Page 41 of Cruel Demands

My fingers curl against the sheet. “And?”

Her voice drops so low I barely hear it. “Inside my underwear.”

My body goes still again. Not the stillness of restraint this time. The stillness of a man standing at the edge of a very high place, looking down.

“You want my hands?” I ask.

Her breath catches. “Yes.”

“No sex.”

“I know.”

“No mouth. No tongue.”

She tries to hide a shiver. Fails. “Okay,” she whispers. She turns more fully onto her back. The blanket shifts with her, slipping down to her waist before she catches it. My shirt is wrinkled around her thighs. One bare leg bends. The other stays straight. She looks embarrassed and wanting and furious with herself for both.

I stay where I am. “Say what you want,” I tell her.

Her eyes flash. “You and saying things. Fine.” She lifts her chin. “I want you to touch me.”

“Where?”

“Mikhail.” Her cheeks flush deeper. She holds my gaze for one second. Then another. Then her eyes drop to my mouth. “Between my legs,” she whispers.

I move slowly. I am not gentle. If I move quickly, I will not stop with my hand. I lift the blanket and move the pillow, still dressed, still pretending that means anything. Taylor watches every movement. Her breath trembles when my hand finds her knee. Just her knee.

Again. A beginning I can survive. Her eyes close. “No,” I say. They open. “Stay with me.” Her face changes. She moves her hand, placing it over mine where it rests on her knee. I turn my hand palm-up beneath hers. “Show me,” I whisper into her ear.

Her lips part. For a moment, I think she will refuse. Her pride rises. Her fear with it. Then she looks at our hands, and the fear changes into something else. She guides my hand up her thigh. Not far at first. An inch. Another. The higher she moves us, the more her breathing changes.

By the time she brings my hand to the hem of my shirt, she’s trembling again. “Is this all right?” I ask.

She nods.

“Slovami.” Words.

“Yes.”

I slide my hand beneath the shirt. Her skin is hot. Soft.

She makes a sound and turns her face away. I stop. “No, no,” she says quickly, gripping my wrist. “Don’t stop. Please.”

Please. My eyes close for half a second.

I am a bad man. I have always known this. Other people know it too, though not as many as should. But the worst part of me is not the violence. It is not the orders I give or the blood I do not clean from my own hands anymore.

The worst part is this. That one please from her mouth makes me want to give her anything. “Then open your eyes,” I tell her.

She looks back at me, lust bright and unguarded in her eyes. My hand moves higher. She opens for me without meaning to, knees parting beneath the blanket, and I feel the heat of her before I touch her properly. I stop just short.

Her hips lift. Impatient. Instinctive. I put my free hand on her hip and hold her down. Her eyes fly to mine. “No chasing,” I say.

Her breath leaves her in a rush. “You’re so bossy.”

“Yes.”

“It’s annoying.”