A Girl in Black and White (Alyria Book 2)

by Danielle Lori

  “I don’t think I want to be a whore at all,” she choked out on a sob.

  “Good,” I said, leaning down and kissing her impossibly soft lips, tasting salty tears, “because you don’t get to be one.”

  “In fact, I think I shall remain a virgin forever.”

  A rough breath of amusement escaped me. “I think it’s too late for that.” The tightest pressure around my cock told me that much. Warm satisfaction shot through me, and I kissed her again before losing control and taking her just like the whore she kept speaking of.

  Staying still inside her, I ran my hands up her hips and stomach. Her skin was impossibly smooth, softer than I’d ever imagined it to be. I palmed her breasts—and I’d been right: I couldn’t fit all of one in my hand. It had been my most thought-out mystery since Cameron City, and every time I’d been sitting across a campfire from her, fantasizing about this girl, anger had pulsed in my stomach. If she would have pulled up her dress and told me to get on my knees, I didn’t think I would’ve been able to say no. The idea that some ridiculous farm girl had that much pull on me, had sent resentment and irrationality rushing through my veins.

  My skin vibrated with the knowledge that I was finally here, inside of her, in a position I’d put on a shelf as unattainable in my mind, something I wouldn’t give into. Because once I did, I didn’t think I could go back.

  My heart pounded with satisfaction as I played with her breasts, sucked her nipples until her breaths went shallow, and her hips rolled in the smallest movements. This was finally fucking happening, and my heart thumped to an unsteady beat.

  I groaned, finally giving into the haze, and moving. Her thighs tensed, her little hands grasping my forearms; her breasts grazed my chest, and sweet heat gripped me from inside her. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  I moved slower than ever before until she could get used to it. My breaths were rough and uneven as I braced myself above her, only touching her where we were connected because I suddenly didn’t think I could handle any more. My skin vibrated violently just under the surface, screaming for me to go faster, harder.

  The picture underneath me only made it crueler: her breaths coming out in pants between parted lips, her eyes wide open on me. I didn’t know how such perfection could even exist. But this ridiculous girl was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.

  Her hips moved with mine, in little circles, a small moan escaping her lips.

  “Good?” I asked on a rough groan. It was my way of asking, ‘Are you okay?’ but I couldn’t even form all the words she was so fucking tight.

  “Mmm. Good. It stings . . . but I feel so . . . full.”

  Ah, shit. I groaned, not being able to stop myself from kissing that stupidly honest mouth of hers. I kissed her hard, my tongue in tune with the slow thrusting of my hips.

  I couldn’t do this slow shit much longer. It was torture, plain and simple.

  I pulled back, a spike of lust injecting straight into my bloodstream when I got the full picture of her, of us connected, me sliding in and out. It was the stupidest decision I ever made, because I was about to lose it, the sharp tingles at the base of my spine close to erupting. So I stopped, completely.

  She blinked. “What are you doing? That isn’t it, is it?”

  I could have laughed, but the wettest heat gripping my cock kept even her sincere naivety from being amusing.

  “Enjoying the view,” I said roughly, not wanting to admit she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever fucked in my life and I was so close to losing it inside her.

  “Well, can you do it moving, maybe?”

  I shook my head, some wry amusement flooding me. From virgin to demanding little slut. Fuck, she was perfect.

  I dropped back down on top of her, flicking my tongue in her obstinate little mouth. When I slid my hand down between us, brushing a sensitive part between her legs, she sucked in a breath. Moving inside of her slowly, I rubbed slow circles against her, while she tossed her head, arched her back, letting out little moans that sounded better than I’d ever fantasized.

  She looked me in the eyes, that dark gaze piercing straight through my chest, before a groan escaped her lips, her fingernails digging into my biceps, while I felt her body clench so tightly around me. Sweat ran down my spine as I held still, tried to keep myself from letting go just yet.

  Her legs went limp, her hands resting gently on my arms as she caught her breath. Her face turned to me, that ridiculously beautiful face. “Is that it then?” she murmured.

  I shook my head. “No, now it’s my turn.”

  She blinked. “Your tur—”

  But I had already thrust hard inside her, pulled out, did it again. Fucked her hard and fast like I had always dreamed of, with pleasure curling up my spine. She was mine, mine to fuck, mine to use, and I wanted her to know it. I fucked her just like she had fucked me for months, putting all my anger, all my frustration into this moment. As much as I didn’t want to care about how she took this, I did; I waited to smell her fear, tensed, expecting it, though not sure I could even stop once I did. But it never came. She only grew wetter, loud moans escaping her lips as her nails dug into my arms.

  It was at the moment I realized this fucking girl liked it hard, that I exploded deep inside her. Lost vision, sense of time, direction. I’d been so hard for this woman, for so long, that violent shivers erupted at the base of my spine, spreading throughout my body, sparking in my bloodstream.

  Fucking hell.

  I came down, slowly, catching myself before I collapsed on top of her. I braced myself on my forearms above her, my head bowed, trying to catch my breath. I felt the awareness behind my eyes, knew that when I looked up, she’d notice. And so I waited many minutes until I got a hold of myself.

  Who knew how long later, with the haze clearing from my vision and my breaths evening out, she came into clear view. Her breaths soft and shallow, her eyelashes fanned across her cheeks, her expression at peace.

  She fucking fell asleep on me.

  She was sleeping soundly while I pulled on some pants, ran my hands through my hair, and stood in front of the balcony, trying to calm my beating heart.

  I knew that I shouldn’t have done it. That this would be the outcome: my hands practically shaking as I gripped the top of the doorframe to the terrace. I bowed my head, focusing on pushing the possessive feelings toward her away; the selfish, maddening thoughts that made me want to brand my name on her body, and the thoughts that were pulling on the last of my sanity.

  She didn’t understand what it meant that I would lose my humanity, or she wouldn’t have dropped her dress at my feet. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t do this, that it wasn’t mine to take, that it might push me over the edge—feeling like she was mine for only the reality to set in and to realize she wasn’t. Not at all. She was going to marry her fucking blacksmith, there was just no other way.

  Otherwise, once my humanity was gone, so would my sympathy, so would any protective feelings I had for her besides anger, lust, possessiveness. Revulsion rolled through me that she could anger me—it took only one time for me to lash out—and once again her lifeless eyes would look back at me.

  I clenched my jaw, frustration leaking under my skin as I tightened my grip on the doorframe. I wasn’t a good man. I wasn’t sympathetic as it was, nor had I cared about some commoner girl’s life, at least that’s what I’d told myself. But when I saw her blood-stained body lying on the sand, her gaze blank, knowing that she would no longer say another obstinate word, something had clicked inside me. It was the moment I’d learned that panic exists: the painful grip on my chest, the twisting of my stomach, the pain radiating into my bloodstream.

  I almost killed my brother. Beat him to within an inch of his life, in a mindless rage I’d never experienced before. He realized then what he did, what he took from me, and he hardly fought back. It was his reluctance that stopped me, stopped my blade from entering his heart. When my gaze drew to the girl on the sand, the rage faded into t
hat thing they called panic, the feeling I would’ve never been able to describe until then.

  Her death was my biggest failure, my greatest regret.

  It made me admit to myself that I cared about that girl’s life too much. I hadn’t been able to save her, and the feeling of that would always haunt me. But now, she was going to live, my past guilt would make sure of it.

  I knew that I shouldn’t have come here to begin with, that she was impossible for me to shake. That she was a liability I couldn’t afford, that messed with my head.

  But I had to see her myself, just to remove the image of her lifeless body from my memory and replace it with something better: her long, wheaten hair down her back, in a white dress, reminding me of how innocent she always was as she stood in front of that butterfly enclosure. She was like seeing color for the very first time: her silky hair, the shape of her body, the delicate way she held a butterfly on the end of her finger.

  I never doubted it was her; her mannerisms were too perfect. The way my heart beat heavily in my chest reminding me of my failure was an instinct I couldn’t ignore. And while the innocent, light scent I always associated with her wasn’t so innocent anymore, but instead more mature and slightly dark, I couldn’t deny to myself that it was anyone else.

  After seeing her, I told myself I just needed to hear her voice. Just once and I could put her behind me.

  But the idea that she was so close, of how easy it would be to seek her out, had been the only thought in my mind. I realized I couldn’t handle it when I saw her with some man at the parade. Yea, it was fucking selfish asking her to leave, but I had business here, and I wasn’t used to someone fucking up my plans.

  And then she was taunting me in that tavern, and I’d realized I had zero self-control when it came to her. Fucking zero. Once I had my hands on her, I knew that I wouldn’t forget her when my humanity was gone—I would obsess over her. That thought alone sent unease curling in my stomach, a cold sweat down my back. It had changed my plans from finding a captain and crew unaffiliated to Titan to ship all of my possessions to northeastern land I’d purchased, to fucking Elian.

  If she was here, and I was here, I’d find her. And I wasn’t going to let her death be on my hands again.

  She was merely a drug. I only had to distance myself from it. Forget it exists, and I wouldn’t spend my days longing for it.

  I heard a sigh from behind me. She was waking up. I closed my eyes, taking a breath. When I opened them, she was going to have to hate me. She came here, giving me her virginity for fuck’s sake. She didn’t hate me no matter how many items were on that list of hers. But she was going to in a moment because she needed to forget me. She needed to not drop her dress at my feet or look at me with that soft expression like she wanted something from me.

  I opened my eyes, and fuck, I already regretted what I had to do.

  I blinked slowly, waking, the sheets underneath me so much softer than the ones at home. Clarity washed into my mind, and the warmth of contentment filled my chest, a small smile on my lips. I just slept with a man. No, I just slept with Weston.

  I stretched, my skin feeling so sensitive against the humid air after his rough hands had covered every inch. Feeling a twinge of soreness between my legs, a flush ran to my cheeks. It was a different experience than I imagined, I supposed. I wasn’t expecting it to be so personal. Why was the image of him above me, burned into my mind with this warm, heavy feeling in my chest?

  I swallowed. His lips on mine, his body moving into mine . . . it was so much heavier than I thought it would be. I didn’t even want to think about him leaving tonight because the idea made me feel as if someone were sitting on my chest.

  The bed was empty, save for me, and I sat up, my gaze sweeping the room until I saw a certain Titan looking out to the terrace, his hands gripping the doorframe above him.

  I only watched him for a moment, still in awe of what I just did with him. I didn’t feel much different, but it was hard to fathom that I just slept with a man like that.

  He had his head bowed as if he was in thought, and a deep sense of tenderness rushed through me. I got to my feet, padding across the carpeted rug until I reached his back. I put my hands on his sides, feeling him tense slightly. A sense of unease crept up my back, but I still wrapped my arms around his stomach.

  He dropped his arms and grabbed my wrists, gently pulling them off of him. A tense atmosphere overtook the room.

  “I had a good time, Calamity, but I think you should go.”

  My heart stilled, an uneasy sweat rushing to the surface. His voice was cold, colder than I’d heard it since he’d been in the city. I took an uncertain step back, stupid words slipping from my mouth before I could stop them. “Why do I have a feeling that’s what you say to any random whore?”

  “Act like a whore, I’ll treat you like a whore.”

  I faltered, and it took me a moment to realize that he had, in fact, just said that. I stood there, feeling like I’d just received a heavy blow in the chest from his fist.

  I loved to think that I was tough enough to handle everything, anything that was thrown at me. But after that . . . sleeping with him, and giving him something I couldn’t give to anyone else, a sense of vulnerability rushed over me. And I realized I was standing there naked, completely bared to him, while he just told me he used me like a whore and expected me to leave like one. I never understood how sensitive I could be until that moment.

  I took an uneasy step back when he turned around. His gaze came down to me and then hardened even further when he noticed I wore nothing. “Fuck, Calamity. Do you have any sense of modesty?” He shook his head and walked away from me like I truly disgusted him.

  My heart was beating so hard in my chest, it felt like it was stealing all my breath. I was so confused my head spun. This wasn’t the Weston I’d come to know the past few days. This was someone else, and for a moment, I thought this was him losing his humanity. I glanced over at him hesitantly; and, as if he read my thoughts, he shook his head, putting some things in a leather pack. “Not yet, Princess. I got what I wanted. I don’t need to play the charming prince.”

  His eyes were clear. He was telling the truth.

  I swallowed, my throat thick as rejection crawled up it.

  He glanced back at me, his expression tight that I hadn’t moved. “Do you not understand a dismissal when you hear one? Go. And for fuck’s sake, put your dress on before you do. If you’re going to marry that blacksmith of yours, you need to at least pretend you haven’t been whoring around.”

  I was stunned, shocked-still for many moments. But when I realized I thought I could’ve had feelings for this stupid, heartless son of a bitch, anger sizzled like a crackling fire in my veins. My dress hit my stomach, and as soon as it did, I threw it back at his face.

  He tossed it on the floor by my feet. “If you want a man to marry you, don’t throw yourself at him. Have some respect for yourself. Take that lesson from this and don’t drop your dress for any man who doesn’t deserve it.”

  “Stop throwing myself—” I choked on my own anger; it was so strong it vibrated under my skin. I’ll throw something at him. I picked up a vase from an end table.

  He stopped packing, his hard gaze cutting up to me. “Don’t you dare—”

  The vase shattered against the wall by his head.

  He closed his eyes for a moment, frustration ticking in his jaw. “You got it out, that’s great. Now walk away, Calamity.”

  My heart beat so hard, my anger dying into something too much like despair in my chest. I hated it, I hated it so much. There was a burning behind my eyes, and I was going to lose it in front of him. But I couldn’t stop myself from picking up the thin glass ornament on the table.

  “I swear if you throw—”

  A muscle ticked in his cheek, but otherwise, he held still while it shattered against his chest, like he wasn’t even going to move, like he somehow . . . deserved it.

  My breaths stutter
ed at the revelation. And I had to know. I had to know if this was a game or if this was real because it would haunt me for the rest of my life if so.

  I turned and walked towards the door, leaving my dress on the floor. “Goodbye, Weston.”

  “What are you doing?” he asked, his voice dark.

  “Leaving. Acting like the whore you seem to think I am.”

  I had the door open and was one step out when he grabbed my wrist, spun me around and slammed his palm on the wall by my head. “Why!” he growled. “Why can’t you just fucking do what I want you to do for once in your life?”

  I didn’t realize that tears were running down my cheeks like I’d never cried before. I shook my head. “I hate you. I hate you so much,” I bit out, trying to push him away, but he wrapped an arm around the back of my thighs and picked me up. It was almost comforting in a way, up until he dropped me on the bed.

  He paced in front of the footboard, his body tense, his eyes dark and frustrated. I moved to crawl off the bed, but the look he shot me stopped me in my tracks.

  The visceral reaction that I’d stopped like some kind of submissive wife sent a shot of anger through me. “I don’t take orders from you.”

  “But you’re wrong.” His voice was hard. “Who would stop me from making you?”

  Ugh, my chest burned in irritation. “You’ve been the worst experience I’ve had with a man yet, and I’d like to leave now.”

  “You haven’t had any experiences with men besides me. I’ve just proven that, haven’t I?” His voice was too darkly pleased, and it pissed me off.

  “I don’t know. Maybe I’ve been on my knees just like you were before.”

  The look he shot me could have killed anyone weaker I was sure; black seeped steadily into his irises. Damn it all to hell. Maybe that wasn’t the best thing to say when I knew he could lose his humanity at any point.

  He turned, walking away from me as if to collect himself.

  How did it come to this? We could never just have a moment without it blowing up in our faces. “I just want to leave, Weston,” I said tiredly, moving to get off the bed.