I didn’t.
Which meant that his mouth found my ear, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the cold.
“Unless, of course,” he murmured against my skin…
“You want me to kiss you.”
28
PERMANENT GUEST
“Unless, of course… You want me to kiss you.”
The question lingered between us and, honestly…I forgot how to breathe.Of course, I didn’t know what to say to that. Instead, I was left suspended in the moment, foolishly hoping he would close the distance and follow through on the promise in his voice.
But he stepped away first, and the loss of his closeness pulled an involuntary sound from me. At the same time, my fingers tightened against him before dropping uselessly into the space he’d reopened.
“Come,” he said quietly, and the word carried something beneath it. As though he regretted leaving the question unanswered as much as I did.
I followed, as there wasn’t much else I could do at that point. My heart was still hammering in my chest, as the memory of his gentle touch still lingered as if now tattooed on my soul. We turned into a secondary corridor where thick carpet swallowed the sound of our footsteps entirely. More ornate, carved wooden doors stood evenly spaced along both sides, their surfaces polished and each adorned with a decorative brass handle. I heldmy breath as we passed them, wondering which one he would finally stop at.
I became acutely aware of his jacket draped over me. The fabric was warm against my skin and carried his scent in a way that felt far too intimate for someone who had kidnapped me. My fingers curled unconsciously into the lapel, and I hated that the gesture felt instinctive. Grounding even, now I was no longer holding onto his arm. He had destroyed stone to soothe my fears, steadied me when I stumbled, and given me his jacket when I was cold. And now he walked beside me through his home as though this were the most natural thing in the world. And the realization that I no longer felt as though I were being led toward a cell unsettled me more than iron bars ever could have.
“You are thinking too much,” he said at last, his voice low enough that it barely disturbed the quiet, yet close enough that I felt it rather than simply heard it.
I looked up at him, not surprised that he’d noticed, but at how easily he’d read me. His expression stayed calm, though there was the faintest tension at the corner of his mouth, like he was holding something back.
“Am I?” I asked, lifting my chin slightly in challenge, though I was aware that my pulse had quickened, which was starting to feel like a habit at this point.
“Yes,” he replied, his gaze sliding over my face in a way that felt far too knowing.
“You are attempting to decide whether you should be more afraid than you are.”
The words struck closer than I would have liked. I studied him carefully then, the steady line of his jaw, the controlled stillness in his posture. The way he moved with quiet confidence through a place that clearly belonged to him. He didn’t crowd me, yet there was never more than a breath between us. Asthough space was something he chose to grant me, as if it were his right to do so.
“And should I be?” I asked softly.
His eyes darkened fractionally, not with threat, but with something deeper, something that felt like restraint rather than menace.
“No,” he said, and the certainty in it left no room for doubt.
We walked a few steps further before he slowed. His hand lifted, not to touch me this time, but to rest against one of the door handles at the end of the hall.
The movement was unhurried, yet I sensed intention in it, as though he had chosen this door long before we had ever reached the top of the stairs. He turned toward me fully then, and the corridor seemed to narrow further, not physically, but because his attention settled entirely on me.
“This will be yours,” he said, his voice low, the words carrying a quiet authority that felt unmistakably possessive.
Yours.
The word lingered between us. My thoughts tangled around it, trying to decide how I felt about this lavish prison. One that came into view when he slowly opened the door. However, he didn’t step inside first but instead, shifted slightly to the side and inclined his head toward the open doorway. Doing so in a gesture that was almost courteous.
“Go on,” he prompted softly, and I hesitated despite myself. Not because I feared what I would find inside, but because of what this moment represented. Crossing another threshold and stepping even deeper into his world.
I was acutely aware of him behind me, close enough that I could feel the warmth of his body at my back, close enough that if I leaned even a fraction, I would make contact. Meaning that if I chose to run now, there would be nowhere to go.
And he knew it.
He stepped forward then, not touching me, but positioning himself just behind my shoulder, his presence a solid wall at my back. It was not subtle. He was ensuring I moved forward rather than away. Ensuring that whatever reaction I had to the room beyond, it would not involve flight.
