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She’s never leaving me, and that’s a fact she’ll learn soon enough.
Now, I need to fuck her into submission until I’m able to hammer in that point. Then, when it’s safe for her to leave, she won’t.
It’s a solid plan.
Sasha will resist.
I’ll have to get her on board.
Her body shuffling as she places her cello back in the case pulls me out of my wayward thoughts.
Moving back, I give her space. Allowing her to do her thing and watching her every move like the stalker I’ve become. There’s something so calming about the process. About this moment here, with her.
Once the cello case is closed, I reach my hand out and thread our fingers together. “Leave the cello,” I say, needing to be close to her.
“What do you mean, leave the cello?” Her eyes are wide. It’s as if I told her to break the thing.
“One of my men will grab it.” I head toward the door, hoping she’ll follow.
She doesn’t.
I turn around, lifting a brow to signal,what’s the problem?
“Your men…” she mumbles.
I narrow my eyes and take her in; the confident woman from moments ago has receded back into the girl who was too afraid to play in public. What’s going on with her? “What’s the problem, firefly?”
She looks around the stage, her gaze lingering over the empty chairs in the audience before looking back to where I’m standing. “Were—were they here the whole time?” Her stuttering has me stopping up short.
“You mean, were they here while you were riding my hand and playing the most beautiful song I’ve ever heard?”
Her eyes go wide, and her cute as fuck mouth drops open.
“Yes.” She gulps. “Were they?”
I take a step toward her, place my finger under her chin, and tilt her head up. Leaning down, I place my lips on hers, licking the seam. Then I pull away and meet her gaze. “Yes, they were. But they didn’t hear you. They were under strict instructions, and my men obey their orders.”
She swallows again, but this time it looks like she believes me, and she should. I would never let my men hear my girl, let alone see her.
“Okay.” Her voice is low, barely a whisper.
I look down at our entangled hands. Her skin is soft, and her hand is so small in mine.I can feel the pulse in her wrist. The beat is mesmerizing.
“What are you thinking about?” she asks, and I can hear the curiosity in her voice.
“You,” I admit. “I’m thinking about you.”
And it’s true. I can’t stop thinking about her.About how the universe put her in my orbit—albeit in a less than favorable way. But that doesn’t matter. She’s mine now.
Sasha is all I can think about.
I want this woman.
But I don’t say any of that. Instead, I lock my jaw, unwilling to show all my cards at once.
I hate how weak she makes me. I hate my obsession. “Feeding you,” I clarify. “Now let’s go. We have dinner plans.”
“We do?”
