“Right.” I glance up and down Nina’s body and once again realize she’s not even half my size. “Your father tortures me, and you make sure I don’t die from it.”
She pushes the needle through my skin, and I ignore the sting.
“It’s my duty,” she replies.
After taking a deep breath, I almost chuckle. “Duty. Is that what you call helping him slice and dice me?”
“Careful, Georgi,” she mutters as she continues to stitch me up. “I’m the one who decides how much blood you’re losing tonight.”
My gaze lowers to her neck, and I notice how her pulse is fluttering in her throat.
She’s fucking nervous.
I keep quiet while she finishes the stitches, trying to figure out this enigma of a woman.
She’s Boris’ daughter, but they leave her alone with me.
I glance over her petite frame again.
There’s no way she’ll ever be able to hold her own against me in a fight. Even restrained, I could easily kill her right now.
I’ve heard how the guards and Boris speak to her, and it’s clear they don't give a flying fuck about her safety.
When she steps down from the bucket, she pulls a tin from her pocket, and as she removes the lid, she walks around me.Her fingers touch the bruised skin on my lower back, her touch gentle, and soon cool relief spreads over my aching muscles.
She works carefully and lingers on the spots where the pain is at its worst.
It feels so good, my eyes drift shut, and I rest the side of my head against my bicep again.
Nina’s hands move up to my shoulders, and I can’t hold back the groan when she massages the tense muscles.
She pauses for a couple of seconds, and when she continues, I feel the slight tremble in her hands.
After a while, when she’s done all she can to relieve my pain, I ask, “You massage people often?”
Staying behind me, she replies softly, “No.” Darting toward the cabinet, her words are laced with nervous tension. “You needed it.”
Done putting the tin away and pulling out a fresh cloth, she glances at me as she walks to the sink to wet it.
Returning to me, Nina climbs onto the bucket again, and when our eyes finally lock, something shifts between us.
We stare for a long moment until my gaze drifts to her mouth before lifting again. I’m surprised when a flush forms on her cheeks.
The attraction I felt last night returns, and I see it reflected on her face.
Breaking the stare, she begins to clean the rest of the blood from my face and neck. Eventually, she steps off the bucket, and after rinsing the cloth, she comes back and continues to wipe my chest clean.
Wanting to see how she’ll react, I keep my voice low and intimate. “Nina.”
She goes still.
The silence that follows feels weighted by all the things neither of us should be feeling because it’s pretty clear to me that she’s also attracted to me.
When she finally risks another glance, I don’t hide what I’m feeling. With hooded eyes, I keep looking at her, hoping that if I can make her attraction toward me grow into something more solid she might set me free.
Her breathing speeds up a little, but then she tosses the bloody rag into the sink and rushes toward the door.
When she suddenly stops, my eyes are glued to her.
