A Girl in Black and White (Alyria 2)

“Mmm. Good. It stings . . . but I feel so . . . full.”

Ah, shit. I groaned, not being able to stop myself from kissing that stupidly honest mouth of hers. I kissed her hard, my tongue in tune with the slow thrusting of my hips.

I couldn’t do this slow shit much longer. It was torture, plain and simple.

I pulled back, a spike of lust injecting straight into my bloodstream when I got the full picture of her, of us connected, me sliding in and out. It was the stupidest decision I ever made, because I was about to lose it, the sharp tingles at the base of my spine close to erupting. So I stopped, completely.

She blinked. “What are you doing? That isn’t it, is it?”

I could have laughed, but the wettest heat gripping my cock kept even her sincere naivety from being amusing.

“Enjoying the view,” I said roughly, not wanting to admit she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever fucked in my life and I was so close to losing it inside her.

“Well, can you do it moving, maybe?”

I shook my head, some wry amusement flooding me. From virgin to demanding little slut. Fuck, she was perfect.

I dropped back down on top of her, flicking my tongue in her obstinate little mouth. When I slid my hand down between us, brushing a sensitive part between her legs, she sucked in a breath. Moving inside of her slowly, I rubbed slow circles against her, while she tossed her head, arched her back, letting out little moans that sounded better than I’d ever fantasized.

She looked me in the eyes, that dark gaze piercing straight through my chest, before a groan escaped her lips, her fingernails digging into my biceps, while I felt her body clench so tightly around me. Sweat ran down my spine as I held still, tried to keep myself from letting go just yet.

Her legs went limp, her hands resting gently on my arms as she caught her breath. Her face turned to me, that ridiculously beautiful face. “Is that it then?” she murmured.

I shook my head. “No, now it’s my turn.”

She blinked. “Your tur—”

But I had already thrust hard inside her, pulled out, did it again. Fucked her hard and fast like I had always dreamed of, with pleasure curling up my spine. She was mine, mine to fuck, mine to use, and I wanted her to know it. I fucked her just like she had fucked me for months, putting all my anger, all my frustration into this moment. As much as I didn’t want to care about how she took this, I did; I waited to smell her fear, tensed, expecting it, though not sure I could even stop once I did. But it never came. She only grew wetter, loud moans escaping her lips as her nails dug into my arms.

It was at the moment I realized this fucking girl liked it hard, that I exploded deep inside her. Lost vision, sense of time, direction. I’d been so hard for this woman, for so long, that violent shivers erupted at the base of my spine, spreading throughout my body, sparking in my bloodstream.

Fucking hell.

I came down, slowly, catching myself before I collapsed on top of her. I braced myself on my forearms above her, my head bowed, trying to catch my breath. I felt the awareness behind my eyes, knew that when I looked up, she’d notice. And so I waited many minutes until I got a hold of myself.

Who knew how long later, with the haze clearing from my vision and my breaths evening out, she came into clear view. Her breaths soft and shallow, her eyelashes fanned across her cheeks, her expression at peace.

She fucking fell asleep on me.

She was sleeping soundly while I pulled on some pants, ran my hands through my hair, and stood in front of the balcony, trying to calm my beating heart.

I knew that I shouldn’t have done it. That this would be the outcome: my hands practically shaking as I gripped the top of the doorframe to the terrace. I bowed my head, focusing on pushing the possessive feelings toward her away; the selfish, maddening thoughts that made me want to brand my name on her body, and the thoughts that were pulling on the last of my sanity.

She didn’t understand what it meant that I would lose my humanity, or she wouldn’t have dropped her dress at my feet. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t do this, that it wasn’t mine to take, that it might push me over the edge—feeling like she was mine for only the reality to set in and to realize she wasn’t. Not at all. She was going to marry her fucking blacksmith, there was just no other way.

Otherwise, once my humanity was gone, so would my sympathy, so would any protective feelings I had for her besides anger, lust, possessiveness. Revulsion rolled through me that she could anger me—it took only one time for me to lash out—and once again her lifeless eyes would look back at me.

I clenched my jaw, frustration leaking under my skin as I tightened my grip on the doorframe. I wasn’t a good man. I wasn’t sympathetic as it was, nor had I cared about some commoner girl’s life, at least that’s what I’d told myself. But when I saw her blood-stained body lying on the sand, her gaze blank, knowing that she would no longer say another obstinate word, something had clicked inside me. It was the moment I’d learned that panic exists: the painful grip on my chest, the twisting of my stomach, the pain radiating into my bloodstream.

I almost killed my brother. Beat him to within an inch of his life, in a mindless rage I’d never experienced before. He realized then what he did, what he took from me, and he hardly fought back. It was his reluctance that stopped me, stopped my blade from entering his heart. When my gaze drew to the girl on the sand, the rage faded into t

hat thing they called panic, the feeling I would’ve never been able to describe until then.

Her death was my biggest failure, my greatest regret.

It made me admit to myself that I cared about that girl’s life too much. I hadn’t been able to save her, and the feeling of that would always haunt me. But now, she was going to live, my past guilt would make sure of it.

I knew that I shouldn’t have come here to begin with, that she was impossible for me to shake. That she was a liability I couldn’t afford, that messed with my head.