My lips feel swollen. My skin is overly sensitive, like it remembers hands that aren’t there anymore. There’s a strange awareness in my body, low and humming, like something woke up and hasn’t gone back to sleep.
For a moment, I forget where I am—then reality crashes back with crushing weight. I’m still here. Still trapped in Raffaele Russo’s house. And yesterday… oh God. My cheeks burn when I remember what happened in the library last night.
Or was it this morning? Not that it matters.
What matters is that I asked him to kiss me. I didn’t just let it happen. I didn’t freeze or endure it—I asked. And… it was good.
The pleasure was so much more than I ever could have imagined. It was this intense, burning feeling that… it was perfect.
Lord have mercy.
If he’d pushed me further… if he’d decided not to stop… I don’t know that I would have resisted. That realization sits heavy in my chest. Not because I’m afraid of him, but because I’ve shocked myself with my reactions to him.
There was nothing rational or even smart about what I let transpire in the library. It was reckless, all-consuming, and… pure perfection. All things contradictory to being a captive, to being at someone else’s mercy.
So why is my body still humming? Why do I want more?
The knocking comes again, more forcefully this time.
“I’m not hungry,” I call out, my voice raspy from disuse and sleep.
The door opens before I can even get out of bed. It’s the woman who usually brings my food. But this time her hands are empty and her expression is stern.
“That’s a horrible way to greet someone,” she snips as she walks past me and into the room.
“Umm…” No words come to mind. I’m completely taken aback by her bluntness.
“Let’s try this again,” she says, her words clipped. “My name is Susan. I’m Mr. Russo’s housekeeper, and I’ve been asked to bring you downstairs for breakfast.”
With those words, she hands me the clothes I took off in the library. But instead of being wet, they’re completely dry and smell like jasmine.
“I found these and had them washed and dried in case you wanted to wear them again.” A knowing smile tugs at her lips.
“Th-thank you,” I murmur, too embarrassed to meet her gaze.
“Chop, chop. Breakfast’s ready.”
“I’m not hungry,” I repeat, the words scraping against my dry throat.
Her eyebrow arches skeptically. “That doesn’t matter. Mr. Russo was very clear. You’re to come downstairs and eat a proper meal.”
The mention of Raffaele sends a shiver down my spine. What do I say to him after last night?
I’ve often dreamed about what my first kiss would be like, and I can honestly say I’ve never imagined asking for it, or being kissed likethat.So… intensely, so overwhelmingly perfect.
“I need to shower first,” I mumble, hoping it will buy me enough time to compose myself.
“Fine,” Susan agrees, but instead of leaving, she moves over to the window. “I’ll wait.”
My eyes widen at her declaration. “You’ll… wait?”
“Mr. Russo’s orders were very specific,” she explains, her tone softening slightly.
I clutch the blanket tighter around me. “Give me fifteen minutes,” I whisper.
With my clothes in one hand, I make my way to the bathroom. Onyx follows at my heels, his limp more pronounced as he hurries to keep pace.
Behind me, curtains scrape open, followed by the distinctive click and scrape of a window being unlocked and thrown open. Fresh, cold air rushes in, cutting through the staleness that’s accumulated over the past days.
