Page 22 of The Devil’s Feather

His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Thank you. Please touch me.”

I ran my hands up to his shoulders, drawing my fingers along his clavicles. Multiple rough spots from old, healed breaks. God, what horrors he had endured.

I almost dropped a kiss on those poor, abused collarbones, stopping myself at the last moment and checking his expression. The brightness of his eyes surprised me.

“Rafael? Are you ok?”

“You are exactly who I thought you would be. Your unselfconscious joy in my music struck me so deeply, I had to know more.” That bass shook, the vibrato humming up my arms. “I have always considered myself well-guarded, and yet…here you are. What the fuck.” He tsked, sucking sharply on his teeth. “I should have asked more about your past. Instead, I have been trauma dumping on you all night like an asshole.”

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 balık 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.”