I’ve never felt this way about a man before. The guys from high school weren’t really very interesting to me at the time, and once I got to college, things didn’t change much. Sure I had a crush here and there, but never anything like this. I barely even had sex when I was in college. I used to be that person in the student lounge, hanging out studying until I went back to my room and just let out my frustrations on my own hand. That’s all I had to myself.
It’s as if I know now what this body is for. It’s for this relationship, for what exists between us.
Did I just call it a relationship?
I don’t know what it is.
This thing I have with King has its own momentum. Either that or he’s in control. Because I feel like I am a little girl, just going with the flow of whatever it is that’s taken hold of me since I decided to call him that day.
And now, as I look up at him—his dark lashes and crow’s feet around light eyes, his stubble, his masculine features—there’s something in me that never wants it to end.
And another part of me wants it to end right away.
I can’t deny that part of me longs to go back to normal. For Ke
lsey to be alive. To be back in the safety of her friendship, not stuck in some foreign country with some man who’s making me feel things I didn’t think were possible.
Some man who is going to leave me. It’s not a question of if—it’s a question of when. I can’t stay with someone who is my father’s age. Can I?
I feel his hand against my ear as he strokes and pinches the lobe gently before leaning in and kissing my neck, and I’m brought back into the present.
“Where’d you go, Little Girl?” he asks softly, and I want to fold into his arms. But how can I trust him when I’m more and more sure every day that I couldn’t even trust my own goddamned best friend?
And yet, it feels like the safest place to be is in his arms. There's something so comforting about just letting go, letting him control me, handle me, make me feel whatever he wants me to feel. He takes me to a place where I don't have to think so much, where it's calm and beautiful and filled with bliss.
“I'm right here, King,” I reply softly, pushing up on my toes just before the elevator door opens again. “I'm right where you want me to be.”
We stumble back into the penthouse, his lips covering my mouth, his hand gripping the small of my back, pulling me off my feet. I lock my arms behind his neck and let him carry me away to the bed. Already I'm wet and swollen again for him, anticipating his touch.
His hands find the hem of my dress and slide up my thighs, parting my legs as he drops me on my back on the fluffy mattress. Immediately I feel his tongue, warm and wet, snaking along the seam of my sodden thong.
“Do you like this?" he asks, his voice muffled against my sex.
To answer, I only moan. I don't know what I’m supposed to say, and I'm afraid that if I open my mouth to speak, shyness will overcome me and trick me into telling him to stop. But I don't want him to stop. Instead, I plunge my fingers into his hair and pull his mouth closer to me.
It's answer enough. He growls against my slick folds, eager and hungry to taste me.
His fingers slide under my thong, pushing it completely to the side as his tongue swipes back and forth, plunging deeper and deeper into my folds. I arch my back, pushing myself against him as he flutters his tongue, sucking the juices from me, urging me forward until I come in a brilliant explosion that shatters my consciousness into a million pieces.
The next thing I know, I'm floating, drifting on a sea of bliss that seems to rock back and forth. I realize it's the motion of his body as he climbs onto the bed and positions himself next to me. He swipes a damp tendril of hair from my forehead and kisses me gently. I can smell myself on his breath.
“Such a good little girl,” he murmurs.
“Am I?” I ask, barely conscious of the words as they escape my lips.
His expression darkens. He can tell I’m talking about more than just the sex we just had. “Well, what you mean by that?”
Consciousness rushes back to me in a flood and I realize I don't know what I'm saying, but I do need to tell him something. He's looking at me keenly, as though he thinks he knows what I'm about to say.
“It's just… I'm not sure I can stay here.”
“Do you mean you prefer Istanbul?”
Despite myself, I smile. Could I really live without this kind of charm in my life? He barely seems real.
“No, King, I mean… I need to go back. To America. I need to go back home.”
He nods slowly, deliberately untangling his limbs from mine. I feel cold inside as he retreats. But, he doesn't seem entirely surprised either.