Chapter Eighty-Six

Safiya

U nimaginable pleasure cascaded through my entire body right before ruthless pain ripped me apart.

A shocked cry of betrayal echoed as I involuntarily lurched up and my fingers dug into impossibly hard muscles.

Grasping my throat before I could beg for mercy, he drove his invasion in even harder. Then his voice came, guttural and utterly carnal. " Mine ."

My mouth opened, no words came, tears fell.

His fingers circled deep inside me.

Then an American SEAL who had saved me, a dominant ghost who had given me the ocean, and the only man I had ever loved pulled his hand from my body and drew a cross over his heart.

In my blood.

" Hayatim ." Grayson Ryker Gautier kissed me.

Soul deep and heart crushing, he kissed me like he loved me.

He kissed me like I was his.

He kissed me like a man who had sworn a blood oath to love.

But he had not made love to me.

He had not even put his body inside mine.

Not really.

Pulling back from his kiss, reaching into the pocket of his swim shorts, he came away with a fine gold chain.

Then, with bloodstained fingers, he swept my wet hair to one side and clasped a new necklace around me.

One with two entwined hearts.

The tears fell unchecked. " Grayson ."

"You are beautiful." His lips touched my forehead. "Come. I'll get you ready."

I did not have words.

I did not know how to ask why he was still partially dressed and I was naked.

I did not know how to process a man who crossed his heart in my blood, gave me entwined hearts, but did not make love to me.

I did not know what to think of the dominant ghost whose expression was now closer to that of a SEAL as he picked me up.

The pain, now a twinging soreness I felt with every flex of his muscles as he carried me into the bedroom, did not make me feel like a woman.

It made me nervous.

He was making me nervous.

His movements tightly controlled as if he were on the battlefield, his hard length straining against his swim shorts, his corded muscles looked more defined.

Setting me down in front of the closet with another brush of his lips, this time to my temple, he did not give an order before he stepped inside.

Needing just one moment, I turned toward the bathroom.

"Stay," he commanded sternly.

Startled, I glanced up.

Grabbing the dress and some clothes of his own I had not noticed he had placed in the closet, he did not even look back to see if I had moved.

Frozen in place, I waited.

And watched.

With his broad shoulders and muscular back to me, he efficiently stripped his shorts, pulled on dress slacks, and fed his arms through a dress shirt.

A moment later, he was in front of me with his pants undone, his shirt unbuttoned, and his feet bare. His thick, soft hair was drying in perfect waves, the ridges of his abdominal muscles were on full display, and he had a blood cross on his chest.

He had never looked sexier. Or more intimidating.

Towering over me, his gaze locked on mine, he slipped the slinky orange Saint Laurent jersey halter-neck dress over my head. The draped neckline fell below my new jewelry, and the open back dipped so low, it was just above my hips.

"Stunning," he murmured, fiercely staring at me as he buttoned the cuffs of his deep-blue dress shirt.

I glanced down at the perfectly fitted, bright dress that was beautifully designed but would have been impossible to wear a bra or underwear with because of the cut. Then I looked back up at him.

I was the sunrise. He was the midnight sky.

I was slick between my legs.

He was wearing my virginity.

No underwear, my nipples chaffing against the soft material in the most unwanted, provocative way, my voice came. "I need underwear." I needed security—from him, from this dress. And I needed a shower. And a moment alone. And for him to not look so… primal.

"You need your shoes." He reached just inside the closet and came away with a box. Opening it, he took out a pair of metallic gold heeled sandals with straps so thin, they were mere whispers of leather.

Tossing the box aside, he went to one knee. "Lift your dress." He held the first shoe for me. "Step in."

Speechless, I did as he ordered.

He held the next sandal out. "Again."

I obliged.

Then quickly and expertly, as if he had done it before, he wrapped the thin straps around my ankles and partway up my calves before tying them secure.

Strings on my swimsuits.

Strings on my sandals.

He rose to his full height and brushed his lips against mine as he deftly began buttoning his shirt. "Hurting?"

"Yes."

He nodded. "You'll be sore tonight."

I fought more tears. "Okay." Because what else could I say?

"It's not. I see your eyes, hayatim . We'll talk after I get some food in you." He leaned down to my ear and lowered his voice to an achingly tender caress of his dominance. "You're beautiful, and you're mine." Leaving a kiss on my cheek before rising back up to his full height, he guided me into the en suite. "You may brush your hair, or dry it if you prefer, but leave it down." Watching me in the mirror, he quickly washed his hands before grabbing a hand towel and wetting it. "Use the restroom. Then I'll check your bleeding."

Heat flamed my cheeks as I realized his intent. "I—no, thank you." I practically spun in the four-inch heels and rushed toward the separate lavatory area and closed the door.

A mere moment later, the slickness was gone, I was not bleeding, and he was knocking.

"Safiya."

Closing my eyes, I swiped at my face. "Coming."

He opened the door and caught the remnants of my tears.

In the next instant, I was in his arms, and I was crying.

"Shh, shh, beautiful. You're okay."

I was not okay. "I am overwhelmed."

"Temporary."

It did not feel temporary. "I do not understand. You did not… you did not take pleasure. You touched me, but you used your hand, you did not… I cannot—I cannot do this. I cannot breathe—"

" Hey ." Sharp and firm like an expletive, he barked the word as he grasped my chin and tipped my face up to his. "You can breathe. We are doing this. I'm right here, and I didn't have intercourse with you because your hymen was intact. I made the decision to breach your barrier first."

"Maybe that should have been our decision." I honestly did not know what I would have wanted if given the choice, and maybe that was reason enough to let this go.

He swiped his thumb across my cheek. "Maybe, but it's done now."

I did not like how that sounded. "I do not like how that sounds."

Rare, so rare I did not think I had ever seen it, the corner of his mouth tipped up. "One orgasm."

Embarrassment piled on. "Pardon?"

"One orgasm and you're talking back to me," he amended, still holding on to his ghost of a smile.

Stunned, horrified, ashamed, I tried to step away. "I do not talk back. I was just—"

"I'm teasing you, Safiya." He pulled me closer.

I blinked. "You do not tease."

His expression sobered. "You were crying." He swiped across my other cheek. "It was either that or fuck you in this bathroom, and you need time to heal. Which brings us full circle. I'm a large man. I didn't want the first time we have sex to be painful for you. I didn't want you associating intercourse with pain. You're going to have to get used to me, and you will, but I was mitigating."

Fuck. Sex. Intercourse . "Mitigating." No love.

"You know what I mean."

I was not sure I did. "Okay."

His knowing gaze missed nothing. "Again, it's not okay. Also again, we'll talk more once I get some food in you." He took my hand. "Come. Your hair's almost dry. I'll brush it, then take you to eat."

Grayson Ryker Gautier brushed my hair.

Then he took me on a date.