Page 46 of My Turkish Fling
“Thank you,” I whispered. “I feel so much better here, with you. I thought I could be strong but—”
“You don’t have to be strong, Janie. Not tonight.”
His voice was velvety dark now, perfectly in sync with the night. I felt it deep in my belly, like he was drawing everything out of me I needed to keep hidden. I wanted to curl up in his lap and weep, and I hated myself for it.
“If you want to get changed, go ahead. I’ll try to look the other way,” I said brusquely, throwing a grin at him. “I might be tempted to peek, but I can use this blanket to build a barricade between us.”
I started pulling the blanket off him, to pile it up in the middle of the bed, but he held onto his end. “It’s okay. I’ll just take my shirt off right here.” He began unbuttoning it.
He looked so awkward I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I’d highjacked his bed and he must have felt obligated to let me stay, after a night like this, even though he’d rather sleep alone.
“Do you sleep in the nude, or…?” I felt my cheeks warm up.
“Not usually.”
“Then go get your pajamas. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”
I snatched the blanket off him to get him moving, and that’s when I saw it. The huge, almost purple erection poking out from under the hem of his shirt like a big fat sundial. I stared at it, blinking.
Emir sighed. “As you can see, I’m already a bit uncomfortable.” His voice sounded matter of fact, almost apologetic as he unbuttoned the shirt, peeled it off and threw it over a chair.
He was officially naked. I was in bed with a gorgeous, naked man who had an erection—one he was no longer trying to hide. He looked down at his crotch, then at me, as if resigned to the fact that the cat was out of the bag. And what a large, thick, veiny cat it was.
Look away, Janie. Away. Away is not his crotch.
As I turned to stare at the door, my mind finally connected the dots. He must have been touching himself. I’d walked in on him masturbating, yet he’d still let me in, worried that I was in danger. It was unbelievable.
I brought my hand to my mouth, trying to stop the nervous giggle. “I’m so sorry! Were you…? Did I interrupt you…?”
“It’s okay,” he said. I felt the blanket shift as he pulled it up tocover himself again. “I was trying to keep it to myself.”
Heat bloomed between my thighs at the thought of him stroking himself. Up to this moment, I’d never even imagined him masturbating. Of course, he did. Everybody did. But Emir seemed so controlled it didn’t fit my image of him. Who did he think about? What did he look like when he came? What happened to that crease on his forehead? I needed to know all these things, and more. The feeling grew like a crazy tickle in my throat, one I couldn’t shake, and words coughed their way out.
“I know you don’t want to sleep with me, but I’d be happy to help,” I swallowed against the roughness in my throat, casting my eyes at the teepee in his lap. “I mean, we need to do something about that.”
There. I’d officially begged for sex. Good one, Janie. If there was a way to go even lower, I’d find it.
He gave me an odd look, his eyebrows twitching. “You think I don’t want to sleep with you?”
Was he for real? I stared back, my eyes dry from the prolonged gawking. “Well... I keep throwing myself at you and you keep turning me down.”
He let out a deep sigh, turning to face me. A vein pulsed on his temple as he searched for words, his gaze circling the room, then returning to me, sweeping down the loose hair that spilled over my shoulders, hiding the hardened nipples that tried to poke through the thin camisole, as the rest of me hid under the blanket.
“Janie.” His gravelly voice sent tremors through me. “What we should or shouldn’t do has nothing to do with what I want. I’mhard because of you.”
“Because of me?” I squeaked.
He shifted closer, pulling on the scrunched-up blanket until it was taut across our laps, and we sat side by side, him naked underneath, me in my pajama bottoms. As he pivoted to face me, his knee poked my leg and I caught sight of that erection again, partially hiding under the covers. “I’m sorry.” He raised his hand and brushed it down my cheek, his fingers curled, like he couldn’t quite bring himself to touch me. “I’m not practiced at this.”
“Me neither,” I admitted, turning to match his posture, my legs folded in lotus pose.
“How do you do that?” He gestured at the way I sat, trying to do the same while awkwardly pulling the blanket to cover himself.
It wasn’t even vaguely the same posture, his knees sticking up under the blanket, arms looped around them to keep from kicking me. Long, muscular, painfully stiff legs. Poor guy. Who was hard because of me. Had he meant to say that? The words vibrated in my body like aftereffects of a massage, releasing shiver after shiver. I never wanted it to stop.
“It’s a bed,” I said, biting my lip to keep from smiling too hard. “Maybe we can just lie down rather than try to sit up properly like we’re at a tea party.”
“Feels more like a Pilates class,” he grumbled, but accepted my suggestion.
