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‘I do…mean it,’ she murmured.
Fire burned through his gut, obliterating the pain and the fear that he had carried with him since childhood. That he would never be whole, never be enough.
He climbed back on the bed, held her wrists above her head, manacling them with one hand. She was at his mercy, her body flushed, waiting, her ripe breasts thrust out, quivering with her need.
Her hair flowed around her on the white linen sheets, the delicate scent of wild flowers and arousal torturing him.
But her gaze—honest, open, unflinching—watched him without an ounce of fear. How could she look so bold, so unafraid, when he was the one in control? And why did he feel so frantic, so desperate, again…?
Once should have been enough to destroy this hunger, but the need was
flowing through him like molten lava—demanding he take her again, to escape the pain.
He covered one thrusting breast with his lips, sucking the plump nipple into his mouth, until it swelled and hardened and she shuddered with need. The artless, unashamed response only fired his hunger, his desperation.
He let go of her wrists, let her bury her fingers in his hair as he skimmed his palms down her body, his lips feasting on her and devastating him as she bucked and moaned, unable to hold back. Unable to deny him anything.
He licked at her sex, found the tight nub of her clitoris, feasted on the sweet sultry moans of her surrender until she flew apart in his arms.
He rose above her, the need holding him prisoner. Her gaze—still bold, still unashamed, but soft with a tenderness that terrified him—locked on his. He angled her hips and plunged, burying the massive erection in the tight clasp of her body. He rode the storm, letting it rage around them, cocooning them both in the painful pleasure, the desperate need, and worked the spot he knew would make her fall.
She clasped his shoulders and clung on, her gaze not wavering, not faltering, letting him take his fill—so brave, so beautiful… So his.
Somehow, he held on until the last moment, until she tightened around him.
He yanked himself free with the last of his strength, just in time, to spill himself on the sheets.
Afterglow rushed through his body, but right behind it was the terrible realisation that he’d given Orla something he’d never given any other woman… A glimpse of the vulnerable child who lurked inside him—and would never deserve to be saved.
Orla held Karim, hugging him, feeling his fear and absorbing it alongside her own. She didn’t know what had just happened between them, but it felt so real and significant it hurt to breathe.
She threaded her fingers through his hair, swept it back from his forehead. ‘Karim? Are you okay?’
He lifted off her, but his eyes when they met hers were guarded and unyielding. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Thanks,’ he added, the curt acknowledgement a deliberate blow.
The mask had returned, and her heart ached. But as he threw the sheet back, to climb off the bed, his gaze landed on the sheet beneath her and his whole body stiffened.
His head jerked up and his gaze locked on hers, shocked and accusing. ‘Are you on your period?’ he demanded.
She could have lied. A part of her wanted to lie. Knowing she must have bled last night and he had spotted the stains on the sheet.
The truth would only make her more vulnerable.
But there were too many lies between them already. Lies and half-truths. And she was tired of trying to maintain them all.
So she shook her head.
He swore and raked his fingers through his hair. ‘So you were a virgin last night? You lied to me?’
She nodded.
‘Why? Damn it?’ he demanded, his face a mask of disbelief, the same horrifying disbelief that had crossed it when he had first taken her virginity.
She clasped the sheet to her breasts and sat up, feeling so exposed now by his searing gaze—which was full of accusation, and even anger.
‘Why does it matter?’ she asked.
She’d given herself to him, not once, but twice. And she refused to regret it, or apologise for it. The pleasure had been immeasurable, she could still feel the last orgasm rippling through her, but there was a greater significance to what she’d done that she wouldn’t hide from.
