Didn't You Promise (A Bad for You Novel) (19 page)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Haithem

I push off my heels, taking the steps three at a time. Still takes too fucking long. Why didn’t she take my offer, Karim’s offer, to live somewhere safer, somewhere better than this stair-riddled monstrosity.

Somewhere with a fucking elevator.

A vibration buzzes against my chest, then a ringtone fills the stairwell. My pulse rushes faster, spurring my steps. I don’t answer the phone. The sound the phone makes crashes over me like stones. The sound of
her
ringtone. Her emergency ringtone.

She’s calling for help
.

She needs me to help her and I’m not there. My foot hits the last landing, and I leap up the final flight of stairs. Karim is already on his way, but when I don’t answer, the call will go to Emilio and he’ll be right behind me.

I reach her floor and my movements change, giving way to the stealth I enforce where rage wants to be. I slide up to her door. Not a sound. No scrape of movement comes from inside.

I test the handle.

Not locked, the door opens with a creek. The sight hits me like a fist to the face.

Angelina, limbs askew under a fat limp body.

My heart clenches—ribs threaten to crack.

I reach them, grab the vile creature by the back of his shirt and haul him off her. He hits the ground with a thump, but doesn’t move.

I fall to my knees beside Angelina, and drag my gaze over her. Her chest moves gently. My heart can beat again. I push hair back from her face.

There’s a mark on her forehead.

She head-butted him. Angelina head-butted her attacker. Hard enough to knock them both out. A breath of relief washes out of my lips. My brave girl. I lean over her. “Angelina?”

Her long eyelashes rest at the tops of her cheeks, but don’t flicker.

“Angelina.” I pat her cheek with my fingertips.

Familiarity sweeps me. Of another time patting her cheek. Another time I almost lost her. My lungs harden again.

A moan sounds beside us.

I reach next to me without taking my eyes off Angelina, grab a fistful of thin hair, lift the head and slam it back down—hard.

The moaning ceases.

Footsteps echo in the hallway, and Emilio bursts in. He takes one look at the scene and kneels beside Angelina, pressing his fingers to her throat, then holding the back of his hand above her mouth.

Her eyes flicker under the lids.

Emilio nods at me, then turns to the other body on the floor, scoops him up and begins to drag him from the apartment. Across to ours for questioning I assume.

Angelina’s jaw moves, and a low sound emerges from her lips.

“Angel?”

Her lashes flutter. Then open to the most beautiful shade of green I’ve ever known. Pale eyes that have haunted my dreams.

Eyes I almost thought I’d never look into again.

I cup her face. A gentle pressure builds at the bridge of my nose.

She’s okay.

Angelina is okay, and in my arms again.

* * *

The pervert paparazzi must have killed me.

Haithem hunches over me, calling my name like an angel’s summons to heaven. My apartment comes into focus. A limp body is being dragged out of the closing door by Emilio.

Emilio, the prick. There are words I need to have with him. When I can see or think, and if I’m not dead, there will be words.

This can’t be real. Haithem’s face hovers above mine. So clear, so full of detail. The flecks of color in the darkness of his eyes. Those glossy lashes close enough to count. His thick brows. The vertical creases on his bottom lip. They’re all so real.

He touches my cheek and the warmth of his hand snaps me back to life.

“Haithem?” I choke on his name. I can’t catch my breath. My temples throb. I can’t tell if I’m awake or not.

“Are you okay?” There’s that rich voice of his again—real.

My insides tear in a joy so terrible it’s another kind of grief. A cruel, cruel hope that I don’t dare believe. Yet, this hurts too much to be a dream. I reach out my hands, and lay my palms on his cheeks, dragging them so his stubble chafes my skin.

“Haithem,” I sob, and plunge my hands into his hair. He’s real—he’s here. The door clicks closed. I throw myself at him, wrapping my arms around his neck and squeeze so hard that if he is alive I just might choke him. His arms enfold me, and I cry into his cheek. I touch him everywhere my hands can reach. My nails dig into his shirt, and I repeat his name over and over and over until his name is the sound my breath makes.

He holds me and strokes my hair. He rocks me, and echoes my name back at me. I press my lips all over him, kissing over the entire surface of his face. His skin is wet and salty where I’ve cried on him. My lips graze his rough jaw, then I take his mouth, smooshing my lips over his. I bury my tongue deeply into his mouth and taste that taste I’ve been dreaming of and longing for—and that sweet joy makes me cry harder.

We kiss, and my tears season our lips. I shake and kiss. There’s no room in my body for all these emotions. He eats my pain right off my tongue, unburdening me. I touch him, proving him real with my hands, attempting to keep him here forever. I can’t—won’t let him go again.

Not ever again.

His hands move over the sides of my face, like he’s testing the reality of my skin too. I can’t touch him enough—nowhere near enough. I need to fold him into me, break through the barrier of skin and bodies. I reach between us, tear open his pants, find his cock and free it. He grabs my hips, tries to stop or slow me, but I won’t be slowed.

Won’t be stopped.

Nothing is close enough. I yank my underwear to the side, and straddle him, sink myself over his cock. His entry burns. He’s big and my body isn’t ready. That doesn’t change the way I take him. The way I accept him all the way, and then grind my hips, taking even more. Letting him fill my pussy to bursting just as he fills
me
to bursting.

He makes a guttural sound.

His grip on my hips shifts, now he’s holding on. I move. Drawing myself up his length and slamming back down. My tempo is frantic. Not even Haithem’s stamina can rival it. We meet at a wild feral place, of all emotion and no sense. His cock gets harder and stiffer and that only spurs me on. His movements match mine. He plunges into my thrusts.

Tension builds and moving is easier, my sex slickens and welcomes. His zipper scrapes the inside of my thigh. I relish the burn. We kiss harder than we fuck. I suck his tongue, ride his cock, and bite his lips. I pull his hair, and draw air from his lungs. He roars into my mouth. The sound fills me up. He pushes deep, and warmth fills my vagina. I hold him, absorbing his shudders and groans. But I’m not finished, not nearly. This can’t stop yet.

His cock’s not soft, but not as hard as I need it to be. I keep kissing him, keep my lips locked to his, and move my hips, letting him slide out, then take him in hand.

I don’t let him catch his breath or a thought that could interrupt us. Everything is slicker now that he’s come. His cock wet from him and me and I’m
dripping
. We’re not even remotely close to finished. I run my hands up and down his length. He twitches, breaks our kiss and groans. Then he pushes off the ground, taking me in his arms in one swift movement, and carries me through the kitchen. There’s no need to give direction in such a tiny apartment, he finds the bedroom in a few strides, throws open the door and lays me on the bed.

Our clothes come off. He tears my panties clean from my hips, shredding them in his hands. Then he’s between my legs, his face where his dick has been. Licking and sucking over my clit. He buries his fingers in my pussy. He’s direct. He knows how to touch and where to press. Now there’s pleasure busting through the feelings—in my body and in my core. Shifting and tightening and squeezing. This sensation is the only thing and it’s white hot bliss.

My muscles clench, the abyss sucks me in, I’m about to be consumed. His touch vanishes. I plummet back into a tormented body. I arch mindlessly in the sheets like an animal. He grabs my breast, sucking a nipple then thrusts into me. His cock hits my limits. I’m so close, but it’s not enough.

“Harder,” I shout. It’s a shout, it’s not words. He gives me harder. I take but it doesn’t give me what I need. He tugs and pulls inside me with savage thrusts.

It’s never hurt like this—never felt this good. I don’t care if it’s wrong. If tender might be healthier, I don’t have a better way. “Harder.” Now I’m screaming.

He turns me over, but I never make it onto my belly, I land on my side. His arms wrap around me, one arm under my neck, and the other around my waist. There’s no time to gasp then his cock pushes through my swollen folds and impales me deep. He bucks into me. Pushes me to that weightless peak. I’m engulfed in him, my head under his chin, his forearm closing over my throat, his grip around my waist. His thrusts are severing, they’ll burst my shell and I’ll sink right through his skin.

His mouth moves to my temple. I hold on to the arm over my neck, hold on because my body is breaking, coming apart piece by piece. He pleads to me in his rough gorgeous native tongue. His lips bleed his heart against my skin. My body arches, the sound of his voice penetrates my soul. Shivers break over me, my nipples stiffen, and my hairs rise. I don’t know what he’s saying, but he’s begging me for something, with his words and his body moving in mine.

I shatter, pussy tightening and contracting around his pushing cock. My blood fills with bliss. My body shakes, and sounds wring from my chest.

The pulsing eases but he’s still in me, still jutting against too sensitive places. His voice softens, and his cock moves slowly, exquisitely. Those pleas I don’t understand become whispered promises, each one more devastating than the way he fucks me. The movements take me. We begin again and again and again. Dissolve into some tantric existence where we die without dying, live without needing to breathe, and pleasure sings to the music of his deep beautiful voice.

* * *

I’ve never in my life had a one-night stand. Never opened my eyes in the morning and seen the face of a man I wished wasn’t there, or whose name I didn’t remember.

But, lying here, morning light illuminating my closed eyelids with a bloody pink shade, I imagine that this is what it must be like. There’s a naked man pressed up against me. His body hard and smooth and hot. Has an unmistakable scent of musk, and luxury, and something quite base and the opposite of refined. There’s sex and sweat and masculinity under cologne I could pick out of any lineup, and I know it’s
him
. I know the feel and touch and smell of him. I know the taste of his breath as it releases so close to mine. Yet, there’s always a chance I’ll look and find there’s someone else in my bed. Even if my body, the tender throb between my legs tells me it couldn’t be anyone but Haithem. Every ache is familiar and I’ve never been so sore.

His hand travels around my lower back, and pulls me in closer. I press my face into his chest, and block out that annoying light. I don’t want morning to claim me, to claim him, or us. I don’t want to face the questions burning my tongue. Morning pours poison on my joy. He strokes my arm, brushing hair out of my face. I squeeze my eyelids tighter. He shifts and his lips brush my forehead, my nose, then my lips. My insides twist unbearably.

I can’t face the light—dread the truth.

How is he here?

His tongue slides along the seam of my lips. I shiver, wanting to fall back into the mindlessness that we gorged on all night.

But I can’t—can’t—just can’t.

So, I do the single hardest thing I’ve ever had to do in my sad existence—open my eyes.

He fills my vision gloriously.

I break the kiss, staring right into his passion filled gaze. “Where have you been?”

His mouth shuts, lust melting into pain. He doesn’t speak. Birds trill out the window, but we are engulfed in quiet. That silence tells me more than any confession could.

He wouldn’t have.

“How did you survive the explosion?” I draw away from him, pulling the sheet over my breasts, and sit up.

He rolls onto his back, and his hands, those same giant hands that saved me, that held me and loved me, conceal his face. The truth melts into me. I shove it aside. Right in front of me is undeniable proof that things are not always as they seem.

This
can’t be as it seems.

There’s an explanation I can bare. There must be.

“Tell me you had no choice.” I take his wrists, pulling his hands off his face because he will damn well look at me. “Tell me you didn’t just let me think you were killed.”

He moves his gaze from the ceiling. There’s more pain, more guilt than I can stand. There must be an excuse, any excuse.

“Were you injured, is that it?” I tear the sheet off us, running my gaze over the magnificent stretch of his body. Try and see what I’ve missed while I’ve been possessed by relief. He doesn’t hide himself, but he goes rigid.

“Tell me you were recovering in some remote Asian hospital?” I plead.

But there’s no injury.

No burns, no scars, no damage.

His body tells its story. He’s fitter than before—as though he’s not been eating so decadently—as though he’s been working out twice as fucking hard.

Like someone working off shame.

His stomach is flat, muscles defined before now prominent. My body pools with heat, but the desire is tainted. Tainted with hurt and a bulldozer of betrayal.

“You wouldn’t do this...” More words don’t want to come out, they catch in my throat. I won’t be able to un-ask—won’t be able to un-know. “You staged the entire thing?”

He gives me the truth for once. “Yes.”

The knowledge slams into me like a fist. I double over gripping my stomach.

Fool me once...

Now the shame’s on me. He’s lied to me so many times, yet he convinced me we’d evolved beyond deceit. But, he’s the same man who destroyed my life in the first place. The one who made me believe the way we’d hurt people was okay, all for the sake of being
safe
. Fuck safe
.
This isn’t safe. This is messed-up and dangerous.