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I miss my tormentor, ache for him with every fiber of my being—even as I fear his return.
Walking over to the bathroom counter, I turn on the light, staring at my pale face in the mirror. My eyes are bloodshot and surrounded by dark circles, and my hair is a hot mess. I bet if Peter saw me right now, he wouldn’t be so eager to have me.
Of course, that assumes my looks are the reason he’s so fixated on me—a big, and likely incorrect, assumption. I know I’m attractive, but I’m nowhere near as beautiful as someone like Yulia. No, whatever it is that draws Peter to me—and vice versa—goes deeper than surface attraction. He knows it, and I know it too. It’s something within us that makes us fit together like two pieces of broken china… something dark and perversely needy that calls out to each other’s flaws.
I’m about to turn on the faucet to wash my face when a sound reaches my ears.
I freeze, listening intently, and then I hear it again.
A woman’s throaty moan, followed by a man’s muffled grunt.
My face heats up as I realize what I’m listening to.
This bathroom must be right underneath Lucas and Yulia’s bedroom, with the air vent connecting the two floors.
I know I should go back to bed and give them privacy, but my legs refuse to move. If nothing else, this is more entertaining than the thrillers Kent left for me to read. Blushing and feeling like a pervert, I listen as the sounds upstairs grow in volume before culminating in an obvious climax.
When silence reigns again, I turn on the faucet with unsteady hands and splash cold water on my overheated face. This was a bad idea, because not only did I violate my hosts’/jailers’ privacy, but I’m now so turned on I will definitely have trouble going back to sleep. My nipples are hard, and my sex is slippery with aching need.
I also miss Peter more than ever.
Groaning silently, I head back to bed. Predictably, I can’t fall asleep, so I reach under the blanket and play with myself until I come, thinking of Peter the entire time.
Despite my restless night, I wake up early the next morning, and as I’m getting ready to brush my teeth, I hear footsteps upstairs, followed by tense voices.
It sounds like the Kents are having an argument.
Unbearably curious, I put down the toothbrush and listen.
At first, their voices come across as muffled, as if they’re on the other side of the room, but then they come closer to the vent—and my heartbeat accelerates as I realize the topic of their argument.
Me.
“How can you be so sure?” Yulia says heatedly. “She’s his enemy’s widow. He killed her husband and kidnapped her. How is that not mistreatment? At the very least, he took away all her choices and ruined her career. The woman is a doctor—a doctor, Lucas. She’s not like you and me. She’s never been a part of this world—”
“And now she is,” Kent interrupts, his voice hard. “Not that it’s any of our business. I owe him a favor, and she is it.”
“She is a human being, not a favor. At the very least, let me talk to her, find out whether he’s mistreating her—”
“Why? So you could do what? Let her go and end up on his hit list? You know the kind of targets his team goes after these days. We don’t need to deal with that shit on top of the Novak situation.”
“No, of course not.” Yulia sounds frustrated. “But she’s an innocent civilian, Lucas, and she’s a guest in our home. I need to make sure that you’re right and she does want him—because I can’t live with myself otherwise. You understand that, right?”
Her husband is silent for a few moments, and I bite my thumb, my heart hammering as I listen for his reply. I was right to pin my hopes on Yulia; she is sympathetic to my plight.
“I understand,” he finally says. “But there’s still nothing I can do. I will not put your life in danger for this woman.”
“But—”
“But nothing. Sokolov asked me to keep her safe for him, and that’s precisely what I’m going to do.”
“Lucas…” Yulia’s voice softens, turning more cajoling. “Just let me talk to her. That’s all I ask. I’m not going to do anything without consulting you. I’m not stupid, and I don’t want to make an enemy of Peter either. I just want to make sure she’s okay… reassure her if she’s scared. That wouldn’t do any harm, would it? Just a little chat?”
There’s no response from Kent, though I hear rustling sounds, followed by something metallic—a belt buckle, maybe?—hitting the floor.
“Yulia…” Kent’s voice thickens. “Sweetheart, you don’t have to—oh fuck. Motherfucking fuck…” His words end on a groan, and I flush as I realize what I’m listening to again.
