“Easy.Easy,” he murmurs. “Push my hand out with your breath.”
I inhale, focusing on the weight of his palm as my abdomen expands.
“There she is. Just like that. Good girl, Cecilia.”
Something molten and luscious unfurls somewhere within me as his words register, and I realize what’s happening. He’s praising me. No—he’shelpingme.
Why would he do that?
The hand he keeps on my chin relaxes slightly, and that’s when it dawns on me—reallydawns on me—that it’s there. That he has full control over my body. Him. My stalker.
As if on cue, more of that same rush of heat courses through me again. My knees buckle before I force them straight. What the hell is this?I should pull away, fight his tight grip with everything I’ve got. But with every stroke of his fingers against my dress, more parts of me choose surrender, disregarding the rational thoughts in my head.
It’s alright. He’s still behind bars, I tell myself, as if it’s supposed to mean anything.
As my mind grapples with my insane thoughts, my lungs benefit from the distraction. They begin to expand and contract normally, letting the air flow in and out. And Mikhail…he’s silent now. So am I.
His warm body moves against mine as he breathes, strong and foreign, not letting me forget how close we are. It’s like I’m in the hourglass again, but the sand is gone, replaced by his ghostly presence.
For a moment, fear reignites, licking down my spine.
Then, his hands shift position: from my chin to my neck, from my abdomen to my trembling thigh.
He lets out a hushed laugh. “Look at you, coming to me like a needy pet tonight.”
I exhale, my breath a little uncertain. “I didn’t come toyou. I needed to be somewhere else for a while.”
“That so? Cause I don’t see you trying to get away from me this time.”
Shame coils around me at hearing the truth out loud, and when I try to pull away from his grip, I can’t.
“We did make a bargain, though, did we not?” When only my breathing answers for me, he presses on. “Now, where is my cigarette,Lastochka? Here, perhaps?” His hand slides from my thigh to the slit of my dress until his fingertips touch skin, making me jolt.
“Y-You said nothing inappropriate,” I remind him. My wrist flies to his hand, and when I try to push it away, I’m met with unrelenting strength.
“And you said cigarette, not a lousy bowl of caviar. Besides,” he murmurs, amused, “this is hardly inappropriate. You have no idea how generous I’m being right now.”
His fingertips skitter across my skin, turning in small, gentle circles. It’s just my thigh, and yet, he might as well be touching me everywhere. That same molten fire spills down my spine, my shallow breathing enkindling the flames farther down.
“What were you looking for?” he asks. “When you came down here. What did you need?”
I bite down a whimper, refusing to let either of us hear it. “Quiet. Nothingness… A distraction.”
“Ah,” he drawls, bringing that torturous hand further into the slit of my dress, picking at the white lace beneath it with his fingertips. “Princess life bittersweet?”
“H-He wants me to marry,” I confess.
I don’t know why I do it—maybe to tell someone other than myself about the horrible night, or maybe to see if he even cares. Because why did he stalk me? Why did he make me lose my mind, only to help me find it when I almost lost it again through my panic attack? “Threw a party with hisCapiand their sons tonight. Not that it’s any of your business.”
For a moment, his fingers still. “Did he now?”
I nod, feeling the weight of his hand wrapped around my throat again. “Will you tell me why you’re here? This might as well be the last time we talk.”
His head tilts, lips brushing the back of my neck as he speaks. “I’m here to save you, Cecilia.”
A nervous laugh escapes me. Save me? I don’t know what I was expecting, but it isn’t that. “A bit late for that. Look at where you are.”
And there it is—that slow, delirious movement of his hand brushing the top of my lace panties, pretending to slip inside but never actually doing it at all.
