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He hesitates but finally offers a slight bow, sets the items on the cabinet beside the bed, and retreats, leaving us alone.

Evander stares at me, a thin smile on his pale lips.

“And now, what is it you desire to do, Lord Dorian?”

I move toward the cabinet, seize a cloth, and plunge it into the cold water. Then I place it upon his forehead.

“This kindness does not belong to you at all,” he mutters.

I cannot stand this arrogance.

I seize his shirt and, with a sharp jerk, I rip it open.

He burns.

Everything burns.

Looming over him, I try not to let myself be overwhelmed by the fire he ignites within me.

“You are ridiculous, Dorian. Always parading your strength, yet you cannot last a moment when I am near.”

His hands seek my skin, feverish and brazen.

I seize them at once, pinning them against my chest.

“Stop it.”

His hand exerts pressure on the nape of my neck. “I will not allow you to play with me.”

“You are the one who has been enjoying yourself until now.”

He flushes, turning his face to the side.

“Do not attempt to ignore me again.” I speak slowly, gripping his chin so that he is forced to look at me. “If you think you can brush me aside, you are mistaken.”

He looks at me, his pupils darting frantically.

I press my thumb against his chin. “You cannot avoid me. I will come back for you every time.”

He swallows, then averts his gaze. I brush against his throat, the taste of him remains on my tongue. He swallows again, his Adam’s apple descending and then rising.

Ya khochu zasunut’ svoy khuy yemu v glotku.1

I pull my mind away from that dangerous image.

I move my hands with decision, his trousers give way beneath my touch.

“Do you intend to do this properly, or merely in a hurry?”

I ignore the question, but my thumb skips the first button.

“All this effort just to strip me?”

I hear him laugh.

“Be quiet.”

“Why? Are you afraid I might speak?”