The Blood Debt

Chapter 15

Roman

I've seen her scared before when I've done things I'm not proud of, but there's a different kind of fear in her eyes tonight, one that I can't understand. I usually know she's scared from the dead look her eyes take when she closes off from me. I've seen it more times than I'm comfortable admitting; like the time I held a gun to her head or when I let my mother loose on her or when I've taken my belt to her ass or when she saw me beat someone to within an inch of their life.

People who don't know real fear talk about fight or flight, but I know there's more than two responses to fear. I've seen enough fear to know what those fancy psychology books don't. Vengeance doesn't fight when she's scared. She doesn't flee. She freezes. Her fear takes her to a place where I can't reach her and she shuts down. But tonight there's something different about her fear - something she can't contain; it's restless, and any shred of defiance she's ever had has vanished along with her composure.

When I get out of the bathroom I find her sitting on the side of the bed, her hands folded in her lap as she waits for me. She's wearing one of my shirts and it's unbuttoned so I can see she's still wearing her bra and panties underneath it. There's vulnerability in the way she looks up at me when she hears me come out of the bathroom, like she's unsure what happens next, and as much as I want her, it tugs at my conscience. I'm the first to admit that I'm not a nice guy, but a rapist is one thing I'm not. I can't be with a woman who looks like she'd rather drive nails into her eyes than get in my bed, and as she sits there looking at me the way she does, for the first time since I've met her, Ayla Moore has got me doubting myself.

"Everything okay?" I ask her, giving her a chance to pull out.

She stands up nodding her head, but the eagerness of her nod is at odds with the stiffness of her body, like maybe she's trying to convince herself more than she is me that she wants to do this.

Her eyes wander nervously to the towel wrapped around my waist.

I want her more than I've wanted anyone in a long time, but her fear makes me cautious. I'm the Blade. I fuck women, I don't form emotional connections with them, and everyone that gets in my bed knows that, so when I pull Ayla into my arms, I'm fighting every instinct I have to do things the only way I know how.

I'm used to being with women who can hold their own. Comparing the blood debt to the women I've slept with feels like comparing night and day. She feels different in my arms from the get-go; she's soft like fine lace that might unravel if I'm too rough.

I pull her toward me, letting my lips brush the side of her mouth, feeling her warm breath fan against me. It's enough to make her close her eyes and her mouth parts willingly when I kiss her. She's delicate, and returns my kiss softly, like she's sampling a new taste she's unsure of, and even though I want to take her mouth like it's my last meal, I match her gentle pace hoping it will put her at ease.

I peel my shirt off her shoulders and tug at my towel, letting it drop to the floor. My nakedness makes her stiffen but her eyes never move from my tattoo. She startles a little when I pick her up and straddle her against my hips, like she doesn't know what to do. I grab her leg and wrap it around my back and she quickly wraps the other when my mouth finds hers more aggressively this time.

I get between her legs as I lay her down on the bed, letting my mouth explore her neck and chest before I unclip her bra and pull it down. She takes a rapid breath making her chest rise sharply and I take a minute to appreciate her beauty. She blushes, averting her face from my hungry eyes. She has none of the snobbiness of women who look like her and I can't understand why she doesn't see what everyone else does.

I turn her face up, so she's forced to look at me.

"Don't hide from me," I tell her as I hold her gaze until a flush paints her cheeks.