I felt unsure . . . stressed, but I hadn’t once wondered if he felt the same way too. “Is that why you haven’t touched me in weeks?” I asked softly.
He grimaced, giving his head a small shake. “I’m sorry. I’ve let the pressure get to me.” He offered a small smile and there was sweetness in it, the same sweetness I’d first been attracted to. The same sweetness I saw when he’d held up a broken pencil. But his dilated pupils detracted from the effect and added to my turmoil.
I mustered a fleeting smile. “I just . . . need a few minutes. And I think your mother has a lineup of VIPs she wants you to schmooze with.”
He rolled his eyes, but let out a small chuckle, before leaning forward, brushing his lips across mine. “Take your time. I’ll see you downstairs shortly.”
I watched Dawson leave, the disquiet within me suddenly growing, clattering loudly. I massaged my temples, attempting to soothe my anxious thoughts. He’s stressed too, I told myself. It’s normal. I stepped from the room, lingering in the empty hallway as I gathered my thoughts.
Think about how he deals with stress though, Karys. Is he going to turn to drugs and other vices each time he faces a difficult life circumstance?
What about you? Are you going to shut your eyes to the truth? What a perfect pair. Just like you and Zakai without any of the chemistry.
A groan moved up my throat as I worked desperately to shove that awful thought away. It’s true though. You know it is. Emotions whirled within me: confusion, distress, sadness. I sucked in a small, staggered breath, beginning to move toward the ballroom but coming to an immediate halt when I saw a man round the corner and come to a stop as well.
Oh God. Oh no.
Electricity flooded my body, a million volts of energy that robbed me of my strength and had me reaching for something sturdy so I didn’t fall. Zakai.
He was more than fifty feet away from me and yet I’d know him in an instant, no matter the distance, or the lighting or any singular detail that might partially obscure my view.
My hand hit the wall and I swallowed down a cry of distress, while simultaneously instructing my feet not to run toward him like they wanted to.
Traitorous feet.
Turn, Karys. Run away.
But I stood my ground, waiting, my breath staggered, heart beating harshly as he approached.
“What are you doing here?” I asked once he’d almost made it to where I stood, my voice far too breathy. Although what did that matter? If he still knew me like he once had, he could see on my face how his presence affected me.
“I saw the announcement in the paper,” he said smoothly.
The sound of someone laughing loudly drifted from the ballroom where the party was being thrown—my engagement party—and a quiver of anxiety rippled through me. I turned, walking to the lounge Dawson had just used to “ease his stress.”
Zakai followed, turning the lock behind him.
“You shouldn’t be here, Zakai,” I said. “I’ll be expected back any minute.”
He leaned casually against the door, putting his hands in his pockets. The changes in him struck me. He was broader, his features more defined, any traces of his boyhood now completely gone. My heart mourned for that boy—my love, my safe haven—and for a moment grief radiated inside me. He was all man now. A man with an inexplicable emptiness in his gaze, as though the boy had owned his soul and taken it with him when he’d gone.
“Do you love him?”
For a moment I had no idea who he referenced. Him. Dawson.
“Of course.” I think so. I don’t know. God, I don’t know. I held myself rigid, desperate to hold my expression steady.
A muscle jumped in his jaw and he prowled toward me. I held up my hand, commanding him to stop, but he didn’t heed my order. I smelled his still-familiar scent and my determination crumbled slightly. But over that was the distinct smell of alcohol. He’d been drinking. I knew, because I’d seen him in this state before. But also, because I’d smelled the same scent on the leering men in Sundara . . . and on Dawson.
Were all the men in my life destined to choose vices over me?
“Are you still with Giselle?”
A flicker of his expression, but no answer.
And why should I care anyway? Here I was about to become another man’s wife. I looked away. How had it come to this? How had we made it to this place? A million miles from home. A million miles from each other. I suddenly felt so desperately sad I feared I’d fall apart, shatter into uncounted pieces. Maybe he’d throw the shards of me into the nighttime sky and I could return to the stars from where I’d once believed we came. Two parts of a broken star. Unfixable.
“Karys,” he grated, and then it seemed only half a quickened heartbeat that he was pressed against me, his hands in my hair, and a tortured groan rising from his throat. Desperation clawed.
“I hate you,” I said.
“I know,” he answered. “I hate you too sometimes.”
I raised my arms to beat at his chest, to push him away, but he caught my wrists, walking me backward until my butt hit the edge of the counter. Only minutes ago, my future husband had leaned over this counter, sniffing white lines of powder. The thought raced through my mind, and I very suddenly wanted to laugh and cry and scream. But before I could, Zakai’s mouth was on mine. Hungry, biting, a growl emanating from his chest.
“No!” I said, even while I pulled my dress up with a single yank, wrapping my legs around his body, pulling him flush against me. My head went woozy as my body caught fire. We both moaned at the contact and Zakai used one thrust of his still-clothed groin to push me backward, my head connecting harshly with the mirror behind us.
Stars burst before my eyes and between my legs. I reached out and pulled his zipper down, freeing his erection, his flesh hot and throbbing in my fist.
He grabbed a handful of hair at the back of my head, holding my face away from his for a moment. Our gazes held, quickened breath mingling. He looked half-crazed and, for a moment, I feared him. But obviously not enough because I slammed my mouth to his, tasting his blood, injuring him for my own pleasure, rather than the satisfaction of his pain.
He grew harder in my hand—hot silken stone—our mouths mating hungrily, tongues dueling as we grabbed at one another, pulling and pushing and fighting and celebrating this unbearable magnetism that seemed born of starlight and flame.
I heard my dress rip but I didn’t care. His shaft stretched my entrance and I cried out with the delicious burn, his hips jolting powerfully as he filled me with one fluid thrust. He moaned deeply, his fingers grasping my hair more tightly. “Oh God, your cunt feels like home,” he whispered. His lewd statement shocked me momentarily, sending a jolt of lust to the spot where we were joined, a rush of hot wetness causing me to meet his moan with one of my own.
He returned his lips to mine and began to move. I came on his second thrust, crying out and grasping at him, my heels digging harshly into the smooth, firm flesh of his ass. It rolled through me, a delicious bliss I hadn’t experienced in so long.
His strokes shook the counter I sat upon, the wood creaking, the entire structure bouncing as he moved. He called my name as he came, his fingers gripping my hair so tightly, some of it ripped from my scalp. I cried out again, this time in pain. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry,” he chanted, slowing. Time returned, slapping into me in a sudden burst of color and solidity. The stars dimmed, the light brightened, and the counter beneath me gave way, both of us crashing to the carpeted floor.