Jack and Djinn (The Houri Legends, #1)(30)
She slept deeply without dreaming.
Hours later she was woken by Ben’s hands exploring her body. Dim gray light filtered through the blinds, and Ben’s lips kissed her shoulder, her neck, her ear. The fires within her remained banked and cold. His fingers caressed the curve of her hip, slid up her belly and tender ribcage to the swell of her breasts, cupping them, crushing them with unthinking strength.
This was his way of apologizing. She wanted to scream—she wanted to roll away and run. Part of her wanted to bash his skull in and watch him bleed out onto the pillow. Miriam was startled by the violence of that thought, but she let herself taste the idea, mulling it over in her mind. It didn’t scare her the way it should. It excited her a little. It was the idea of fighting back that excited her, she realized, not the actual violence itself, and for that she was relieved. She remembered how free she had felt speaking her mind to Ben. The beating had almost been worth it for that brief moment of freedom.
His fingers were down between her legs and his mouth was on hers, and she let him do what he wanted, not resisting, not engaging. Numb and empty. Ben didn’t notice the difference. He grabbed her hand and guided it to his semi-rigid manhood, and she did what he wanted. The sooner he finished, the sooner she could go back to sleep. The thought of another fight filled her with dread and exhaustion and fear: She wasn’t ready to face him. Not yet. She retreated into the numb center of herself, letting the coldness wash over her as Ben straddled her, hands by her shoulders, his weight pressing her into the mattress. She focused her gaze into the middle distance, staring at the white expanse of the wall beside the bed.
Jack’s face filled her thoughts, and she tried to push it away. The memory of his hands on her skin filled her, creating a breath of catalyzing wind on the banked fires inside her. No. She fought against it. If she let herself respond to the memories of Jack, it would encourage Ben. She refused to think of Jack when Ben was above her, grunting, every thrust bruising her pelvic bones with blind force. He neared climax, and the pain of his forceful thrusting sent Miriam deeper into herself. Her only escape was Jack, his face, his kindness the only positive memory she could summon to blanket the pain.
At that moment Ben pressed a palm against her broken ribs, leaning on her as he climaxed. The agony of his weight ignited her rage, took the fire inside her from warm banked coals to a burning inferno in an instant. She shoved him away with sudden strength, sending him flying off the bed to slam against the wall.
Heat washed through her, a now-familiar feeling. She felt power shuddering in her soul, felt it reach out and snake from her into Ben, latching onto him and vanishing inside. She’d never paid close attention to what happened in this moment before. She’d confused the rush of orgasm with the flux of power within her, but now, with her body’s desires tamped and cold, Miriam sought to understand exactly what she was feeling within herself when the power—the magic— burst out of her soul.
She felt it leap from within herself and out to Ben, felt it wrap around him. She closed her eyes and imagined herself as a spirit, incorporeal and ethereal. She followed the magic on its journey, caught a fragmentary glimpse of a roiling ocean of energy inside her, a sea of magic boiling and raging like fire and magma. The glimpse was so brief, but what she saw took her breath away. Then, in the next moment, she was an invisible, nonphysical observer following the flow of magic, a jet stream of gold and silver sparks and coiling explosions of color spanning the spectrum.
The current of magic arced from her and into Ben, into his heart, digging into the core of his deepest desires, wrapping around the strongest element it found there within him. Suddenly, the image expanded and became a physical entity. There was a flash of light, and Miriam was thrown back into herself.
This was followed by a moment of disorientation when Miriam was still seeing the burst of magic like a shower of sparks from a bonfire, like stars falling in silver lines, like shafts from the sun refracting through a prism into shimmering rainbow light.
Then she was herself again, a woman physical and exhausted and hurting. Ben was lying next to her, moaning, but Miriam ignored him, trying to hold on to the sense of power she’d felt within herself.
A confused female voice spoke from the corner of the bedroom. “Wh-what the f*ck is going on?”
Miriam started, gasping. She looked over to see a woman standing by the door, clad in black lace lingerie, huge, fake, pale breasts spilling out of the skimpy bustier, blonde hair teased out, full lips caked with bright red lipstick, eyes darkened with heavy makeup. The woman crossed her arms over her chest self-consciously, and looked over to the bed at Ben.
“Ben, is that you?” the girl asked. “What am I doing here in your room? What time is it? How did I get here?” She obviously knew Ben, and was familiar enough with his bedroom to recognize it.
Ben was getting to his feet gingerly, looking from Miriam to the other girl. “Rachel?” he mumbled. “What’re you doing here?” He rubbed his eyes, as if to make sense of what he was seeing.
When the magic had latched onto Ben’s deepest desire, it had woven itself around this girl, dressed in this lingerie. His desire was now flesh and blood, standing here in his room.
“Who is this, Ben?” Miriam demanded. She heard the anger in her voice, drawing confidence from it.
The girl, whom Ben had called Rachel, echoed Miriam’s words. “Who is this, Ben?”
Ben looked from Miriam, naked and clutching the sheet to her body, to Rachel, standing in front of him in a sheer negligée. Ben’s eyes and body revealed his desire for Rachel, despite having Miriam next to him. He struggled for words. “I—this, uh…shit. I don’t know. How did you get here, Rach? Miriam, did you do this?”