I take a breath. "I want more freedom."
His expression doesn't change. "No."
It takes everything in me to keep the quaver out of my voice when I speak again. "I'm not asking to leave. I'm not asking to go home. I'm just asking for space. To walk around the grounds. With an escort if you want. I just—" I stop and try to find the right words. "I can't stay locked in this room anymore. I can't breathe in here."
He studies me for a long moment. I can see him trying to figure out if this is about last night or something else.
“I need some space,” I whisper. I look at him, hoping he sees how much I need it. Hoping maybe he needs it, too, after what happened. “I can’t just stay in here, Andrei, I really can’t.”
His jaw works. I can see that he’s not used to giving in. His word is to be obeyed, not questioned, not negotiated with. And if what I overheard those first couple of nights was any indication, his men have been doing exactly that… minus the obeying part. I can see him struggling to give any ground.
"One hour," he says finally. "You can have one hour a day. You stay on the grounds. You don't try to leave. You don't talk to anyone except the guard with you."
"Okay,” I agree immediately.
"And you stay away from the east wing. That's where my men conduct business. You don't need to see that. And you don’t go wandering through the house. You follow the guard out, you come back with him. I’ll have someone bring you books, if you want them." His jaw clenches, and I see his fingers curl against his palm, as if he’s remembering last night. A wave of heat washes over me, but I fight to ignore it.
"Okay,” I agree quickly.
He nods and starts to turn away.
"Andrei.”
He stops, but he doesn't turn around.
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me," he says quietly, his voice low. He still doesn’t look at me. "I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing it because we both need space."
Then he walks away. I feel a wave of relief wash over me, as if pressure has been let out of the room once he’s gone.
But I also feel an ache of longing. One that I can’t indulge, if I’m going to make it out of this.
I can’t let anything else happen between us. No matter how much either of us might want it to.
8
ANDREI
I'm not watching her.
I tell myself this as I stand at the second-floor window overlooking the lawn. I tell myself I'm reviewing security protocols, making sure the perimeter is properly monitored. Not watching Liesl Baumann walk through my gardens like she owns them.
But that's exactly what I'm doing.
She looks lighter, out there, like the weight she's been carrying since she was brought here has lifted just enough to let her breathe. Her hair catches the morning light, all gold and honey, and her body looks achingly perfect in the tight leggings and long tank top that she’s wearing. I can see the curve of her breast, her hip, and I remember exactly how they felt against my palm. How she felt soft and taut at the same time, yielding and tight simultaneously.
Would she feel that tight around my…
I grit my teeth and shove the thought down, even as my cock thickens. I’ve spent more time jerking off over the last several days than I have since I was a fucking teenager. I can’t get out of bed in the morning without rubbing one out, and by the timeI make it back to bed in the evening, I end up doing the same. In the shower, in bed… hell, yesterday I had to stop and jerk off at my desk, just because I saw Liesl walking outside, the sun illuminating the perfect curves of her body.
Curves that I want to strip naked and press against my own hard muscle, until I find out exactly how well she fits against me.
I have a meeting in twenty minutes with Viktor about the Volkov situation, and intelligence reports to review.I have tTerritory disputes that need addressing. A war brewing that requires my full attention.
Instead I watch her tilt her head back and close her eyes, a slow smile spreading over lips that I remember all too clearly what they felt like against mine.
Fuck.
