“I know. I just…” I don’t know how to explain it. His hands are like an anchor to solid ground. “I don’t want you to let go yet.”
“Then I won’t.”
We stay like that while he traces tiny, soothing circles against my cheekbones with his thumbs, not demanding anything. Just being present.
“Tell me what you need,” he prompts.
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.”
He’s right. I’ve known what I need since he stepped between Semyon and me at the grocery store. Since he bought my daughter shoes and fixed my sink and started checking my locks three times a night.
“I need to not think for a while,” I admit. “I need someone else to be in control. Just for a little bit.”
He cocks his head and eyes me. “You sure about that?”
“Yes.”
“Because I need you to be sure. I’m not him, Daria. I will never be him. But if we do this, you have to trust me. Can you do that?”
I nod.
“Words.”
“Yes. I trust you.”
“Then listen. I’m the only thing you hear.”
Something shifts in his gaze. The softness stays, but something darker joins it.
“He doesn’t get access anymore. Not to your body. Not to your breath. Not to your fear. You’re safe now. Nothing else matters.”
I blink back the tears stinging my eyes.
“You want me to take control? Say it.”
“I want you to take control.”
“If you want me to stop, you say it, and I’ll stop. No questions.”
“Yes.”
“Brave girl. Stay with me. He won't touch you again.”
Heat pools between my thighs at the praise, and then his grip on my face gets tighter, and his mouth is on my neck.
I gasp at the contact. His lips are hot against my pulse point. I feel him smile against my skin when my heartbeat quickens beneath his mouth. He drags his teeth along the column of my throat, just hard enough to make me shiver.
“Still good?” he mumbles against my collarbone.
“Yes. God, yes.”
He pulls back to grab the hem of my shirt. One tug, and it’s over my head and tossed somewhere behind him. The cold air hits my skin, but I barely register it before his hands are on me again. Rough palms slide up my ribs. Calloused fingers trace the curve of my breasts through my bra. He cups me, and I arch into his touch.
Maybe I’ve been starving for years. Maybe I’ve been so focused on surviving that I forgot what it felt like to want something for myself.
He reaches behind me and unclasps my bra with one hand. The fabric falls away, and he stares at my bare chest for a moment. Something dark and hungry flickers in his eyes.
