"You're back." My voice sounds strange too.
"Are you okay?"
The question is so absurd I almost laugh. Am I okay? I've been locked in this room for five days with no human contact, slowly losing my mind from isolation, terrified to speak to the guards because I'm afraid he'll kill them for talking to me.
"I'm fine," I say.
His eyes narrow. I can tell he doesn't believe me. "Do you need anything?"
I shake my head sharply. "No."
"Liesl—"
"I said I'm fine." The words come out sharply. "Is that all?"
He's quiet for a long moment, just looking at me. I can see him trying to read me, trying to understand what's happeningbehind my carefully blank expression. I don't give him anything. I don't let him see the desperate loneliness, the aching need, or the way I want to cross this room and touch him just to prove he's real.
"I need to go back," he says finally. "The situation isn't resolved. But I wanted to check on you. To make sure?—"
"I'm fine," I repeat. "You can go."
Something flickers across his face. His jaw tightens, and I see him fighting for control. "Okay," he says. "I'll come back when I can."
He starts to turn away, and something breaks inside me. Before I can stop myself, I move across the room, my hand shooting out to grab his arm.
He freezes and looks down at my hand on his sleeve, then up at my face.
"I'm sorry." The words tumble out before I can stop them. "I'm sorry my father is doing this to you. I'm sorry for the war, for the men dying, all of it. I'm sorry you're—" My voice cracks. "I'm sorry."
For a moment, he just stares at me. His expression is unreadable, but I see something shift in his eyes. And then he turns, takes two steps to close the distance between us, and bends to kiss me.
It's not the rough possession of before or the tender exploration of the most recent night. This is something else entirely—desperate and hungry and aching with need. Like he's been starving and I'm the first meal he's seen in days. His hand cups my face, thumb sweeping over my cheekbone, and I kiss him back with equal desperation. My hands fist in his shirt, pulling him closer, and he makes a sound low in his throat that sends heat straight through me.
His other hand slides into my hair, tilting my head back and deepening the kiss. His tongue sweeps into my mouth and I tastehim. Desire pulses through me, and I can't stop. I don'twantto stop. We break apart just long enough to breathe, and then we're kissing again. Harder this time,more urgent.
His hands move to my waist, pulling me against him, and I can feel every hard line of his body through our clothes. I can feel the tension in his muscles, the barely controlled aggression that's always simmering just beneath his surface. "Liesl." My name is a growl against my lips. "I missed you."
Pain lances through my chest. "I missed you too."
"You were so cold. So distant. I thought—" His hands slide under my shirt, warm against my skin, and I arch into his touch. Need pulses through me, hot and insistent, drowning out every rational thought.
"Please," I whisper against his mouth. "Please, I need?—"
"I know what you need." His voice is rough with desire. "I'll give it to you."
He walks me backward until my back hits the wall beside the window. His hands are everywhere—sliding up my sides, cupping my breasts through my bra, moving down to grip my hips. A whimper slips from my lips, against his mouth, and I can't even be embarrassed about it. Not when he's touching me like this, like he needs it as much as I do.
His mouth moves to my neck, kissing and biting, and his hand slides between my legs. Even through my jeans I can feel the pressure, the promise of what's coming. "Off," he commands, his fingers working at the button. "Get these off."
I help him, fumbling with the zipper and pushing the denim down my hips. He doesn't wait for me to step out of them completely before his hand is back, sliding into my underwear and finding me wet and ready.
"Fuck." His voice is a low, rasping growl. "You're so wet for me."
"Yes." I can barely form words. "Please, Andrei, please?—"
His fingers slide inside me and I cry out, my head falling back against the wall. He knows exactly how to touch me now, his thumb finding my clit, his fingers curling to hit that spot that makes my vision blur. "Look at me," he commands.
I force my eyes open to meet his gaze. The intensity there steals my breath—raw need and possessive hunger and desperation. "You're mine," he growls, his fingers moving faster. "Say it."
