yelled his name when he felt something give against him, allowing him full access to her. The tears flowed down her beautiful face as he propped himself up and gazed at her.
“I can stop, I think.” He ground out, unsure if he could or not.
“No.” She gasped, tightening her hold with her legs. “More. Harder.”
He groaned and pressed in, pulling out and reentering her amazing warm depths, grinding his pubic bone against her clit. She clutched his ass, dug her fingernails in, and cried out again as he felt her gush and pulse with a monstrous climax. “Ah, Vivian…my love.” The spasm of her orgasm sent him over the edge, and he grunted into the skin of her neck and pounded into her, letting his body lead, emptying everything he had inside her. A strange prickling sensation tickled behind his eyes at the last moment when he realized he would never feel her this way again.
Chapter Eight
Vivian sat in the cooling water of her bath, let the seemingly ever-present tears dry on her face. She pressed a hand between her legs, where a pleasant soreness throbbed, reminding her of what she’d had and lost all in one day. It had only been a week, but still her body ached in places she never realized she could. But she’d kept her promise.
He had dried her tears that night in his apartment, kissed her, held her in his arms. Used a warm cloth to wipe the blood from her thighs. She had shook uncontrollably, welcomed the blanket he wrapped around her. When he called her house, summoning her driver, he’d offered to take her over to Lillian’s so the driver wouldn’t realize where she’d been. But she didn’t care. Not anymore. She’d sat in his lap, sobbing with relief, stress, and anticipation of the emptiness her life would be now that she had to leave him. He had stroked her shorn hair, whispered endearments, and generally made her feel worse with the realization of what she’d promised in exchange for his body moments before.
It was time to get real. She had a date with her destiny. It was the night of the Marine Ball—a sort of prom for ex-pats and diplomats. Her dress was ready. She was not. But she had no choice. The upstairs maid shuffled around her room, preparing her dress, shoes, make up. The girl was annoyingly confident that this night meant nothing. That her young mistress would end up with the handsome, dashing and wealthy young Turk—a hero among the servant class for his amazing successes.
The girl had given her a knowing look when she’d stumbled upstairs the night she’d given Levent her virginity. She’d been such a mess but after seemingly lying in wait for her, the girl had hustled her up to her room, helped her undress. When Vivian had insisted she did not want a shower or bath—that she wanted to smell him all over her—the girl had held her while she sobbed and mumbled his name, then tucked her into bed.
And now, she was stuck. Her father shouted from downstairs for her, demanding to know why she wasn’t ready yet. Ron was due to arrive in fifteen minutes. The girl opened the door, whispered furiously to someone on the other side then peeked into the bathroom. “Missus, we should prepare you.”
Vivian emerged, let the girl brush what remained of her hair, and slip the soft silk dress down her body. She moved as if in slow motion, as if she were underwater. How could she possibly consider anything Ron had for her now that she’d given so much to Levent. Her love. The she remembered the promise. Her virginity. In exchange for never seeing him again. She sighed.
The girl interrupted her thoughts. “Do not worry, missus. All will be well. He will be yours. Now go, be beautiful and enjoy yourself. Know that Mr. Deniz waits for you.”
She patted the girl’s hand. “No. He doesn’t. We agreed. Our last night together was exactly that—our last night together.” Vivian stood, slipped her feet into heels, and swiped lipstick on.
“I’m coming, I’m coming.”
“I can stop, I think.” He ground out, unsure if he could or not.
“No.” She gasped, tightening her hold with her legs. “More. Harder.”
He groaned and pressed in, pulling out and reentering her amazing warm depths, grinding his pubic bone against her clit. She clutched his ass, dug her fingernails in, and cried out again as he felt her gush and pulse with a monstrous climax. “Ah, Vivian…my love.” The spasm of her orgasm sent him over the edge, and he grunted into the skin of her neck and pounded into her, letting his body lead, emptying everything he had inside her. A strange prickling sensation tickled behind his eyes at the last moment when he realized he would never feel her this way again.
Chapter Eight
Vivian sat in the cooling water of her bath, let the seemingly ever-present tears dry on her face. She pressed a hand between her legs, where a pleasant soreness throbbed, reminding her of what she’d had and lost all in one day. It had only been a week, but still her body ached in places she never realized she could. But she’d kept her promise.
He had dried her tears that night in his apartment, kissed her, held her in his arms. Used a warm cloth to wipe the blood from her thighs. She had shook uncontrollably, welcomed the blanket he wrapped around her. When he called her house, summoning her driver, he’d offered to take her over to Lillian’s so the driver wouldn’t realize where she’d been. But she didn’t care. Not anymore. She’d sat in his lap, sobbing with relief, stress, and anticipation of the emptiness her life would be now that she had to leave him. He had stroked her shorn hair, whispered endearments, and generally made her feel worse with the realization of what she’d promised in exchange for his body moments before.
It was time to get real. She had a date with her destiny. It was the night of the Marine Ball—a sort of prom for ex-pats and diplomats. Her dress was ready. She was not. But she had no choice. The upstairs maid shuffled around her room, preparing her dress, shoes, make up. The girl was annoyingly confident that this night meant nothing. That her young mistress would end up with the handsome, dashing and wealthy young Turk—a hero among the servant class for his amazing successes.
The girl had given her a knowing look when she’d stumbled upstairs the night she’d given Levent her virginity. She’d been such a mess but after seemingly lying in wait for her, the girl had hustled her up to her room, helped her undress. When Vivian had insisted she did not want a shower or bath—that she wanted to smell him all over her—the girl had held her while she sobbed and mumbled his name, then tucked her into bed.
And now, she was stuck. Her father shouted from downstairs for her, demanding to know why she wasn’t ready yet. Ron was due to arrive in fifteen minutes. The girl opened the door, whispered furiously to someone on the other side then peeked into the bathroom. “Missus, we should prepare you.”
Vivian emerged, let the girl brush what remained of her hair, and slip the soft silk dress down her body. She moved as if in slow motion, as if she were underwater. How could she possibly consider anything Ron had for her now that she’d given so much to Levent. Her love. The she remembered the promise. Her virginity. In exchange for never seeing him again. She sighed.
The girl interrupted her thoughts. “Do not worry, missus. All will be well. He will be yours. Now go, be beautiful and enjoy yourself. Know that Mr. Deniz waits for you.”
She patted the girl’s hand. “No. He doesn’t. We agreed. Our last night together was exactly that—our last night together.” Vivian stood, slipped her feet into heels, and swiped lipstick on.
“I’m coming, I’m coming.”
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