Only when my eyes are forced to travel up his body to meet his worried gaze do I realize that I had been studying his abs. God, his abs. People make body casts of abs like his.
I swallow and lick my lips, my mouth suddenly the consistency of sandpaper. “Oh, I…I was just going to see what you were doing.”
“Oh?” He frowns in confusion. “I heard you sigh. You sounded…frustrated. Or upset. Are you sure everything’s ok?”
Damn him and his super hearing. I give him a manufactured grin, and nod my head toward the nightstand. “Out of wine, is all. Got anymore?”
He studies my face for a beat, searching for…I don’t know. Then he turns toward his room, emerging just seconds later with two mini bottles of Cab, and one of whiskey.
“So what are we watching?” he asks, making himself at home on the bed. He unscrews the tiny bottle and takes a sip.
Um, hello? Does he not realize that he is nearly naked? And on my bed? Where I sleep?
I open a bottle of vino and gulp it down. I may need something stronger if I’m going to make it through this night.
“Purple Rain,” I reply, going to slide onto the other side of the bed.
“Purple Rain, huh? Prince is…quite the character.” He flashes me a wink, causing my eyes to bug out of the sockets.
“Don’t tell me, he’s Dark!”
Niko shrugs, a sheepish smile on his lips. “Hey, I told you we were everywhere. Come on, look at the guy. He’s supposed to be in his fifties now, yet he doesn’t look a day over thirty. Can you really not tell?”
Come to think of it, Prince is pretty much a freak of nature in the good genes department. Morgan will be floored!
“But his eyes…they aren’t blue.”
“Parlor trick. I changed yours easily enough the other night.”
“And who else is Dark? Anyone I know?”
Niko twists his lips to the side as if he’s thinking. “Hmmm…who is at the top of the charts right now?”
“Beyonce, Katy Perry, Pharrell, Maroon 5.” The Fallen as well, but I already know the deal with them.
“There you go.”
My jaw hits the floor. “All of them?”
“All of them.”
“Holy shit.”
Niko laughs before taking another swig from his bottle. “Of course, you can’t go blabbing that around town. Back in the 70s and 80s when heavy metal was at its peak, our kind could be a little more flamboyant and take a few more liberties. Now with paparazzi on every corner, we need to maintain a bit more anonymity.”
“Understandable.” I sit up excitedly, taking extra care in positioning my legs as to not expose my bare lady bits from under the robe. “You have to tell me…what about movie stars? There’s got to be tons of Dark Ones in Hollywood.”
“Oh yeah, sure. Who’s your favorite?”
“Uhhh…Angelina?”
“Dark.”
“But what about Brad Pitt?”
“Human.”
“And that’s ok? Like, your father allows it?”
“It’s not unheard of,” he shrugs. “It happens. Just not necessarily for us.”
“You mean Dark royalty.”
Niko nods then gulps down the contents of his bottle. I can see that bit of his history irks him.
“I think I could totally pull off the rock star image,” I say, hoping to lighten his mood, and make him forget whatever memory still haunts him.
“Why do you say that?”
“Come on, party all day and night. Be drunk and obnoxious. Get into embarrassing brawls in public places. Hell, I’m practically halfway there!”
Niko chuckles, the task causing the muscles in his torso to tighten under deliciously tanned skin. I pretend to laugh too, just to act as a cover for my blatant gawking.
“Hey, want another?” I ask, bounding off the bed towards the mini bar. Yup. I’m gonna need something stronger.
“Sure.”
I grab another bottle of the Irish whiskey he’s drinking and a cutesie, baby bottle of Patron. It’s totally a bad call, being that tequila makes my inner slut bust out into the splits, but hey, it’s only a tiny bottle. What could it hurt?
I jump back on the bed, giggling like an idiot for no apparent reason. I toss Niko his drink, which he unscrews. “Cheers,” I say, holding up the petite jug of liquid fire.
Niko goes to tap my bottle, but stops short. “What are we toasting to?”
I take a second to mull it over, skipping over all the bad shit that’s happened and zeroing in on the bright spots. The times that invoked peace. The small victories that gave us hope.
“To new beginnings.” For me. For him. For us.
Niko gently clinks his glass with mine. “To new beginnings.”
THREE PATRONS, FIVE whiskeys, four bottles of red wine and one disgusting shot of vodka later, and we’re drunk. At least I am. Sorta.
I mean, I’ve had plenty to drink, but I honestly feel fine, if not a little warm and a bit overly enthusiastic. Niko is telling me about one of his rebellious stages in the early 1900s, and I’m hanging onto every word, fascinated by his interpretation of a time that I had only read about in history books. He speaks with such excitement, moving his hands animatedly, as he describes the fashion, the architecture, the art. He tells me about the hordes of women that would climb into his bed at night, which led him to the idea of opening the most revered brothel in New Orleans.
“And the girls were actually ok with it? Selling their bodies?” I ask, engrossed in the story.
“Ok with it? We had a waiting list a mile long of girls who wanted to work there. We took care of them—gave them a life they could only dream of. And of course, we had a strict selection process, which included rigorous health screenings. They lived more than comfortably for something they would have done for free.”
I shake my head, a playful smirk on my lips. “Nikolai the pimp. Please tell me you didn’t wear purple leisure suits and big, zebra-print hats.”
“Only if they were paired with platform-heeled boots.”
“No!” I shriek, cackling like a hyena. “Oh God, tell me you have pictures!”
Niko laughs right along with me, wiping tears from his eyes. “No, no. No purple suits. Maybe orange or sky blue. But I never rocked the purple.”
I smack him on his bare arm jokingly, my hand, no doubt, absorbing most of the sting. “Ouch! Jesus, are you made of steel?”
Niko lifts a sly brow. “Maybe some parts.”
Rolling my eyes, I flop back on a mound of pillows. “Sure, sure. I swear, what is it with guys and their obsession with their penis? Every guy thinks he’s packing the big guns, but when you get it, it’s more like a pocket pistol. Pew pew!”
“I’m not obsessed. Just honest,” Niko remarks, settling back onto the pillows on his side of the bed. His. Side. Of. The. Bed. Oh God, is that a thing now?
“Honest about…?”
“I have a big dick.”
I nearly choke on my own spit. Holy hell. I’m trying to collect my bearings, trying to come up with a snappy retort, but I can’t think over the sounds of Niko’s smug laughter. I could have done without that bit of information. But now that it’s out there, floating around in the universe, I can’t not think about it.
“What the… Did you just...?” I sputter, waving my hands like a chicken on crack.
“Well, you asked,” he shrugs.
I shake my head, hoping it’ll disperse any future thoughts of Niko’s pride and joy. “Ok, I need a drink after that.”
He holds up a half-finished, mini bottle of Stoli. “I think there’s more vodka.”
“Oh hell no,” I cringe. “I’d rather drink lighter fluid.”
I jump off the bed and bound to the min bar, which is looking pretty pathetic. I snag a little Disarrono. “That’ll do, donkey,” I mutter, twisting off the awkward top, and not paying attention. And of course, I epically stub my baby toe on the room service cart from earlier.
“Mo
ther of fuck!” I scream, hopping around. “Holy fucking shit!”
Niko flashes to my side in an instant catching me before I hobble over. “Are you alright?”
“Ah, fuck! It’s broken. I know it’s broken. It’s hanging off my foot, isn’t it? There’s blood probably squirting everywhere.”
“Let’s set you down.” And without notice, Niko picks me up like I weigh nothing, and carries me to the bed, laying me down as gently as he did last night.
“Alright, let me have a look,” he says, placing my foot in his lap for further inspection. I feel his cool fingers on my toe, but it doesn’t hurt. Instead it becomes cold, as if he’s made himself my own personal ice pack.
“How is it?” I ask, my voice meek.
“Not broken. And no blood squirting everywhere. And I’m happy to report that it is still safely attached to your foot.” He purses his lips as if he’s trying not to laugh.
“Shut up!” I exclaim, which puts him in hysterics. “That hurt like a bitch!”
“Awww, come here,” he jokes. “Does the poor, little Dark Light have a boo boo?”
“Jerk.” I try to pull my foot away, but he keeps it fastened to his lap, still caressing my toe with a cold finger. After a few seconds, I relax under his touch and let him work his magic.
“How does it feel now?” he asks, all humor gone from his voice.
“Good.” I’m only acutely aware of the huskiness in my tone.
Niko slides his hands to the sole of my foot massaging it with perfect pressure. I nearly melt right there like a pile of slush. “And how’s this?”
“So…good.”
Moments later, he’s kneading my ankle, his touch fanning out to my calves, which are still a little sore from last night’s killer heels and today’s workout. I moan reflexively, feeling the tense knots of muscle loosen.
“Still good?”
“Yes.” There’s so much…need…in my voice. It scares me, but I don’t stop him.
His fingers caress the space under my knees, causing tingles to jet up my spine. His touch is light, careful, as if he knows it’s a sensitive erogenous zone for me. I mean to straighten and sit up, yet I end up arching my back. The shift causing Niko’s hand to land at the inside of my thigh.
I look at him.
He looks at me.
I don’t even have the chance to freeze time and think it through a second longer.
He’s crawling up my body at the same time I’m leaning into him. When his lips cover mine, I’m stunned at the softness of them and the gentleness of his kiss. Niko, with all his brash humor and brutal honesty, I expect it to be like kissing an untamable force of nature. But he’s so tender, so careful. As if he’s planned the way he’d kiss me. As if he’s thought about this moment for days, replaying the scenario in his head as he lays awake at night. Yet while his kiss is reverent, his touch is commanding. His fingers are gripping my back through the terry cloth, then fisting my hair. Like every bit of restraint he is practicing on my lips is let loose through his hands.
I pull him down on top of me as he pushes me into the fluffy, down pillows. I absorb his weight, feeling so safe, and so secure with his body settled on top of mine. My legs part to welcome him into the softest place on earth, cradling his silk covered hips. His kiss doesn’t even falter. His tongue—sweet with alcohol and him—continues to slide against mine rhythmically, tasting my mouth. Drinking me in like a heady elixir.
My hands slide up and down the smooth skin of his back, feeling the muscles tense and strain under my fingertips as he tries to get closer. And I want him closer. I want his skin on mine. I want his heartbeat to pound against my chest. I want to inhale his breath and drink his lust.
I want this man. I want Niko. And I know it makes me sick and awful and desperate, but I don’t care.
My need becomes his need, and he’s ripping away my robe, exposing my heavy breasts. He pulls away just to gaze down at them, studying my nakedness. And just as I begin to feel self-conscious, he lowers his head and hungrily takes a hardened nipple into his mouth, stroking the sensitive skin with his tongue. I grasp his hair, pulling with shaky hands. Not because I’m nervous or scared, but because I want this too bad. His mouth, his hands, his hard length on my thigh, straining through thin silk…I’ve needed this. And I don’t give a damn what that makes me. I don’t even want to think about it.
Niko’s hot tongue moves to my other breast, sucking, kneading the mounds to give his tongue better access. I moan, relishing in the feel of pleasure, something that had become such a distant memory. He devours me, refusing to leave any bit puckered, heated skin untouched. And he’s so good…Niko is so, so good. It’s as if he already knew. He already knew what my body craved.
I feel him growing harder against my leg, thrilled by the fact that only a flimsy layer of fabric separates his sex from mine. How easy it would be to have him push inside me. To have him chase away my demons with every filling inch. I would scream his name as I fell apart against him. I would come so hard that the walls would shake with our release.
I reach down between us, taking him in my hands to show him my intentions. He pauses, gazing down at my panting body, asking and answering questions in his head. He decides, pushing back onto his knees to unleash his desire.
He’s beautiful. God, he’s beautiful.
My mouth watering, I let the rest of the robe fall away, offering my body in exchange for his. He takes me in, routing his assault before he attacks, crushing me under a hungry kiss. I feel him there pulsing, waiting, yet I need to feel more. I need to feel whole again. And maybe…maybe he could do it. Maybe Niko could be the one to cure this broken heart. Because if my body wants him as badly as it does, maybe that shattered part of me will too.
He pulls away suddenly, still hovering over me, yet our naked chests no longer touch. “Stop. Wait. We can't do this.”
I flinch at the sting of rejection and the loss of his body on mine. “Why not?”
He closes his eyes, as if he’s trying to fight the voices inside his head. “Believe me, I want to. Shit, I want to.”
“Then what’s stopping you?” I’m nearly breathless, squirming under him with the need to be touched.
He shakes his head, his jaw tight. “Look, baby girl… I'm not Dorian, and I never will be. I'll never be able to fill the void that he's left behind. So you better be damn well certain that you're ok with that. Ok? Because you’re getting me. Just me. And I can't be someone I'm not. I can't make you whole again. Not like you were before.”
I look up at those crystal blue eyes, feeling ice in my veins. “I guess I could say the same for you.”
He doesn’t respond. I don’t even have to infiltrate his mind to know which voice in his head spoke the loudest.
The awkward sets in, and we’re left to look down at the mess we’ve made. He reaches down to collect his pajama bottoms at the same time I grab for my robe. “I should go,” he mumbles, hastily pulling them on and turning for the door. He still can’t look at me. Right about now, I can’t look at me either.
“Wait,” I hear myself say, reaching out to grasp his arm. I pull my hand back quickly, the touch feeling too intimate now. “Please, just…stay. Just stay with me, like you did last night. I just…I feel—,”
“Ok.” The expression on his face is one of resignation, and maybe a little relief. “Let’s just get some sleep, ok?”
I nod, so fucking grateful that he can even stand to still be in the same room as me. We both crawl under the covers in silence, banishing ourselves to our respective sides. I turn over onto my side, away from him, feeling like such a fool. Feeling like I’ve just ruined everything.
I hear him take a deep breath behind me before I feel him shift. His arm wraps around my waist, pulling my back to his chest. He holds me close, knowing I need this. Knowing I need him, in any way I can get him.
His soft, steady breath on my neck lulls me to sleep, and I fall into a colorful dream. We’re surrounded by trees,
the water and sunlight. When I look at him, he smiles. And I cry, because I’ll never know what that feels like again.
THERE’S A MARCHING band in my hotel room. And the drum line is currently going all “Hollaback Girl” on my skull.
The banging intensifies, forcing my eyelids open, which I swear have been super-glued shut. My mouth feels like it has been filled with ass-flavored sand and my stomach is churning with gasoline. Still, I struggle to push up on my elbows, trying to locate the source of the relentless pounding, and in hopes of shutting it the fuck up.
I sit up with a groan just as the bed dips beside me. Oh shit, maybe I’m still drunk. But no. I couldn’t be so lucky. I have to be hungover and stupid.
Niko looks at me, his hair a messy, black mop over his forehead. He rakes it back, grimacing as if just touching his scalp pains him. The banging resumes and we both shoot off the bed, looking towards the door. There’s no marching band, and even though my head is pounding, it’s muted by the sounds of someone knocking.
“Hey, it’s me, Lars,” someone calls from the other side of the door. “Open up or I’m coming in.”
Lars! He’s back. Hopefully with good news.
Closest to the door, Niko unlocks it and let’s in the agitated Light Enchanter who looks oddly chic and meticulous for someone so large.
“Have you seen the news?” he questions as soon as the door closes behind him. He darts to the remote sitting on the small table and turns on the TV.
“No.” My throat is rough so I clear it and try again. “No, we just woke up.”
That’s when Lars finally slows down and takes in the scene before him. Me in nothing but a bathrobe. Niko shirtless. The room a hot, damn mess.
“Um, is this a bad time? I mean…we’re still on, right? You still want to save Dorian?”
“Yes, of course,” I insist, pulling the robe tighter around my frame. “Everything is still on, as long as you’ve gotten the information you need.”
“I did. But we have to act fast. Like within the next 48 hours.”
“Why’s that?” Niko asks, finally finding his voice, although it doesn’t sound any better than mine.
“Look.”