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A world where I’m not Brad Black.
I’m just hers.
24
PEARL
* * *
I don’t know how many times he sent me to heaven throughout the night. I lost count. He’s sleeping soundly, has been for a few hours, and I’ve watched him the whole time. Fascinated. Mesmerized. Curled on my side, feeling an uncomfortable sense of safety. My eyes skate down his chest and each of his arms. Red. Scratches and raised skin dominate the expanse of his perfect body. A scar mars his shoulder. A bandage covers his latest wound.
And yet, he’s still perfect.
And I am in more trouble than I ever dreaded I could be.
I edge to the side of the bed and get up, every muscle pulling. It’s a strange mix of pain and satisfaction. I’ve never been touched and wanted to be. I’ve never silently begged for more of a man’s hands on my body. Because their touches were never touches. They were grabs. Gropes. Violent and uncaring. Brad’s a big man. Tall, lean, strong. But tender. Each time he touches me, a small piece of “me” is revived.
I get up and check between my thighs. No blood. I check the makeshift sheet he put on the mattress. It’s bunched up. I can’t see any blood. I slide his packet of cigarettes off the nightstand and find my knickers, slipping into them, before going out onto the terrace. I stand and inhale the fresh air, looking at the sun rising in the distance. It’s early, but I know this house. Someone will be up and about. So I take myself to the back corner and lower to my arse, leaning my bare back against the rough bricks and pulling my knees into my chest. I take a cigarette, light it, and breathe in, holding the stick up in front of me, looking at the ember burn as I blow out a plume of smoke, trying to analyze . . . everything. Only Brad can help me unravel it all. But I know that with time will come the questions. Questions I can’t answer. What would he say? What would he do?
My breath hitches, my next pull on the cigarette urgent. I’m not stupid. Not naïve. Passion, pleasure, it makes people say things they don’t mean. Makes people behave in ways they wouldn’t under normal circumstances. Men especially.
You’re beautiful. I could fall in love with you in a minute. What did I ever do without you? I’m going to worship you. I heard it all from every one of the girls I was kept with—the things men said to them.
Didn’t experience it firsthand myself.
Because no one was allowed to touch me like that.
One man did.
He paid with his life.
I flinch the memory away, my stomach turning, as I pull on my Marlboro. Think of last night.
A noise stirs me from my thoughts, and I look to my left. Brad towers above me, naked, scanning the terrace.
“Over here,” I say, pulling his attention to the corner where I’m tucked away. Hidden. He looks relieved. Padding over on his bare feet, he slowly crouches before me. My lip slips between my teeth, my cigarette resting between my fingers, a trail of smoke drifting up to the sky. He looks at my lip. Looks at the Marlboro. Reaches for it, plucking it from my hold, and slips it between his lips. I pout. He smirks.
My eyes fall down his bare chest to his legs. To his long, semi-hard manhood hanging between his thighs. I pull at the ring in my lip with my teeth. Without a word, he reaches under my arms and stands, lifting me to his front, and carries my right back into the bedroom, flicking my smoke away. He walks up the bed on his knees and settles me on my back, stroking between my boobs before caging me in beneath him, gazing down at me, his sleepy, sexy eyes dizzying. I cock him a questioning look. He raises his brows.
And then he starts dotting kisses across my chest, slow, soft presses of his lips against my skin, over and over. “I want you to stop smoking,” he says, taking a small break before going back to worshipping my flesh.
“Maybe,” I whisper, sliding my hands into his hair.
He pulls his face from my skin and cocks a brow. “The answer is, yes, Brad.”
I nibble my lip, restraining my smile. “Yes, Brad.”
“Oh, how you please me. How sore are you?”
“Very.”
“Me too.”
It’s me cocking a brow now. He’s used to all-night sessions. Usually in hotel rooms. I wince at the thought. I need to forget that. “Really?”
“Yes, really,” he murmurs, taking a lock of my hair and rubbing it between his fingers. “Because you’re so tight.”
I press my lips together when he peeks up at me, his mischievous smirk adorable. He slides down and starts nipping at my nipples, and the pleasure shoots straight down to between my thighs. I breathe in some restraint.
