He says nothing, just tucks me. When he’s done, I turn over, messing his hard work up as he slips under the covers.
I wiggle closer and inhale. He smells wonderful.
“No touching. I’m warning you.”
“Will I ever get to touch?” I ask, my hand hovering over his chest.
He doesn’t say anything, just reaches up and turns off the light, enveloping us in darkness.
My hand moves between us, my breathing accelerating. I shouldn’t like the darkness this much, not when it was used to torture me, used as a punishment. But I get perverse pleasure from it. Knowing that I beat it. Beat him. It took years, but I overcame, used it to my advantage, and now I can find pleasure in it.
He never expected that, I’m sure.
Death’s face floats through my mind, the sneer and evil curl of his lips, the way his eyes were filled with so much disdain in the shadows. I push my face into the pillow, and I slide my hands up the sheets to find purchase on something. And by accident, my fingers graze his side.
“Fuck. What did I say? Do not touch me,” he grunts.
I stiffen and blink my eyes open. He’s never spoken so gruffly to me before. And it wasn’t like I meant to touch him. I was just trying to get the image out of my head. The images of my past, of the man who tormented me.
“Don’t speak to me that way,” I murmur. “I didn’t mean to do it.”
When he doesn’t apologize, I wiggle across the mattress to the other side, turning my back on him.
“Bane.” My name is uttered gently, but I discard it. Just like he did to me.
“You know, I shouldn’t even sleep here. You’re mean to me. I deserve better.”
Georgiy lets out a long breath but says nothing. And I tell myself I’ll leave in a minute after I compose myself. I shouldn’t give him anything more, but once again, I close my eyes and end up falling asleep.
11
GEORGIY
Ihear him in the middle of the night, whispers and pleas. He’s remembering. And it’s not just Henry. It’s the man who tortured him all those years ago.
I will find that monster too and take him apart. Just like I did when I found the men who hurt me. Who took the skin from my back, piece by piece. I cut them apart, the screams of their pain and anguish a symphony to my ears.
I don’t comfort Bane, though. I just listen to him, taking in the sounds of his distress and letting it build inside me. The rage, the utter need for destruction.
I would hold him, try to calm him like he needs me to, but I can’t stand it. The brush of his fingers against me almost made me feral. The way I enjoyed it.
The way I would ravage him if I let his hands brush against my body.
The way I would own him.
Bane sneaks out in the morning while I pretend to be asleep, but despite his attempt, he’s loud, making a ruckus as he trips over items he threw on the floor.
Blyat.
I hurt his feelings when I snapped at him on the phone, distracted by my mission to find the person responsible for hurting him. I was too focused. I used to do it to interns when I was in surgery as well. I don’t like to be interrupted.
Why do I even care what he feels?
Why do I care?
But the way he turned his back on me in bed, how he didn’t wiggle closer and closer…
I stalk down to the kitchens to find him, to apologize, but I can’t locate him. I do find Agatha, who just glares at me.
