Chapter 9: First Time

On Wednesday night I crossed the corridor in my bare feet and knocked on his door.

He opened it before my knuckles came down.

He was in an undershirt and black trousers.

The sling hung on the chair behind him, and the stitches showed at the neck of his shirt.

"Nika," he said. "It's one in the morning."

"You said you never touch me."

"I said it to myself."

"You broke it. Twice."

I stepped forward until he had to step back, and I shut the door behind me.

"Now I'm breaking it for you."

"Your father is thirty feet away."

"Then be quiet."

He looked at me for a long moment.

His pale eyes went to my mouth and stayed there.

"I'm your father's man," he said, roughly.

"You're a man in a room with me."

He made a sound low in his chest.

Then his good hand was in my hair and his mouth was on mine.

It wasn't gentle.

Five years of standing on a sidewalk went into it.

I pulled him down by the front of his shirt and opened my mouth under his.

He groaned into it and walked me back against the door.

The wood was cold on my shoulders.

He was hot everywhere else.

"Your shoulder," I breathed.

"I don't care about my shoulder."

"I do."

I turned us both, and walked him backward to the bed until his knees hit it and he sat down.

I stood between his legs.

He tipped his head back and looked up at me with his hand on my hip.

"Say what you want," he said. "Say it out loud."

"I want you to stop being careful."

His jaw tightened.

I pulled my nightshirt over my head and dropped it on the floor.

He took in the sight of me slowly.

"God," he said, hoarsely. "Nika."

His hand slid up my ribs and cupped my breast, and the rough scarred palm made my knees weak.

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