"Ilay—"
"Please." His voice cracks. "Please, I need more, I need you, please let me have more."
I move my hand slightly, allowing him another inch. He pushes in immediately, groaning at the feeling. "More," he begs. "Please, angel, please, just a little more."
"That's enough."
"It's not enough." His voice is rough. "Please, angel, please, just move your hand, let me—"
I slide my hand down further, allowing him halfway now. He pushes in immediately, breathing harshly. "All of it," he begs, his hips moving faster, trying to push past where my hand is stopping him. "Please, move your hand, let me have all of you, please, I need it, I need you so badly."
"Beg me properly," I hear myself say.
"Please." His voice is desperate. "Please, angel, I'm begging you, I need you, I need all of you, please move your hand, please let me in, I'll do anything, please." I move my hand down just a little more, allowing him maybe five or six inches but not all the way in. He groans, pushing in to where my hand allows. "More," he begs. "Please, just a little more."
"This is enough," I whisper, keeping my hand firm, controlling exactly how deep he can go. He starts moving within that limit, thrusting as deep as my hand allows, and the sensation makes both of us moan. "Please," he gasps. "Just let me—"
"No," I breathe, but my voice is shaking, my body is responding to every thrust even though I'm the one controlling it. His hips move faster within the constraint I've set. I'm getting close, the friction building inside me, and he can feel me tightening around him. "Let me have all of you," he begs between thrusts. "Please, angel."
His phone rings. He stops moving immediately, his whole body going rigid. I keep my hand where it is, wrapped around him, controlling the depth even though we've both frozen. The phone keeps ringing. He pulls out completely, and I let my hand fall away, turning my face to the side, refusing to look at him. "I have to take this," he says, his voice strained. I don't respond, instead I pull my robe closed, covering myself.
The phone stops ringing. Then immediately starts again. He curses, then grabs the phone from the nightstand. "What?" he answers, irritated. I can't hear what the person on the other end is saying, but I watch his expression change to seriousness. "When?" he asks. More talking from the other end. "I'll be there in an hour." He ends the call, then looks down at me.
I'm still not looking at him, staring at the wall instead. He leans down, kisses me slowly, my stupid self kisses back. When he pulls back, there's regret in his eyes. "When I get back, we're finishing this."
"No, we're not," I say quietly.
"Yes, we are." He stands up, and puts on his clothes. I sit up, pulling my robe tighter around myself, then watch him button his shirt.
"Where are you going?" I ask.
"I'm Meeting with the German mafia boss," he says simply. "Since I've been in his territory for two weeks, I need to visit, and say hello, but you wouldn't know about that."
"I wouldn't know anything about that," I say. "Because I don't want to be part of this world."
He crosses back to the bed, leans down to kiss me one more time. "I'll be back soon. Behave yourself. And don't try that stunt you tried last week, you almost broke your leg jumping from the balcony." I meet his eyes, keeping my expression neutral even though my mind is already racing. His eyes narrow. "I can see it on your face, you're already planning something."
"I'm not."
"You are." He kisses me again, my lips have to be swollen by now, he steals kisses from me every chance he gets. "But you won't get far, you never do." Then he leaves.
I wait until I hear his car pull away before I move. I look down at my body still humming with unfulfilled need, at how close I came to letting him have everything. I hate him. But I wanted him to finish what he started. And that terrifies me more than anything else.
• • •
I spend the next four hours in a state of paralyzed waiting. I sit on the bed with a book I'm not reading, acting normal for the hidden cameras I know are watching. Around 2:00 PM, I crack the window to let the fresh air in.
Scritch.
A sound from the trellis outside. My heart stops. I look up just as a hand grips the sill. A man hauls himself through my window. I scramble back on the bed, my mouth opening to scream, but he holds up his hands. "Quiet." He is tall, with cropped hair and two jagged scar running down the left side of his face. "I'm not here to hurt you. Your father sent me."
My throat goes dry. "How do I know you're telling the truth? How do I know you're not just someone trying to use me?"
He pulls out his phone, and shows me a picture of him standing next to my dad. Relief crashes through me. "He found me."
"He's been looking for you for two weeks." He glances nervously at the door. "Put on something you can move in. We don't have time." I run to my closet, pulling on jeans and a Green sweater. When I come back out, he's at the window, watching something outside. "I've been watching the guard rotations," he says. "They pass by your window every ten minutes. In two minutes, there's going to be an explosion in the kitchen. They'll have to respond. That gives us three minutes to get off the property. You understand?"
"Yes."
