of the nerves coursing through me. So, I put a small smile on, and jested, “Sharpening your knives is how you prepare for your trip? I almost feel sorry for the people of Elian.”

His gaze flicked up to me as a breeze blew in through the terrace, teasing my skirts and baring my leg from the high slit in the thigh. His eyes followed the motion, before going cold. And with a frustrated shake of his head, he set his blade on the desk harder than necessary. “Calamity, what are you doing here?”

I flinched at his voice, realizing that I hadn’t misjudged him at all.

For some reason, me standing uncertainly near the door, and him, over there, in control of the situation, sucked me back into a Cameron inn.

“This is all I’m worth?”

His smile was wicked. “Care to prove your worth?”

I shivered at the memory. Because if I had known him like I did now, I would have accepted. Some nostalgia made my throat thick, my heart heavy. Did I always want to put the idea of finally being with him into a memory where it never happened? Because if I didn’t get what I came for, the regret would follow me into my dreams. I was young, I had no idea that what I wanted would actually make the feelings worse; but in my mind, I hid the truth behind a paltry need for closure.

The idea of regret haunting me just as the Shadows did, gave me the rush of fortitude to do what I came for.

I glanced up to see him sitting back in his chair, running a towel with some kind of oil over a blade, his expression cross as if he’d been having a good day until I entered his room. I didn’t care how he felt. He did this to me, and he was going to fix it.

I had no idea how to tell him what I wanted, so I only pushed myself off the door and walked towards him.

His gaze was down, his attention completely focused on his work like I wasn’t even here. And I wouldn’t lie and say it wasn’t intimidating—because the nerves were strong enough they vibrated under my skin.

When I stood in front of him, I pulled the knife from his hands and tossed it to the side. His narrowed gaze shot up, but by then I had already leaned in and pressed my lips against his, hard. Like I hated him. Like I remembered every reason on my list, all seventy-four of them. An angry groan vibrated against my lips with the warmth of his tongue brushing mine. I leaned further into him, resting my knee on the chair between his legs. But he’d already gripped the back of my thighs, pulling me so that I straddled him, stomach to stomach, chest to chest.

My blood sizzled. I could almost hear it rushing through my veins with the ring in my ears. The roughness of his hands ran fiery-hot trails over my thighs, backside, and then up my torso, brushing over my breasts and gently squeezing before running back down to my hips. A moan escaped my lips, and he captured it in his mouth, playing my tongue with his.

I swayed into him, groaning when the hard length of him brushed between my legs.

For some reason, I knew I would have to tell him I wanted to take this further than a heated kiss, when truly, I needed to. I was tired of waiting. I wanted it now, all of it. I wanted him to douse this burning fire under my skin, so that I could breathe again, stop fantasizing of the moment and finally know it.

I didn’t have the words, so I only ran my hand down his chest, the muscles of his stomach tightening under my touch, and then between our legs, resting my palm right over the top of him. He groaned, deep and rough, his forehead dropping to mine. I had no idea what I was doing, but the sound that I affected him that much by only resting my hand against him gave me a rush. His breaths were heavy, uneven like this was somehow painful and not at all pleasurable for him, while I ran my hand hesitantly across the entire length of him, back and forth.

Our frantic movements had slowed into slow and lazy, our breaths mixing with the heavy, humid air. I kissed his lips once more, whispering against them, “Weston . . . please—”

He froze, the moment becoming i

ce cold before he got to his feet so abruptly, I fell back onto my butt on the floor.

He cursed, closing his eyes and stepping away from me like he couldn’t even bear to help me up.

I sat there, humiliation and anger filling my chest. The stupid bastard wanted me, had told me so how many times? I’d just had my hand on the proof. So why was he pushing me away again and again like he didn’t?

With frustration seeping into my chest, I got to my feet and turned around to see him walking to the door. He pulled it open and stood beside it with a firm grip on the edge in the unanimous way of telling me to get the fuck out.

Anger and then panic uncurled in my chest, with the aftertaste of regret if I walked through that door. So, I stood still, my heart racing in my chest.

“You need to leave,” he said roughly, keeping his gaze on the wall in front of him like he was tired of ridiculous me. If I left now, I’d have the worst sort of closure in the history of closures. Weston might have been stubborn in what he wanted, but I was immovable. And if he wanted me to leave then he would have to carry me out . . . and then I remembered something he told me before . . . something that he said would most assuredly make me a virgin no longer.

I didn’t even give myself time to think it through: I undid the leather girdle on my hips before sliding the straps of my dress over my shoulders. The loose fabric slid down my arms until it hit the floor. I wore nothing beneath. My breaths were shallow, my heart beating like a hummingbird’s wings.

“Calamity, for once in your life listen to—” He looked at me.

For a moment, he froze, so still, like I had completely stunned him.