When she came out, she was in sweats, too. But her bottoms looked like the sort a girl would sleep in, and he could see the strap of a little cami at the neckline of her oversized sweatshirt. She’d gotten herself ready for bed, surely hoping that he’d do her the favor of disappearing while she dawdled at it.
When he hadn’t, she’d armored up, adding the big sweatshirt.
It was a fairly pathetic effort, given the way it tended to slip off her shoulder and reveal soft, nicely scented skin.
She might have wished him gone, but he wasn’t all that sorry to disappoint.
Danya waited her out, not sitting until she did. She started out picking at her food, but, in the end, she made a decent meal of it, though he ate the second half of her sandwich after he’d finished his own. Neither spoke.
He sat while she cleared the table, rinsing the empty dishes and loading them into the washer. She stayed in the kitchen, the barrier of a small island counter between them, when she was done and finally faced him.
“I can walk to the hospital for my car tomorrow. Thank you for bringing me home, Danya. And feeding me. I appreciate that you’ve been…kind.”
It was a pretty decent kiss-off. He held back his smirk. “I’m not leaving you tonight, so you may as well show me your bed. I hope there’s room for both of us.”
She crossed her arms under her breasts—kind of a strategic error, if only she knew. “Danya.”
Maybe his determination was visible in his face. Either way, she sighed. “Danny, after what you saw today, you can’t possibly have any interest…”
“I have a whole shitload of interest, and every intention.” He stood and met her gaze evenly. She tried to steady a look back, but tears got in the way. She finally broke contact and shook her head, looking down and away.
“You must think I’m a…a whore.”
He walked around the island to stand next to her and stroked his hand down her braid. She hadn’t dried her hair, but had woven it in a thick strand down her back. He put his hand on her shoulder and brought her in. “That’s not what I think, and it’s not what you are. Don’t ever say that again.”
He kept her against him as she let out a couple miserable sobs. Pressing his lips into her hair, he spoke quietly. “I’m not going to make love to you. That’s not what I meant. But you’ve had a night, and I’m not leaving you alone.”
She nuzzled her face into his chest so he could barely hear her when she spoke. “You heard about Kyle?”
“Yeah.” She was still stiff against him, and he stroked his hands up and down her back. “I’m sorry, Haidee.”
She shook her head. “It shouldn’t still hurt.”
“But it does. You cared for him. This isn’t your fault.”
“Yes, it is. What I did tonight…that’s on me, not on Kyle.”
“Well, Kyle had a hand in it, didn’t he? And you’re not the first one to get a little crazy with a broken heart.”
Danya felt the vibration of her quiet moan. “I can’t believe—”
“Shh,” he said, pressing her head a little further into his chest. “You were safe. My brothers protected you.”
She lifted her head to look at him. Tears still spilled over her cheeks. “You saw that. I can’t believe you could be so nice after you saw…”
Pulling up the hem of his shirt, he wiped at her tears. When he was done, he held her head with both hands, forcing her gaze to meet his. “Did you think I’d be disgusted?” He shook his head. “Maybe you don’t realize what I saw. You were beautiful. Incredible. I saw a gorgeous woman reveling in her sexual power. You slayed those two. And they’re not easy. You slayed them, and you gloried in it. You were fucking spectacular.
“You think that would make me not want you? Think again, Haidee.” He couldn’t help what was happening inside his pants. She’d brought the subject up and gotten him recalling the images burned into his retinas. He slid one hand down to the base of her spine and pulled her against him so she would know what was happening down there, too.
Completely without decorum or even basic etiquette, he rutted into her. “My plan was to get into bed with you and hold you while we both slept. But if you need me to prove how fucking hot you are, if you need to know how much I want you, then, by all means, let’s keep talking about this!”
Danya took a huge breath and tried to rein himself in. He took hold of Haidee’s shoulders and inched his lower half back, away from her. “Sorry, baby. Sorry. Sorry.”
He still held her close enough to his chest that he felt the strange rumble. He almost panicked, thinking it was tears again, but—“You’d better not…you’d better not be laughing at me, Haidee Wells.”
The brat smooshed her face into his shirt before she straightened to look up at him. She almost had the humor wiped from her face.
Fuck. He was in love.
It was his…sexual play area. The wall behind it was that same walnut with different textures carved into it and various slots and knobs and, well, she wasn’t sure what all. There were drawers that no doubt contained...something, some things. And there were leather cuffs placed high on the wall and low, too.
With the doors open, mirrors were sited so they would reflect all that happened there.
She’d said yes. To this.
She stood, distracted only when Vashi moved. He went to the bed and then came back, standing behind her but to the side enough that he could see her—her front, in its reflection in the mirrors, and her back. And so she could see him, as he opened another condom and slowly covered that very big, very hard cock.
He dropped the wrapping carelessly to the floor. Then, keeping his gaze locked on hers, he stepped behind her. With one hand on her shoulder and the other on her hip, he moved her forward.
He took her up to the wall, leaving her facing it, centered where the leather cuffs were. Pressing himself against her back—preempting any thought she might have to bolt—he raised one of her hands and then the other, and bound her wrists with the cuffs.
She was captured, her arms lifted high, with just a little give. Not uncomfortable, but inescapably bound.
His hands stroked along her arms and down her sides. “I still have you,” he said, close to her ear, his breath hot on her neck. “You’re still okay.”
Haidee huffed out a breath that was almost an acknowledgement, almost consent.
His hands had held at her hips. They moved now, up and around, until he palmed her breasts. He caressed them then grasped them, holding them up as he pressed against her from behind.
One of the panels of textured wood was in exactly the right place to…receive her breasts. A diamond pattern was cut into it, with little, pointed pyramids rising out. The points weren’t quite sharp but—Vashi showed her, moving her tits so the nipples brushed against the wood—very stimulating.
She moaned and he let her go, moving his hands but maintaining pressure against her back so her breasts were compressed against the wood. So she would know that any movement she made would stir them unbearably.
Next, Haidee learned that one of the small drawers conveniently within Vashi’s reach contained a tube of lubricant. And she learned exactly what it was that he needed.
She turned her head to watch and saw that the tube was new, that he was breaking the seal on it. Then, viewing in the mirror now, she watched as he put it to her anus and squeezed.
She shuddered, the cold invasion of it gritty and stark and…thrilling. The view of it in the mirror was graphic, also…thrilling.
Groaning, she accepted it as Vashi moved his hand to her, as he very deliberately bent his fingers until it was clearly his middle finger that was left, his middle finger that penetrated her.
He pushed into her, sliding with the lube, but stretching, entering her. He went all the way, so his other fingers fanned against her ass, so he could tug, and stretch, and ream.
He didn’t answer, just kept working her, giving her a pause, letting her hover in uncertainty before he added his index finger. He scissored in and out, stretching more, making sure that she could see what he did.
And that she could see his cock, hard, huge, and jutting out, almost vertical in his excitement. The excitement that she generated.
But he took her with three fingers before he considered her ready. Thrusting in, stretching her until she cried out, until she shuddered again and felt that cold, exquisite torture at her nipples.
She could almost come—unbelievably, after her previous wild orgasms, with no stimulation but to her tits and her ass, she was almost there.
Like he knew and forbade it, he suddenly removed his fingers. He stepped closer, and she watched as he pressed his cock into her ass and pushed in. He stopped at the worst moment, when she was stretched to the maximum around that big cockhead.
He looked into the mirror just as she did. It was a darkly erotic view. She was in front, naked, bound, and pierced by him, so obviously penetrated in that wicked, forbidden entry. He stood behind, muscled, conquering, mastering. The length of his cock—what he had to give her that she hadn’t had yet—was entirely visible and waiting to have her.
She could feel the throb of his desire, the surge of his blood as it pulsed just inside her.
“This is your first ass fuck, isn’t it?” he asked, though it was more of a demand. “I’m your first.”
“Yes,” she said, almost a whisper. She found there were handholds just within reach and she grasped them. She took hold and shamelessly rubbed her breasts into the stirring rasp of that wood. Then, improbable as it seemed, she flexed her ass. She wanted him. She invited him. She begged for him.
He let out a huff of a laugh—prideful, exultant. The triumph of the conqueror. Then, in a shivery, seductively debasing way, he took her. She watched as he speared into her, as her body gave itself up to every last millimeter of that cock. He breached her slowly but masterfully, confident of his power. He grasped her hips, grinding into her.
Holding there, he made clear his ownership, his staked claim. They both rasped out harsh breaths, the glory of the vanquished and vanquisher shared.
Then he fucked her. Roughly, ruthlessly.