My fingers curl around him through his pants. He makes a sound that’s half groan, half growl, and his hips push forward into my hand.
For a moment we just stand there—his hand over mine, my palm against him, both of us breathing hard. Both of us on the edge of something we can't take back.
“It depends,” I whisper, my voice coming out high and breathless. His blue gaze, hot now instead of icy, locks onto mine.
“On what?” His voice is low and rough, strangled. His fingers are locked around my wrist, holding my hand against his cock. I can feel him throbbing.
“What did that person do?” I whisper. “For his blood to end up on your hands?”
The question hangs in the air between us. And I watch the shift happen in his eyes. I see reality crash back in, watch him remember who he is and who I am and what this situation actually is.
He pulls away sharply, and steps back. He puts distance between us like I've burned him, like he did the first time. And suddenly, I want him to touch me again. I don’t want either of us to remember what this really is. I want… more.
And I shouldn’t.
"Andrei—"
"Don't." His voice is harsh, scraping over the air between us. "Don't say anything."
He runs a hand through his hair. I can see the tension radiating off him in waves. His jaw clenches, and before I can disobey him, before I can eventhinkof something to say, he pivots on his heel and stalks from the room. The door crashes behind him as he leaves, a slam that makes me nearly jump out of my skin. I hadn’t realized I was clutching the shelf behind meuntil then. A book tumbles to the floor, but I can’t bring myself to move and pick it up.
He wanted me.
I wanted him.
This is wrong. So, so horribly wrong. I know it is, as reality comes rushing back in, my face burning hot as I register how wet I am between my legs, my panties and leggings damp from how hard he made me come. I’venevercome like that before. And that was just his fingers. If he did anything else…
He won’t. I won’t let him.I won’t let him touch me like that again.
This man is a criminal. A murderer. From the look of his hands, he tortured someone tonight, with those same hands that he pushed inside of me and used to make me come.
He might still kill me.
Is that really a man that I want to allow to touch me?
If it feels that good…
I close my eyes, pushing the thought away. That’s not who I am; not who I want to be. I’m not going to let this man unravel me just because he’s gorgeous and throws my entire world off its axis.
If he tries again, I’ll tell him to stop.
—
The next morning,it’s raining, which fits my mood.
I barely slept the night before. I half-expected Andrei, or even just a few of his men, to storm in and drag me out to be shot. Between the story of my father’s machinations, the uncertainty of what’s going to happen to me, and what Andrei did to me in the library last night, my nerves are completely shot.
When my breakfast comes, I pick at it, unable to eat much. I feel like the air around me is vibrating, like I can’t sit still. All of this uncertainty is getting to me. This isn’t how I’ve ever lived my life, and I’m not used to it. I don’t want togetused to it.
As usual, when Andrei comes in, he doesn’t knock. “Stop looking at me like that,” he says abruptly, when my eyes widen. “I’m not going to shoot you.”
“You aren’t?” My voice wobbles slightly, despite my best efforts otherwise.
“No.” His voice is curt. “I’ve laid out a case that, despite the lack of ransom, you are our best bet to draw your father out.” His expression hardens. “But he has made himself my enemy. The consequences that come with that will be dire. If you try to escape, if you put a foot out of line…”
He doesn’t need to finish the sentence. My family is the enemy now, and I’m a part of that. My father has started a war… not to get me back, but to profit off of Andrei’s mistake, if I’m to believe the story he told me. I’m still not entirely sure I do.
But I know one thing—I can’t keep staring at these walls with nothing else to do, or I’ll go insane.
