Page 65 of Afraid to Hope

“Yep.”

“Well, fuck you.” Natasha was sorry as soon as the words were out of her mouth. She had crossed a line, one she’d sworn she’d never even toe. “Do not patronize me. Ever.”

Bane glanced behind him and braked the car hard, swerving it to the shoulder and off the pavement. The SUV dipped and rocked until he brought it to an abrupt stop in the desolate landscape, some distance from and below the A2 highway. The motion brought Natasha within inches of his stony, unreadable face. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and took off his sunglasses. “Don’t ever tell me to fuck off.” Heat poured from Bane’s body as he leaned in closer. “You’re mercurial as fuck.”

“You do not get to tell me—”

“I’m not patronizing you,” he said evenly. “I’m trying to reach you, and you’re reacting like this because you feel cornered.” Bane rolled down the windows and turned off the car. He unlatched his seat belt and faced her. “Let’s have this out. Right now.”

Natasha reached to unlock her door.

“I wouldn’t. Your sandals aren’t going to provide much protection.”

She paused, her back to him. Rigid. Silent.

“Scared?”

“Look here,” she said angrily, whipping around, beating her stiff finger into his chest. Her fury snapped and snarled like a flag in a high summer storm, and along with it, her heat. “You’re pissing the shit out of me.”

They both felt it the split instant before her mouth crashed over his, out of control. Ravaged. Broken. She claimed and she took. But what Natasha didn’t realize was that in the act of taking, she was giving all of herself, exposing all of herself, and giving Bane exactly what he craved. Her hands clawed at his shirt and pulled it over his head, then her nails raked down his back.

Hungry, so hungry. Impatiently and roughly, she undid the buckle of his pants and yanked at his button and zipper. Bane lifted his hips. Natasha wrenched his pants and boxers past his hips and pulled her skirt up and panties to the side, mounting him, sheathing him in one demanding, rough stroke. She glared at him, then kissed him harshly, meeting softness, whimpering as he slid his tongue into her mouth.

He kissed like he teased, with slow and unrelenting skill, caressing her mouth with his tongue and his lips while she battled with her tormentor. Bane moved easily within her juices as she rode him hard and wild, his hands gently bracketing her hips, allowing her full control. Except with the kisses.

Natasha’s eyes were glazed with lust. She grabbed his hair, feeling the shape of his skull, and lowered her head again and inhaled his scent. Her lips hovered over his, then she nipped his lower lip and sucked on it. A deep animal moan escaped before she convulsed violently and collapsed against him, spent, gripping tightly. Her heart banged around in her chest, and Natasha panted as if she’d run for her life, which she had.

Bane slid his tongue over the shallow of her neck before sucking softly and holding her snugly, his breathing matching hers, his galloping heart matching hers. Smiling, he parked his chin in her mass of damp curls.

The Amazigh village of Bhalil was nestled in the foothills of the Atlas Mountains and some twenty miles south of Fes. The village featuredeclectically colored homesinpastel hues of blue, pink, and yellow and had over five hundred caves dating back to the fourth century. Most of them housed cattle and sheep, but others were shops or homes of Bhalil residents who used the caves as their primary rooms and added bedrooms and private areas above.The cave homes had the same facades as aboveground houses.

Natasha and Bane presented their passports and checked into a cozy boutique guesthouse, the only one in Bhalil and situated on the edge of Old Town.

“We’d like the honeymoon suite,” Bane stated.

Imsen, their host, spoke excellent English. “I don’t have that, but I will give you my finest room. How long have you been married?”

“One month,” Natasha answered groggily. She had promptly fallen into a deep sleep in the passenger seat after climbing off Bane and readjusting her skirt.

“Best wishes,” he said, handing Bane the room key. “A farm-to-table breakfast is served poolside daily. You are welcome to take it to your room. Dinner is optional. However, for planning purposes, will you be dining at the guesthouse tonight or traveling out of town for dinner?”

“We’ll be joining you and your other guests. Thank you, Imsen,” Bane said.

Natasha’s eyes traveled their large room—the ceiling, with rough-hewn beams over thin timbers; the built-in, handcrafted cabinets and lampshades; the metalwork; colorful bedding; and rug. “Wow. This is really nice. It’s certainly authentic. Thanks for asking for the upgrade.”

“You’re welcome.”

Natasha faced Bane, his simple reply attracting her attention. The air between them crackled. Unable to tear her gaze from the desire smoldering in his, she felt her heart rate spike and an acute ache rooted deep in her belly.

His slow, cocksure smirk widened into a sexy smile. He closed the door behind him and locked it, holding out his hand. “Let’s give the shower a go. See how long the warm water lasts.”

Natasha took it and followed him to the bathroom.

Hungry, Natasha and Bane searched for somewhere to eat in the charming, well-kept village. They were beckoned into a food store where Natasha struggled to feed herself with her right hand.

“You’re a slob.” He grinned. Having finished eating, he settled back onto his floor cushion.

“You try eating with your nondominant hand.”

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