I reach out and touch his chest. His shirt is cool against my fingertips, and I can feel his heartbeat underneath my hand. “What if I'm right? What if this actually works? Isn't it worth trying?"
“This is a dangerous suggestion. For you, as well as for us. I don’t think?—”
"You'll be there." I slide my hand up to his shoulder, brushing my fingers against his neck. "You'll keep me safe. I trust you."
Something flickers in his eyes. Surprise, maybe, or doubt. "Liesl?—"
I shift toward him, moving in between his spread knees and kissing him before he can finish the sentence. His entire body goes rigid as my mouth touches his, softly at first, then more firmly when he doesn't pull away. His hands come up to my waist, gripping hard, and I press closer against him.
It’s the first time I’ve ever kissed him before he kissed me first. I think he realizes that. And I can feel the desire throbbingthrough every inch of him as I slide into his lap, arching closer to him.
"Please," I whisper against his mouth. "Let me try. Let me fix this."
"You can't fix this." His breath is hot against my lips. Underneath me, I can feel how hard he is, his thick cock pressing against the curve of my ass. His fingers dig into my waist, as if he can’t bear to let me go. As if he needs me, just the way he said he did.
A small part of me feels guilty for doing this… for manipulating him. He’s a bad man, but his need for me feels real. His desire. And I’m using him.
He’s using me, too.
"Let me try anyway." I kiss him again, my hands sliding into his hair. "Please, Andrei. I need to do something. I can't just sit here while people die because of me."
His grip tightens. "People aren't dying because of you."
"Yes they are." I pull back just enough to meet his eyes. "Your men want me dead because I'm a distraction. Because keeping me alive is causing problems. If I can end this war—if I can convince my father to stop—then maybe they'll see I'm worth keeping around." I shift against him, my voice going soft. “Maybe you can keep me, the way I think you want to.”
There’s a flash of guardedness in his gaze. He’s not stupid. Earlier today I was telling him I don’t belong to him, and now I’m squirming in his lap, whispering about how he could keep me. There’s a fine line, and I’m close to losing my advantage.
I shift in his lap, moving to straddle him. When I rock down against him, his straining cock pressing against my center, he groans, the uneasiness in his gaze vanishing.
"I don't give a fuck what they think you're worth,” he growls. “I’ll keep you if I want to. I don’t care what they think.”
"But I do." My voice cracks slightly. "I can't—I can't be the reason more of your people die, Andrei. I can't live with that."
It’s not a lie. That part isn’t. Every time I realize that more men have died because of this, I can feel a part of me breaking. I can feel the way I’ve always looked at the world disintegrating with every death, every day I stay here, every time Andrei and I touch like this. He’s remaking me, and I don’t want it. I don’t want to become a different person because of this.
He stares at me. I can see him fighting it. Fighting the logic, fighting the emotion, fightingme. I kiss him again, harder this time, more desperate. My body presses fully against his, my hands pulling him closer, everything in me focused on breaking down his resistance.
"Please," I breathe. "Trust me."
His hands slide up my back, into my hair, and he kisses me like he's trying to consume me. Like if he kisses me hard enough, I'll stop asking, stop pushing. Stop making him want things he knows are dangerous.
Things that I know are dangerous, too.
When he finally pulls back, we're both breathing hard. "One meeting," he says. His voice is rough, strained. "It will be a neutral location, with my men everywhere. At the first sign of trouble, we leave. Understood?"
Relief floods through me so intensely I feel dizzy. I can’t believe this worked. "Understood."
"And if this goes wrong—if your father tries anything?—"
"He won't."
"If he does," Andrei continues, his grip on my hair tightening, "you do exactly what I tell you. No questions. No arguments. You trust me to get you out safely."
I nod, forcing myself to speak. My heart is pounding. "I do trust you."
He searches my face like he's looking for the lie. I keep my expression calm, so he sees nothing. So he doesn’t see that right now, I have no one that I feel I can trust at all.
The thought dissolves the desire that was building in me. But I don’t let go of him, because I need him to believe me. And if I let go now, he’ll know this was all a ruse.
