A Girl in Black and White (Alyria Book 2)

by Danielle Lori

  The sun reflecting off the golden top of the palace came into view, and I let out a little breath, forcing the nervousness away. I can do this. I can just ask him to sleep with me for closure’s sake. He’ll understand. Right . . .? I worried my lip.

  Untouchables filled the large bailey, their keen eyes on the city folk rushing in and out with deliveries. It felt like they all looked at me as if they knew I was about to ask someone to deflower me, their heavy gazes following me to the palace entrance. And then I realized I wore the dress my mother bought me—the one she bought for herself by the way—and it was far left of the scale towards ‘not modest’ but not quite at ‘barmaid.’ I wondered how Grandmother had even raised my mother. It was the biggest mystery of life.

  The hall was usually open during the day for deliveries, announcements, and villager complaints at the magistrate’s office. It was always surrounded by king’s guards, the rest of the palace unavailable to the public.

  I had to compel two guards to get past them, and no, it wasn’t Darren and Gregory, unfortunately. I was sure if it had been them, they’d have given me a free pass right on through. I let out an amused breath to myself at that one.

  After stopping a servant girl to find out where Weston’s room was, I stood in front of his door. Just stood there for a moment, not even knowing if he was inside, but not able to knock just yet. I was debating about just forgetting this whole thing; nerves were crawling up my back, but then, the door opened, and the object of my thoughts stood on the other side.

  No shirt. He wore no shirt, but I didn’t let myself look down from his face because I wouldn’t look up again if I did.

  “Oh, hi,” I said, swallowing audibly.

  A small smile pulled at the corner of his lips. “What are you doing?”

  I bit my lip. “I was debating whether or not I should knock.” I was way too honest, and I’d never hated myself for it until lately.

  He crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe. So, so shirtless. “Are you going to tell me why you’re here?”

  I shook my head slightly. “I don’t think so.”

  He let out an amused breath and then walked away from the door, leaving it open and me standing on the other side. I stood there for a moment, only ogling his muscled back and the wolf brand between his shoulder blades.

  He sat in a wooden chair that rested cockeyed from the desk, picking up one of his blades and running limestone across the edges, resuming what he must have been doing before I’d interrupted.

  “What? No women in here fanning you? I thought that’s what princes did in this kind of heat.”

  He glanced up from his work with a sly smile. “You offering, Princess?”

  Heat rushed to my cheeks, my heartbeat stuttering, but thankfully he’d already averted his gaze, running his hand along the edge of his blade, testing the sharpness. I made myself busy by shutting the door and leaning against it, then eyeing the room like I’d never seen one before in my life.

  Sheer curtains blew back from the open balcony in the lazy breeze, the bed was prince-sized with a cream-colored duvet; pink accents and flowers covered the light wooden desk and end tables. A laugh escaped me. “Maxim gave you a lady’s room.”

  “Yea,” he said after a moment, “he’s a bastard.”

  “Well, at least you made it your own,” I said, hinting at the arsenal of knives he had laid out on the desk.

  He didn’t reply, only gave a slight shake of his head, his shoulders tensing as if he was suddenly agitated with me.

  I pulled the hair away from my neck, my nerves making the heat much more oppressive. The air was heavy with tension and that awkwardness of trying to find something to say. His sudden change in disposition had unease running down my back. I didn’t understand it. I could stand here and watch him all day. Why did he suddenly act like he wanted me to leave?

  Maybe I did want this more than him. And he only told me he wanted me as some means of intimidation. Because surely if he really did, he’d at least look at me while I stood in his room?

  Or maybe I was only misinterpreting him because of the nerves coursing through me. So, I put a small smile on, and jested, “Sharpening your knives is how you prepare for your trip? I almost feel sorry for the people of Elian.”

  His gaze flicked up to me as a breeze blew in through the terrace, teasing my skirts and baring my leg from the high slit in the thigh. His eyes followed the motion, before going cold. And with a frustrated shake of his head, he set his blade on the desk harder than necessary. “Calamity, what are you doing here?”

  I flinched at his voice, realizing that I hadn’t misjudged him at all.

  For some reason, me standing uncertainly near the door, and him, over there, in control of the situation, sucked me back into a Cameron inn.

  “This is all I’m worth?”

  His smile was wicked. “Care to prove your worth?”

  I shivered at the memory. Because if I had known him like I did now, I would have accepted. Some nostalgia made my throat thick, my heart heavy. Did I always want to put the idea of finally being with him into a memory where it never happened? Because if I didn’t get what I came for, the regret would follow me into my dreams. I was young, I had no idea that what I wanted would actually make the feelings worse; but in my mind, I hid the truth behind a paltry need for closure.

  The idea of regret haunting me just as the Shadows did, gave me the rush of fortitude to do what I came for.

  I glanced up to see him sitting back in his chair, running a towel with some kind of oil over a blade, his expression cross as if he’d been having a good day until I entered his room. I didn’t care how he felt. He did this to me, and he was going to fix it.

  I had no idea how to tell him what I wanted, so I only pushed myself off the door and walked towards him.

  His gaze was down, his attention completely focused on his work like I wasn’t even here. And I wouldn’t lie and say it wasn’t intimidating—because the nerves were strong enough they vibrated under my skin.

  When I stood in front of him, I pulled the knife from his hands and tossed it to the side. His narrowed gaze shot up, but by then I had already leaned in and pressed my lips against his, hard. Like I hated him. Like I remembered every reason on my list, all seventy-four of them. An angry groan vibrated against my lips with the warmth of his tongue brushing mine. I leaned further into him, resting my knee on the chair between his legs. But he’d already gripped the back of my thighs, pulling me so that I straddled him, stomach to stomach, chest to chest.

  My blood sizzled. I could almost hear it rushing through my veins with the ring in my ears. The roughness of his hands ran fiery-hot trails over my thighs, backside, and then up my torso, brushing over my breasts and gently squeezing before running back down to my hips. A moan escaped my lips, and he captured it in his mouth, playing my tongue with his.

  I swayed into him, groaning when the hard length of him brushed between my legs.

  For some reason, I knew I would have to tell him I wanted to take this further than a heated kiss, when truly, I needed to. I was tired of waiting. I wanted it now, all of it. I wanted him to douse this burning fire under my skin, so that I could breathe again, stop fantasizing of the moment and finally know it.

  I didn’t have the words, so I only ran my hand down his chest, the muscles of his stomach tightening under my touch, and then between our legs, resting my palm right over the top of him. He groaned, deep and rough, his forehead dropping to mine. I had no idea what I was doing, but the sound that I affected him that much by only resting my hand against him gave me a rush. His breaths were heavy, uneven like this was somehow painful and not at all pleasurable for him, while I ran my hand hesitantly across the entire length of him, back and forth.

  Our frantic movements had slowed into slow and lazy, our breaths mixing with the heavy, humid air. I kissed his lips once more, whispering against them, “Weston . . . please—”

  He froze, the moment becoming i
ce cold before he got to his feet so abruptly, I fell back onto my butt on the floor.

  He cursed, closing his eyes and stepping away from me like he couldn’t even bear to help me up.

  I sat there, humiliation and anger filling my chest. The stupid bastard wanted me, had told me so how many times? I’d just had my hand on the proof. So why was he pushing me away again and again like he didn’t?

  With frustration seeping into my chest, I got to my feet and turned around to see him walking to the door. He pulled it open and stood beside it with a firm grip on the edge in the unanimous way of telling me to get the fuck out.

  Anger and then panic uncurled in my chest, with the aftertaste of regret if I walked through that door. So, I stood still, my heart racing in my chest.

  “You need to leave,” he said roughly, keeping his gaze on the wall in front of him like he was tired of ridiculous me. If I left now, I’d have the worst sort of closure in the history of closures. Weston might have been stubborn in what he wanted, but I was immovable. And if he wanted me to leave then he would have to carry me out . . . and then I remembered something he told me before . . . something that he said would most assuredly make me a virgin no longer.

  I didn’t even give myself time to think it through: I undid the leather girdle on my hips before sliding the straps of my dress over my shoulders. The loose fabric slid down my arms until it hit the floor. I wore nothing beneath. My breaths were shallow, my heart beating like a hummingbird’s wings.

  “Calamity, for once in your life listen to—” He looked at me.

  For a moment, he froze, so still, like I had completely stunned him.

  “Fucking hell,” he hissed when he realized the door was wide open before slamming it shut. I had no idea if anyone had walked by, and I didn’t care. Because he was staring at me completely bare, every inch of my skin zinging just below the surface. I’d never stood naked in front of a man before, and it was one of the most exhilarating things I’d ever done.

  He took a slow step towards me, and I tensed, panic uncurling in my stomach that he was going to make me put my dress on and send me away. I couldn’t handle his rejection. I was standing here, offering myself to a man for the very first time. I would take it hard, go find another man to feel wanted. And I didn’t want anyone else. Don’t ask me why, but this stupid Titan was who I needed.

  He stopped, closed his eyes briefly, and then blinked them back open like he wasn’t going to let frustration ruin the view. “There’s no saint out there who could resist this.” He said it so quietly that I barely heard it, like he was talking to himself, trying to convince himself that it was out of his hands now.

  His eyes finally, lazily, came up from my body to my face. “I’m done.”

  I blinked a few times, trying to clear my thoughts. “Done?”

  “From trying to save you by some self-sacrificing notion.” He took another step toward me, my heart jumping when he unbuckled his belt and tossed it on the floor beside him.

  My throat felt thick. “I don’t need to be saved.”

  He laughed darkly. “Yea, you do, Princess.”

  I suddenly had a strong feeling that if I were ever given a chance to change my mind, it was far past.

  “From what?” I took a small step back, but he’d already reached me, his hand in my hair, treating it like a rope and pulling me back until I felt the coolness of the stone wall behind me.

  His fist tugged my head back, his lips coming down to brush mine. Then in the lightest, roughest whisper, he said against my lips, “From me.”

  Maybe the shiver that went through me could be attributed to the fact that I never had a man in my life before. And I was just learning how much I enjoyed it, having a man’s presence, a man’s attention. I just wanted to languish in it, let him do whatever he wanted to me.

  My pulse fluttered as the roughness of his hands spanned my waist, lifting me until my legs wound around him. The heat of his large body at my front and the cold stone at my back was an intoxicating combination. A violent shiver went through me when without even a kiss, his head lowered, taking a nipple in his mouth.

  A guttural breath escaped my lips, and my head fell back when he moved to the next. Warmth seeped into my skin, spreading like wildfire to the pit of my stomach.

  He pulled back, palming my breast in his hand. Groaning at the view, he ran his thumb over a nipple. Sharp tingles shot from my breasts lower and lower, sizzling.

  His darkened gaze came up to mine, before kissing me, sucking on my tongue, and biting my lower lip, pulling on it. Differently and wilder than he’d ever kissed me before, like he was now uninhibited, unhinged.

  I panted, tingles sparking inside me as the heat of his palms squeezed my bare breasts, thumbed my nipples until I thought I would go mad from the hazy pressure building.

  His lips grew more persistent against my own, harsher, with more nips from his teeth and faster brushes of his tongue, until there wasn’t a breath his lips weren’t on me.

  But when his hands slid against the underside of my thighs to unbutton his pants, unease cooled the fire under my skin. He was going to take me right here, against a wall. He didn’t know I was a virgin . . . the thought passed through my head.

  “Wait.”

  He didn’t stop kissing down my neck, biting a nipple gently. Panic uncurled in my stomach.

  “Weston, wait!” I demanded breathlessly.

  He pulled back only after I tugged sharply on his hair. I swallowed. “Um, I think there’s something you should know.”

  He waited, his heated gaze hazy, maybe a little angry.

  “I’m a—I mean . . . that I haven’t done this before,” I ended on a whisper. For all that is holy, don’t let him push me away for this.

  Flicking my gaze back up to his, black slowly leaked into his irises, twirling and filling the space in a soft way. My heartbeat fluttered in my chest, but the heated, lazy expression he maintained kept me from fearing it, from fearing him. Slowly he slid me down his body until my feet hit the floor, and then in a position I thought was never possible for someone of Weston’s nature, he dropped to his knees at my feet.

  My heart pattered so hard in my chest. “Wha—” I began, but the rest of the word came out in one long, guttural moan. Oh. Bloody. Hell. My back arched, and my head fell back, hitting the stone wall.

  He had one thigh over his shoulder, and the other barely kept me standing steadily as the heat of his tongue licked and swirled around the center of me. Sharp tingles spread throughout my body, all the way to the tips of my fingers.

  I gasped between heavy breaths, not sure where I wanted my hands: in his hair or spread on the wall beside me. I did a combination of both. The feeling inside me antsy, desperate, the deep tingles building to sparks. The feeling was foreign, unknown, and it made apprehension run down my spine. “Weston, stop,” I breathed.

  He responded with an open-mouthed kiss at a place that made me see stars. The sparks built to a hotter level, the foreign feeling expanding. Oh, hell.

  A moan started in my throat, and I bit my bottom lip to stop myself, but . . . his tongue was so wet, so hot, my lip slipped out of my teeth. “Please stop.”

  “Shut. Up.” He slapped the inside of my thigh. Hard. Before tasting me softly on a groan.

  Everything after that was incoherent.

  Curse words, blasphemy, Weston’s name—who knew, escaped my lips as the sizzles built to a crackling fire, sending sparks throughout my body. My thighs tensed, and my fingers curled in his hair, the feeling of a warm flame pulsing between my legs, curling in my stomach.

  After a moment, the tingles drifted away, leaving me feeling weightless—and that’s because I was. My back hit the bed, my breaths soft pants, while I came down from the most intense feeling ever, ever, ever.

  “Is this why whores are whores?” she asked, her eyelashes fanned across her cheeks as she tried to catch her breath. She wanted to talk right now? Classic Calamity. I was about to lose my fuc
king mind; my blood was rushing so fast through my veins I felt lightheaded. “Because if this is what it’s like, I might need to entertain the idea of the profession.”

  Yea, over my dead fucking body. I doubted many men were dropping to their knees for whores anyway; though if Calamity were the whore in question they surely would. A jealous heat ran up my spine, and I shook it off. Everything about her made me irrational, which was unnecessary because it was my bed she was in, no one else’s.

  Virgin, I had to remind myself over and over, so I didn’t completely fuck it up.

  “Get the unpleasant part over fast or slow?” I gritted.

  “Huh?” But then her head rolled to finally look up at me, clarity filling her dark, bottomless eyes. She swallowed, looking hesitant. “How bad is this going to hurt exactly?”

  Did she think I deflowered virgins for sport? Probably.

  “I couldn’t tell you,” I answered.

  “Well, then I suppose I want it over fas—” Her words ended on a pained choke, her breaths cut off.

  Fuck, so were mine. Wet. So tight. Too fucking perfect.

  Sparks shot up my spine, and once I’d slid all the way in, I dropped my head with a groan.

  Every inch of me screamed for more, to put my hand over her mouth so that I could only see those wide, dark eyes and just make her take it, but . . . nobody else has had her. And that thought alone sent a rush of possessive warmth through my body, enough to give me the strength to pause. She reflexively pushed against my chest, arched her back, and tried to push me out. And a dark part of me got a rush out of every minute of it. She was mine now. She couldn’t tell me no.

  When the haze over my vision cleared, I noticed that a couple of tears had made their way down her cheeks. I loved when she fought me. I didn’t get a thrill from her pain. But the idea of some other man taking this from me, hurting her like this, it had all sorts of ideas running through my mind for the slowest death possible.