When the crystal pressed into my bottom lip, I opened my mouth and let him pour the cold, refreshing water in, the shock of it making me gasp. It instantly quenched my thirst and soothed the dry, scratchy feeling in my throat, the relief so acute it was almost painful.
He held the glass there, tilting it slowly, carefully, letting me drink deeply. Even as my eyes closed—stupid, stupid, never close your eyes—I could feel him watching me, studying me.
His gaze like a physical touch on my face, my throat, watching me swallow.
When the water was gone and the ice clattered against my front teeth, he took the glass away. A single drop clung to my bottom lip.
His gaze lowered, staring at my mouth, and I was tempted to let my tongue sweep over my lip. But I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't think past the way he was looking at me.
The way he was staring at my mouth made my heart race and my knees weaken for all the wrong reasons.
It wasn't just fear. There was something else, something darker, seductive, coloring the moment. Heat pooled low in my belly even as my brain screamed at me to run, to fight, to dosomething.
He leaned in just a fraction of an inch, close enough his breath fluttered over my lips, warm and steady, and then, without thinking, I licked away the drop of water.
His pupils dilated.
The tip of his own tongue traced his upper lip, slow and deliberate, and the memory slammed into me of his tongue tracing the teardrop from my cheek. The wet heat of it, the shock, the wrongness that somehow felt?—
No.
A warm, unwanted need built in my core, liquid and traitorous.
My hands and my legs trembled as reality crashed back—where I was and what this man had already done to me.
Kidnapped me.
Threatened me.
Put his hands on me, his mouth on my skin.
I couldn't fall under his spell. I needed to stay focused and find a way out of this room and away from this man.
Before I destroyed myself trying to get closer to the flame.
"Why?" I asked, not bothering to hide the shaking in my voice. I wasn’t sure I could even if I wanted to.
"Why?" he repeated, his eyes still focused on my lips, making them tingle with awareness. Like he could touch me without touching me, like his gaze alone was enough to burn.
"Why did you take me? What do you want?" I asked again, forcing the words past the tightness in my throat, ignoring the charged energy between us that thickened and heated the air.
"I need something from you,maya soloveyka," he answered, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
As if kidnapping was just another Tuesday afternoon.
He lifted his hand and I tensed, every muscle coiled tight, ready to bolt even though there was nowhere to run.
He stroked his knuckle over my cheek, the touch featherlight, almost gentle, and I tried to flinch away from him, but there was nowhere to go.
The wall pressed into my spine, cold and unforgiving.
He ran his palm down my throat, briefly resting his fingertips against my pulse point before brushing my hair away from my neck, smoothing the purple strands behind my shoulder.
The way he stared at the delicate column of my throat, the way his thumb traced along my collarbone with a possessive slowness…my skin prickled, my body flooded with awareness.
Electric, unwanted, terrifying.
This was what they meant when they said the devil was beautiful.
