Didn't You Promise (A Bad for You Novel) (6 page)

Chapter Six

By midnight I accepted I’d be traveling alone. The sounds of the train dulled to the methodical whiz and bump of movement over tracks. Voices, people sounds, all reduced to an occasional cough, a baby’s squawk.

The cabin glowed a deep honey yellow from the lamp on the wall.

With the sun outside gone, I’d opened the curtains, wanting to see outside. The dark wasn’t a problem for me. Darkness had never been one of my phobias. Maybe because I’d been born a twin. Spent my first months in the shade of my mother’s womb with my brother pressed up against me. Never for a moment alone in the dark.

We’d shared a room in the beginning—before he got sick—and we’d played in the darkness.

The space between my ribs ached.

I hadn’t thought about that in a while. How Josh and I would sneak around at night. Mostly me with the sneaking. Angelic by day, rat-bag by night.

I rested my temple against the window, each bump a knock on my skull. I may or may not have been responsible for the mysterious cookie disappearance phenomenon that plagued our household for years. Mostly though, I’d crawl along the floor between Josh’s bed and mine, on hands and knees, see how close I could get before he’d notice. I never did get a chance to scare him. To leap on his bed and yell
Raaa
. He’d always start giggling when I was about a foot away, so I’d tickle him instead.

I sighed, and unwound my bun then fluffed my hair. That giggle sounded in my mind. It hadn’t been lost when I’d blocked everything Josh out. He’d always be there. I smiled and slid on my shoes, not the sandals I’d arrived in, but heels, and left the cabin. The lights dimmed in the hallway. I tingled with energy. It was late enough now, with few enough people around, to risk a trip to the bar—and get out of that closet of a carriage before I lost my ever-loving mind.

If the bar is even still open...

I passed through the narrow passage between trains, and stepped into the lounge. I stopped in the carriage a moment, needing to take it all in. I’d rushed through the train before, looked at people, but hadn’t had a chance to really see what I’d drifted through. I ran my hand over the ornate wood frame of a padded chair.

Maroon-and-gold curtains, carpet, and upholstery—this train was a step back in time.

A few people lingered in the lounge, reading books, one guy asleep with his chin on his chest. The bar at the back of the room was empty except for the bartender.

I went to the bar, and ran my fingers over the mahogany counter.

“What can I get you?” The bartender polished a wine glass with a red cloth.

I’d never been to a bar alone. Never ordered my own drink. In fact, I’d only ever been to any kind of bar once. I studied the bartender.

Young—dark—cute.

“I’d like a Screaming Orgasm.” I managed to keep my smiling lips even.

Not sure what was even in a Screaming Orgasm—just always wanted to order one. I wanted to look a man I didn’t know in the eye and ask for something dirty.

I smiled, big and wide.

The bartender blinked. Then blinked again and set down the glass. Oh dear, he had no idea what that was. A laugh rose in my throat. Maybe he knew about Slippery Nipples, or a Pink Pussy?

“I’ll just have a vodka and cranberry.”

“Sure you wouldn’t prefer a screaming orgasm?”

The voice behind me didn’t whisper, but wasn’t loud, it spoke as intimately as if his lips pressed against my ear.

Heat swept up my middle more intensely than if I’d downed a row of shots.

“That’d be my preference.” I turned.

He came to me all at once. His touch on my waist, the sight of him—suited again as I’d always known him to be—cologne seeping from his skin directly into mine. Everything in me gave like leather when it’s relaxed just right. I’d worn myself around the shape of him.

“As you wish,” he said as his pressed his lips to my cheek.

I shivered. And he could quote
Princess Bride
. Now my feelings for this man were complete on every last level. I’d bet he’d read the actual book too. None of this watching the movie
instead
business.

He nodded at the bartender. “Hold the vodka and cranberry. We’ll have four shots of tequila. Lemon, and salt.”

I narrowed my gaze at him. I’d seen these done at a party. People got messed up.

“That’s not a Screaming Orgasm.”

Haithem would never, ever, let himself get messed up. Let alone right then.

“We’ll get to that, don’t worry.” He tugged open his shirt collar. His stubble, usually a sexy shadow, pushed the limits of beard-hood. I touched his cheek. The spikes got softer as they grew longer. Actual beards fell in to a no-never-ever category for me. I scratched my nails on his cheek. Now I couldn’t help imagining how hot it’d be to be able to grab onto this.

The bartender lined up the shots, then set a plate with lemon wedges and a salt shaker next to them.

Haithem took my hand, brought it to his lips, and licked the flesh between my thumb and forefinger. My skin tingled. He picked up the shaker and poured salt on the place he’d licked. Then brought my hand back to his mouth—sucked the salt off my hand.

I breathed in.

He picked up a shot, downed it, then tore the flesh off a lemon wedge with his teeth and chewed.

My head spun. I didn’t need shots—I was already intoxicated. He licked his own hand and poured salt, then extended it to me.

I sucked the salt with my mouth and lips, then ran my tongue over where it’d been. He handed me a shot. I downed it in a gulp. It burned its way down. I caught my breath, then sucked on a lemon.

Lemon never tasted sweeter.

We did it all again.

Haithem paid the bartender and led me back to the cabin. My blood hummed. I wasn’t unaffected by the shots, they’d been enough to loosen my limbs, not enough to lose my head.

He locked the cabin door behind us.

Now I’d get that orgasm.

I wondered if I’d scream. If the people around us would hear. If I’d wake up that baby. I licked the lingering lemon from the corner of my mouth.

My pussy ached with need. It wouldn’t take much to have me screaming.

Haithem turned.

His eyes were darker than usual, his polished edges all a little worn. I didn’t want to ask right now exactly what’d happened. There’d be time for that later. I just wanted to smooth the creases in his brow with my thumbs.

Watch
him
let go.

For once, I wasn’t going to be the one to scream. I placed my hands on his chest and pushed.

He didn’t budge.

I raised my eyebrows and pushed him again. Haithem’s mouth pulled up to the side, and he stepped back against the door. I fell to my knees, running my hands down his thighs.

I looked at him when I reached for his belt. He watched me back. Watched me undo the buckle. Watched me open his fly. Watched me pull his cock free.

Then he buried his fingers in my hair, and stroked my jaw with his thumb. I touched the soft curls above his cock, then wrapped my hands around his base.

My thighs squeezed together.

I slid my hands up his cock to its beautiful head. So irresistibly hard and smooth. I ran my fingers back to his base and touched my tongue to his silky crown. Let that perfect ridge push past my lips into my mouth. His taste invaded my senses.

Musk.
Man.
Sex
.

My lips tingled, blood pooling in all my extremities. I opened my mouth wide and took him in all the way. He filled me, challenged my jaw and throat. His fingers tightened in my hair. He didn’t stop where I stopped, he pushed himself deeper—always showing me there was more.

My throat contracted. He pulled himself out. I didn’t let him go, didn’t let him leave my lips, sucked him back in. Relaxed my muscles and showed him I could take as much as he could give. I tugged his pants open wider, edging them down. Ran my palms over his thighs, let the crisp hairs tickle my fingers as he overwhelmed my mouth.

The touch on my head became a stroke. He made a growling sound. I trailed my fingertips to his sac. Then stroked and cradled him there. The hardness against my tongue grew harder, stiffer.

He held my hair and dragged his cock out of my mouth.

“No.” I grabbed his hips and looked up at him. “I want it all.”

He made another raw sound, his jaw ticking.

I opened my mouth wide, tilted my chin up to take him. He pushed deep into my mouth, taking over. This time navigating my movements with a grip at the back of my head. I held on to his thighs, not taking my eyes off him.

His cock left my lips for an instant. I sucked in air before it slid back in.

My eyes watered but I saw him through the sheen. Saw that look overcome him as the cock between my lips and his muscles under my hands, contracted. But his face—his face dissolved in bliss. I watched that moment of heaven. Saltiness spilled over my tongue. Part of me lifted too.

His eyes closed and his lips opened in surrender to a gentle kind of death.

He lay on the center of the bed, fully dressed except for shoes and socks. The naked soles of his feet protruded off the mattress. I dropped the curtain I’d been holding open and climbed on to the narrow strip of space left next to him.

“You know this cabin got eighty-percent smaller when you came in.”

He glanced up from the book in his hands, licked his finger then flicked the page. I shook my head. How could he read? I’d given up trying to write or do anything at all productive after the first hour. I’d been on the train nearly twenty-four hours and there was still another twenty-four to burn.

I leaned on to my elbow next to his feet, then pushed up the hem of one leg of his pants. “You’d think a train service such as this would have screening questions for passengers before they let them on.” I dropped the fabric of his pants. “Just to, you know, ensure there is sufficient space left for other passengers.” I ran my nail down the side of his foot.

His long toes twitched.

“For instance—are you a great, big, giant, massive—” I took a breath “—
enormous
, behem—”

He lunged forward, rolled on top of me, tossing the book to the side.

He lay heavily on my belly, compressing my ribcage. “You think I’m too big for the train?”

“You’re a giant and take up all my breathing room.” I took his face between my palms.

His expression evened, playfulness draining away as he stared down at me. “Want me to give you some space?”

I took a shallow breath into my squished lungs. “No.”

My hands dropped from him, and I looked past him to the roof. He rolled off me and scooped up his book. This was it, the reason I couldn’t sit still. The reason part of me wanted to poke him with a toothpick and pull his hair when he wasn’t looking.

We’d reached an impasse.

In a normal relationship we’d agree to disagree, in this case, we’d simply stopped arguing for a while...

When we got off this train Haithem would leave me for a week. He’d go do his thing. Go deliver the prototype and get things set up.

And I’d have to sit pretty in some safe little hideaway.

I linked my fingers over my abdomen, and watched the shadow flickering on the roof with the movement outside the window.

Paper rustled.

“How can you concentrate at a time like this?” I asked.

“What’s the alternative?”

I sighed. The alternative was me. I’d gotten better since Haithem, much better, but my mind still screamed in the silence. It’d be better when this was all over. Soon, I’d be able to exist in a moment of quiet and be all right.

I turned my head, watching him read his heavy volume. “How did you even start reading philosophy?” I dragged myself up then lay across his chest. “Aren’t you meant to be a science, techy genius, not a lit nerd?”

“I’m a scholar of all things.” He raised one brow and shot me a look. “It’s in my blood.”

“Your dad?”

He returned to his book and turned a page. “No, my mother.”

My chest fluttered. In all the time I’d known him, he’d spoken about his parents maybe twice. “What did she do?”

“She taught philosophy, but never, ever stopped trying to master the universe.” He still gazed at his book, but if the man could actually read and hold a conversation at the same time he was even more impressive than I gave him credit for.

“Your mother sounds driven.”

He glanced up, a smile on one side of his mouth. “Nope, she was a head case.”

“Really?”

“A complete nightmare.” He closed the book with a snap.

I laughed. “No way?”

“The woman managed to squeeze forty hours into a day.” He set the book down next to him. “She’d work for ten then torment me for thirty.”

“How?”

“For one, on Mondays I was only allowed to speak French.” He rested one arm behind his head and the other around my waist. “Tuesdays and Thursdays Spanish. Greek on Fridays.”

“You poor tortured kid.” I curled into his side.

“You have no idea.” He huffed, his chest billowing under my arm.

I poked the top button on his shirt. “Tell me then.”

He smiled, mischief breaking across his lips in a way that cleaved my heart in two. “Haithem,” he said, in a pitched voice. “Want some Basboosa?” He wiggled his black brows enticingly.

“What’s Basboosa?”

He broke character for a brief moment. “A kind of honey cake.” Then moved the hand from behind his head and held it out to me in a pleading gesture. “Yes, Mama, I want Basboosa.”

“Then ask for it in French,” he said sharply.

I placed my fingers over my mouth
.

Too funny
.

“But, Mama, there’s no Basboosa in French.”

He snatched his hand away. “Then no cake for you.”

I broke into laughter. His chest rumbled with me. I laughed harder. They probably heard me in the other carriage. The laughter settled into giggles. “You’re such a liar, she did not do that to you.”

“Maybe she wasn’t
that
bad,” he said, his smile easing. “How would you know?”

“Because it’d be impossible for any woman to resist this face.” I squeezed his cheeks with one hand, pushing his lips into a pout. “If we ever have a son, I’ll be ruined.”