He Lost His Place Protecting Me, So I Took the Whole Family novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: The Hall

Drita opens her door to the man on the hall floor and they go to his bed, where she tells him he can end it any day and she takes him inside her.

I opened the bedroom door in his white undershirt and nothing else.

He stood up off the hall floor so fast that his shoulder hit the wall.

He had taken off his jacket and tie.

His shirt was open at the throat, his feet were bare, and he had not slept.

"Drita. Go back in."

"It's quiet," I said.

He stopped.

"You told me to ask you again when it's quiet. It's one in the morning. The whole house is asleep."

"You don't have to," he said.

"I know I don't. I'm telling you."

I stepped over the threshold into the hall, close enough to feel the heat of him.

"I didn't come to your wrist because it was nearest," I said. "I walked the whole hall to it."

His eyes went over my face, slowly, looking for something.

I do not know what he found.

He put his hand flat on the wall beside my head.

"Before anything," he said. "The word ends the day you say it ends. Not me. You."

"I won't say it."

"You can say it in the morning, or in a month, or in a minute. I'm out of your door and you owe me nothing."

"Luan," I said.

"Say you heard."

"I heard. Now kiss me."

He did.

He kissed me against the hall wall with his whole body.

I got my hands inside his open shirt and felt him, hot and hard-muscled.

Under his ribs on the left there was a long ridged scar.

I dragged my nails down it, and he groaned.

He lifted me by the backs of my thighs, and my legs went around his waist.

He carried me into his bedroom without taking his mouth off mine.

He laid me on the bed.

The lamp was off, but the streetlight came through the blinds in bars across the sheets.

He stood over me and took off his shirt.

He was broad and dark-haired and heavy through the shoulders, with a gray hair or two on his chest.

I had imagined him a hundred times in two years.

I had never imagined him this slowly.

"Take it off," he said, and he meant the undershirt.

I sat up and pulled it over my head and let it drop.

His breath went out of him.

"Mine," he said, very low.

Then he was on the bed with his mouth on my breast.

He licked my nipple and drew it in and sucked, hard enough that I cried out.

His other hand closed on my other breast and squeezed.

I wound my fingers into his hair.

Every pull of his mouth went straight between my legs.

"I need you inside me," I said.

"Not yet."

"I'm wet. I've been wet since the kitchen."

"I know. I could taste it," he said.

I made a furious sound.

He laughed against my skin, a short, low, rusty laugh I had never heard from him once.

I pushed at his shoulder until he rolled onto his back.

I knelt over him and undid his trousers myself.

He lifted his hips to help me, and I pulled them down with his shorts.

I looked.

I could not help it.

He was thick and long and dark with blood, and he lay heavy against his stomach.

I took him in my hand.

He hissed through his teeth and his head went back on the pillow.

I stroked him slowly, root to tip, and a bead of wet came up at the top.

I rubbed my thumb through it.

"Drita," he said. "Careful."

"Why?"

"Because I want to last," he said.

"Do you?"

"Yes," he said.

"Then be careful too."

He took my wrist and pulled my hand away.

He rolled me under him in one move, and his weight came down on me, solid and warm.

I loved it.

"I'm on the pill," I said. My voice shook. "Since I was twenty-five. And I'm clean."

"I haven't touched anyone in over a year," he said. "I'm clean too."

He settled between my thighs.

I felt the broad blunt head of him at my entrance, and he did not push.

He waited, and he looked down at me, and his face was not calm anymore.

"Look at me," he said. "Keep your eyes open."

"I'm looking."

He pushed in.

It was slow, and it was a lot.

He stretched me open an inch at a time.

I gasped and dug my heels into the backs of his legs.

He stopped each time I flinched and began again when I breathed out.

When he was all the way in, he stayed there.

His forehead came down against mine.

"Okay?" he said, rough.

"More than okay. Move."

He moved.

He pulled back almost all the way and sank into me again, deep and even.

My whole body opened for it.

I wrapped my legs around his waist and met him, and the bed started to creak.

"Faster," I said.

"Say please."

"Please. Luan, please, faster, harder."

He gave it to me.

He took both my wrists and pinned them above my head with one hand.

He drove into me hard, and the sound of it was wet and loud in the dark room.

"That's it," he said through his teeth. "That's my good girl. Take it."

I was crying out with every thrust, and I did not care who heard.

He let go of my wrists and caught my knee.

He pushed it up and back until my calf lay over his shoulder.

The angle opened me, and he sank in deeper than before.

I screamed.

"More," I said.

"Say it."

"Fuck me deeper. Please. I can take it."

"I know you can," he said.

He gave me every inch, slow and rolling, with his eyes on my face.

My toes curled against his shoulder.

His free hand slid between us and found my clit.

He rubbed it in tight little circles while he fucked me.

"Come for me again," he said.

"I can't. It's too much."

"You can. I've got you. Let go."

I let go.

The orgasm broke up through my whole body.

I clenched around him so hard that he swore, long and low.

He drove in one last time and held there, shaking.

He did not come.

He pulled out of me, gasping, and pressed his face into the side of my neck.

"Not yet," he said. "I'm not finished with you."

He rolled onto his back and pulled me up on top of him.

I sat astride his hips, breathless, with my hair all over my face.

He pushed it back with both hands.

"Now you," he said. "Take what you want."

I understood him.

I reached down between us and wrapped my hand around him, still slick from me.

I guided him in and sank onto him slowly.

I heard the sound he made.

It was low and helpless, and it was the sound of him giving up.

"God," I said.

"Ride me."

I started to move.

I rocked my hips back and forth, and then up and down.

I found a pace that put him against exactly the right place, and my head fell back.

He held my hips and let me set it.

His eyes never left my face.

"That's it," he said. "Use me. Show me what you like."

"Like this. I like this."

"Then do it harder."

I did.

I put my hands flat on his chest and rode him until my thighs burned.

Sweat ran between my breasts, and he watched all of it with his mouth open.

"I'm close," I said.

"I know. I can feel you."

"Come with me," I said.

"Drita."

"Come inside me. Please."

He gripped my hips hard and thrust up into me as I came down.

The third orgasm hit me so hard I screamed.

He came with me.

I felt him pulse deep inside me, hot and hard, and he said my name in a broken voice, again and again.

I fell down onto his chest.

He wrapped both arms around me and held on.

We lay there with our hearts pounding against each other.

For a long time neither of us said anything.

The light moved slowly across the ceiling.

"Ardian was kind to me," I said into his skin. "I don't want you to think I'm doing this against him."

"I don't."

"I never lied to him once."

"I know," Luan said, very quietly. "He was a good man. I'd have stood in front of a bus for him."

I lifted my head.

He was looking at the ceiling, and a muscle moved in his jaw.

"But this is not for him," he said. "I want you to know that. Whatever this is, it's not for him."

I laid my head down again.

He pulled the sheet over my back, and I slept with his heartbeat under my cheek.

I woke at four with him hard against my back.

He lay behind me, curled around me, one arm under my head.

He was not asking for anything.

I pushed my hips back against him, and he breathed out against my neck.

"Drita," he said, thick with sleep.

"Slowly."

He lifted my top leg over his thigh.

He slid into me from behind, easy and deep, and I was still wet and open from before.

He moved in long, lazy strokes, with his mouth on my shoulder.

His hand stroked my clit in the same rhythm.

I came quietly, with a shudder, and he did not follow.

He stayed hard inside me and breathed against my ear.

"Not done," he said.

He eased out, and I made a sound of protest.

He rolled me onto my stomach and slid a pillow under my hips.

I lay flat with my cheek on the sheet, open and lifted, and felt him settle his weight over my back.

He pushed in slowly, and the angle was new.

It pressed him against the front of me with every inch.

"Oh, that's," I said, and lost the rest.

"Tell me."

"That's deeper. That's so deep."

He laced his fingers through mine beside my head and pinned my hands to the mattress.

He moved in long, patient drives, and the pillow rubbed my clit every time he sank.

"Good girl," he said into my hair. "Stay just like that."

"I can't be quiet."

"Don't be."

I wasn't.

I came again with my mouth open against the sheet, and he buried himself to the root and followed me with a low, shaking groan.

He stayed on me, heavy and warm, until our breathing matched.

Then we slept again.

I woke to gray light, and the radiator banging, and his arm heavy across my waist.

The clock said ten past six.

Somebody was knocking on the front door of the flat, small and sharp and patient.

Luan opened his eyes at once.

"That's not Ermal," he said.

He was already out of bed, pulling on his trousers.

The knock came again, and then an old woman's voice called through the wood in Albanian.

"Open the door, you two. I've brought her clothes."

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