The phrase lingered in the air between us.
“That sounds suspiciously like you’re sugarcoating me being a prisoner.”
“See it as you will,” he replied with a faint lift of one shoulder, his composure unshaken.
“So, I’m allowed to come and go as I please?” I pressed, watching him carefully, and his eyes held mine, unflinching.
Then, after releasing a sigh and a measured pause, he told me,
“If you wish to draw a distinct line, then I am afraid you are not free to leave, no.”
The honesty in it sent a strange ripple through me.
“So, I am right, I am your prisoner, then.”
He didn’t answer directly. Instead, he regarded me with that same steady gaze, the faintest shrug accompanying his silence, as though the distinction mattered less to him than it did to me.
My stomach chose that moment to betray me.
The sound was quiet, but in the stillness of the room, it might as well have echoed. Heat rushed to my cheeks as my hand instinctively pressed against my abdomen. His eyes widened at the sound.
“Moving on to more important matters, I will have some food brought to you.”
“That’s not necessary,” I muttered quickly when his mouth curved faintly.
“I believe your stomach disagrees with you,” he said, the smirk now unmistakable.
I looked away, mortified, though I could feel his gaze lingering, amused rather than mocking.
My attention drifted back to the bed, my fingers brushing once more along the edge of the fabric, tracing the smooth line of it as though it might reveal something hidden beneath the surface.
“You can relax here, Eliza, you are safe,” he said quietly.
“There’s that word again,” I murmured under my breath.
“Which is?” he prompted.
“Safe,” I replied, not looking at him when I said it, and perhaps that was why I didn’t notice him closing the distance until I felt the subtle shift of air in front of me. When I lifted my gaze, he stood directly before me, far closer than before, his presence commanding the space without effort.
I startled slightly at the proximity.
His hand lifted, deliberately slow as if not to startle me, before brushing a loose strand of hair back from my face. His fingers grazing lightly along my temple before tucking it behind my ear. The touch was gentle and close to being tender.
“You will be protected here,” he said softly, as if needing me to understand this. It felt like a promise that settled low in my chest.
“Protected from what?” I asked, my voice quieter now.
“Not what,” he replied, his eyes darkening fractionally.
“Who.”The shift in emphasis made my pulse stumble.
“Protected from you?” I dared to ask, lifting my chin slightly despite the way my body betrayed me with a faint shiver. For a fleeting second, something flashed in his eyes, a glint of silver that did not belong to any candlelight. He leaned down slowly, his mouth hovering near my ear, close enough that the warmth of his breath traced along my skin.
“Do you want to be?”he whispered, the question low, almost a growl.
My eyes closed before I could stop myself as I was too afraid to speak, worried about what my answer might be. Especially when the corner of his mouth brushed my neck. Not quite a kiss at first, just the faintest press of warmth against my skin before his lips followed a sensual path along my flesh. A tremor moved through me that I could not disguise.
He felt it.
