The next morning brings with it an enervating uneasiness that settles over the house. Dastan basically ignores me outside of communication regarding Zia. I want to say something to him, maybe thank him for his thoughtfulness about reminding me to eat, or even to apologize for stressing him out unnecessarily. I don't get the opportunity to do either. He disappears right after breakfast, he's not anywhere in the house. I check, at first I think he's asleep because he stayed up til two in the morning waiting for me but he's not in his room. He doesn't really have anything to do during the day, so I know he isn't running errands or working. He just took off? Well, that's mature. Although, I can't say I blame him; it's not exactly comfortable being under the same roof. I'd duck out too if I could but it's a Tuesday so, I've got work to do and Zia is playing princess dress up in the living room.
Just before noon, Haider calls to tell me his doctor said he can come home today. It's the best news I've heard all week. We chat for a bit and I do everything I can to keep the conversation from straying to Dastan. When he hangs up I feel much better. Yeah, everything might be weird and uncomfortable but at least Haider's alright and he's coming home which means I don't have to keep living here with Dastan. That's the closest I've come to a win in a long time, I'll take it.
I'm in the middle of packing when Dastan finally deigns to grace us with his presence. Zia's napping and I've got my bags spread out on the living room floor and I'm packing directly from the hamper of laundry I just did. He walks in, pulling his black under armor shirt over his head, he doesn't spare me a glance. Using the shirt to wipe at his sweaty face, he turns and finally sees me on the ground, surrounded by piles of clothes and my suitcase, and stops short. Hand frozen halfway to his face, eyebrows raised, his expression one of confusion, and very, very shirtless. He looks like he's been running, so that's where he spent the day hiding.
His Grey sweatpants sit so low on his hips, I can see the defined v-shape that disappears into the waistband. Miles of golden tanned skin on display, broken only by the black ink sprawling across his chest, over his shoulders and down his arms. My breath catches, it's beautiful. It looks like armor and there's something distantly familiar about the swirling design. I look away.
"What are you doing?" he asks, his voice weary. I'm still a little pissed off with him for his disappearing act so instead of providing a proper explanation, I turn my attention back to folding the pair of jeans in my hand.
"Packing,"
"I can see that," he rolls his eyes, and chucks the shirt onto the end table next to the couch. "Why?"
Call it spiteful, I don't care but I just really want to be petty after the way he's been ignoring me all day. "Because I'm leaving." I offer in my most monotonous, bored voice.
The confusion drops off of his expression instantly, replaced by something menacing. Dark and thunderous. A shiver races down my spine as his obsidian eyes lock onto me. "And why would you be doing that?" his voice is razor sharp, and I get to my feet because the image of him looming over me makes me feel infinitesimal and powerless.
"Why do you care?" Alright, so I'm being intentionally difficult. I could just tell him that his dad's coming home, it is good news after all. I should do it but I don't, rather I cross my arms defensively over my chest and give him the most petulant look I can muster.
He chuckles, low and deep. The sound comes from somewhere inside him and sets the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. "Oh, I get it," he takes a step forward and brushes a hand through his damp hair to push it back form his face. "You're running off with your little boy toy again."
"Boy toy?" I ask indignantly, "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I drop my arms to my sides, my hands balling into fists as anger courses through me. I cannot believe the audacity of him! Seems like he's just as angry because he takes a step toward me and goes on.
"So, what? We have a little argument and you go crying to Connor to lick your wounds." That's not exactly how I would've put it. He keeps walking; stepping around the couch, eliminating the one obstacle between us.
"So, what if I am?" I challenge. I don't know what I'm hoping to achieve here but I feel a small wave of triumph as he bites down on his back teeth. His jaw works for a moment and I'm sure I must be smirking.
"You're enjoying this, aren't you? " He asks me as he takes another step forward and that same flutter of excitement shoots down my spine. He keeps walking toward me and on instinct I step back, "You like that this affects me. Are you trying to make me jealous?"
I swallow hard, I don't think I am. "Why would you be jealous?" it comes out sounding much breathier than I would've liked. He keeps stalking forward with the determination and grace of a predatory cat. I have no choice but to back away.
"Do you want me to be?" he cocks his head slightly, a gleam in his raven eyes that has my blood heating in my veins, like liquid fire.
"I-" the sound sticks in my throat and I have to swallow again, "Jealousy implies there's something you want," I start again not entirely certain where I'm going with this. "There isn't anything to be jealous of." My back hits the wall but he doesn't stop advancing on me; not until he's mere inches away.
He's so close I can feel the heat radiating off his skin, smell the earthy, wood scent of him. I could count the flecks of gold in his eyes if I concentrated hard enough but concentration seems to be beyond me now. He takes another slow, deliberate step and I reach out placing my hand against his chest. To stop him, maybe. He looks down at my hand then back up at my face, when I don't push him away he takes another step into my personal space. "Hmm, I don't know about that." His voice is low, a rumbling growl I feel in the palm I've laid against his sternum.
Reaching out he places his hand against the base of my throat, his fingers and thumb brushing the sides of my neck. His palm lays between my collarbones and the heat sears my skin setting my nerves ablaze. "Maybe I'm jealous that he gets to touch you," his voice is soft, a whisper but it echoes in my mind like a shout. He tilts his head slightly to the side, watching my reaction. I think I gasp.
"You're touching me right now," I offer weakly. My breathing ragged and harsh.
He smirks, one side of his mouth pulling up. It doesn't highlight his dimples, for whatever reason that's the only thought in my head right now. "Not the way I want to touch you."
"How do you want to touch me?"
Probably shouldn't have asked that. He raises an eyebrow at me and takes on last step trapping my hand between our bodies. He looks down at my lips, "Let's not ask questions we already know the answers to,"
What is going on? Weren't we just arguing? My mind reels for a moment trying to catch up to what's happening. Dastan runs his thumb across my bottom lip, tugging it free from my teeth. I hadn't realized I'd started chewing on it. There's a fire in his eyes as his hand returns to the bases of my throat, the touch is light. But there's a strong note of possessiveness to it that has my entire being taking notice. In the next second, his grip tightens in my throat holding me in place as he crashes his lips into mine.
The kiss is bruising; demanding and rough. A direct contrast to the soft, whispering tones we were just speaking in. Every thought of why I shouldn't let this happen flies out of my mind. All I can focus on is the feeling of his lips moving against mine, soft and yet so brutal. His hand on my throat, the other gripping my hip and holding me tight to his body. I'm trapped; my back pressed against the wall and my front flush against his chest. Even if I wanted to escape there's nowhere to go. At some point I move my hands, exploring every inch of skin I can reach. I don't remember doing that but now that I've got my hands on him I don't think I can stop.
My every sense is overloaded, there's just him. Nothing else. The taste of him on my tongue, the feel of his skin beneath my fingers, the smell of him surrounding me. It feels like coming home. My heart pounds in my chest wanting to be closer to him, the blood in my veins sings with a power I never thought I'd feel again. There's a heady feeling filling up my lungs and I pull away for air, he let's me go but doesn't stop. Moving his lips along my jaw, down my neck and his hands grip my thighs hoisting me up. I'm forced to wrap my legs around his waist, gripping his shoulders so I don't fall. He presses closer and still its not enough.
I pull his mouth back to mine, laying claim to his lips. Dastan huff a laugh, nothing more than a puff of air against my mouth before taking control again. This is wrong. There are reasons this shouldn't happen, so many. Yet, there isn't a single part of me that wants him to stop. He pulls my shirt over my head and I open my eyes long enough to watch him toss it aside and when he looks at me again his eyes are ravenous. He gives me all of one moment to pant a few desperate breaths before he kisses me again, there's no restraint now and this is far better than anything I could've possibly dreamed up. I need more. I need him.
His name is a song in my bones: Dastan, Dastan, Dastan. I think I might have said it out loud because he makes a sound that causes a flurry of sensation in my stomach. Sliding the straps of my bra off my shoulders, his lips follow the trail of his fingers and I tip my head against the wall biting back whatever sounds are trying to escape past my lips. My breathing shaky at best, I attempt to find even one shred of myself that doesn't want this; there isn't one. I tangle my hands in his hair ready to pull him back to me when a thud echoes through the quiet space. "What in God's name is going on in here?" Haider's stern voice fills the living room.