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Almost as if he heard my snark, he once again put pressure on my shoulders, forcing me onto my back. “Relax.”
No chance.
I squirmed upright, wincing at the pain and the throbbing bones in my hand.
I didn’t trust him not to punch me in the stomach or take advantage of my body when spread out.
He didn’t let me clamber up, pinning me to the mattress with his fingers around my throat.
Let me go.
I stopped breathing.
My muscles locked.
The provocation of touching me there hurtled me into a whirlpool of horror.
He’s touching my neck.
My lips parted for breath, fighting so damn hard not to sink.
He’s not Master A.
Ignore the trigger.
Ignore it!
Our eyes met—mine wide, his narrowed as his body hovered close.
Don’t.
I didn’t know what I asked him not to do. But he stiffened with his mouth only millimetres from my lips. “Keep fighting me, Pimlico, and we’ll have a fucking problem.”
His voice trapped me in a net, keeping me from floundering in the despicable dark.
How could he tell I was fighting him?
How could he hear my silent retorts?
I had nowhere to hide with him.
I hated it.
Suddenly, he sat back, removing his hold on my neck and swiping a hand through his hair.
I sucked in a lungful of relief.
“Something you should know about me, girl.” He bared his teeth at the abhorrent word. “I’m not your master. Like I said before, I see more than he does. I know more than he knows. And I hear every refusal you think.”
Remaining on his knees, towering over me, he murmured, “I know you fear I’ll hurt you like him and take advantage of you.”
Won’t you, though? That’s what this is all about.
I looked at the wall, cutting him off.
Mr. Prest grabbed my wrist, tracing his thumb around the bony joint. “Look at me.”
I didn’t.
His voice dropped to a hiss. “Look at me.”
We made eye contact.
Something charged and grew and collided. The electricity became worse, humming with power.
Shit.
Drop your eyes.
Do it!
But I couldn’t.
Like cement, his gaze kept me imprisoned, unable to break its hold.
His lips spread over perfect white teeth. “Ah, finally…a response.” Smiling coldly, he said, “I guessed right, didn’t I?”
No.
“I did. You don’t have to refute it.” Shifting, he reclined alongside me, his body not touching mine but his heat scalding me all the same. His fingers never dropped from my wrist, stroking with tiny whirls of his thumb. “How about we start this again?”
He brought my hand to his nose, inhaling my knuckles. “You can sit however you like, but whatever you do, I’ll do. And whatever I do, you do.” His thumb pressed hard into the delicate flesh between the bird-brittle bones of my wrist. “Deal?”
No deal.
His fingers pinched harder.
He held me in such a non-sexual place but my skin burned beneath his touch. I stopped breathing as more electricity sprang hot and so difficult to ignore.
“Do you want me to keep squeezing?” His eyes hooded as my fingertips turned white with blood loss. “Because I will if you don’t agree.”
If I were half as obedient as I thought I was, I would nod and let him manipulate me into whatever he chose. But something about the way he held me made me think of things I’d never been given.
I’d never enjoyed sex or kisses or caresses.
I doubted—after the life I’d lived—I would ever find enjoyment in such activities. I knew that to the depths of my soul. But the way this foreign man held me made desperation and hunger for things I didn’t understand toil inside. Things not related to sex and domination but equality and friendship.
God, I wanted a friend.
No One had kept me company, but my scribbles weren’t enough.
Nothing was enough anymore.
He chuckled under his breath, his thumb pressing on the mismatch of bones where arteries and veins flowed. His pressure increased as he inched one, two, three centimetres up my arm, making me shiver.
“You’re going to tell me what I want to know.”
My body jerked as his fingers coiled around my elbow, sending another flood of goosebumps.
“You’re going to speak to me.”
Speak?
My hazy eyes tracked to the ceiling, searching for where Master A would be spying. Did his cameras have listening capabilities, too? Did he see me lying beside Mr. Prest and believe I spoke in a way I’d never spoken to him?
My heart opened a trapdoor and dove into an abyss.
If he believed I conversed with a man he despised, he wouldn’t just kill me. He’d tear me into excruciating tiny pieces.
Listening devices or not, I couldn’t afford to let any image hint that I answered questions.
I shot upright, not caring my broken hand burrowed into the mattress. Not caring that my forehead cracked against Mr. Prest’s, granting agony and black popping stars. All I cared about was getting away from whatever he wanted because the thought of talking wasn’t awful in that fleeting tempting second.
