Page 25 of Leave Me (Touch of Death 2)
“We spent a lot of time together. He was a friend.”
“A friend.” He laughs, and not for the first time, I feel like I’m missing some private joke. He comes closer until he’s standing at the end of the bed in the darkness. “Such a beautiful irony.” I have no idea what that’s supposed to mean. “Was he just a friend to you?” There’s no missing the edge to his voice.
“Yes,” I say, the word barely a squeak.
“Hmm.” He holds up his hand, and the dull moonlight catches on something in his hand. It glints and shimmers in the darkness, like a gem…or a diamond. “You must have dropped this,” he says, the accusation hanging in the air.
I look at the ring and then back at him, though I can barely make out either in the dark. “Must have. I’m not used to wearing it yet,” I say, clearing my throat.
“Or maybe you think you are betraying your Russian.”
“I told you; he was my friend,” I say carefully.
He moves around the bed and takes a seat on the edge. It’s only then that I smell the over-powering scent of whiskey. “So he never…touched you?”
I hear it now, the slur in his words. He’s drunk. He places the ring on the bedside table before tugging the covers away from me. His hand lands on the bare skin of my thigh. I still instantly, my mind racing through all the ways this could go and all the ways I can get away from him. The cigarette is clasped between his fingers as his hand shifts up my thigh an inch. The tiny sleep shorts I’m wearing leave me completely exposed, and I only now realize how naïve I’ve been to see this room as a safe place. This is his house. He can get to me anytime, whenever he likes.
“Well?” he prompts.
I can feel the heat of the cigarette barely caressing my other leg, threatening to burn me. I swallow heavily. “No.”
His hand slides higher and higher, and I want to fight him with everything I am, but I don’t. There’s an edge to him now, something dangerous unleashed under the influence of alcohol. I sense it in the air as prey senses a nearby predator. I must tread carefully. If I give him a fight, he’ll destroy me, and he wants it. I can see it in his eyes. He’s waiting for the opportunity to shatter me.
Hot ash drops from the cigarette to my skin, but I refuse to flinch away. His eyes fixate on the apex of my thighs so innocently covered in thin cotton. “You kissed me,” he says. With his free hand, he grabs my chin, sweeping his thumb sloppily over my bottom lip. “So sweet, Adelina.” His grasp becomes hard and bruising, and his other hand moves from my thigh to my crotch, grabbing it through my pajama bottoms.
I’m degraded and, and yet, I know this is only the tip of the iceberg.
“Sweet, like the apple in the garden of Eden.” One finger traces beneath the seam of my shorts, and I bite the inside of my cheek to stop the tears welling.
Be strong, Adelina. You are a lion. I’m not sure I want my father’s words echoing through my mind right now, but it helps somewhat. It reminds me why I must endure. I brace myself for the worst, and then he removes the offending hand. I exhale a trembling breath. A twisted smile dances over his lips, and I know he enjoys watching me squirm.
“Don’t worry, principessa. I won’t take you until our wedding night. The riper the fruit, the sweeter it tastes.” He chuckles, and I go cold. His eyes sweep over my face, studying me. “I’ve wanted you for so long, and the moment I had you, your father denied me.” He grits his teeth, and as his anger intensifies, so do does his hold on me. His fingers dig into my jaw hard. And my already abused inner lip grinds over my teeth, coating my tongue in blood. Enriques eyes roam over my face, and for the first time, I see something I always expected but will never be ready for—his lust. “Maybe if you weren’t so pretty…”
He brings the cigarette to my face, so close that I can feel the heat of the glowing tobacco. His thumb slips to my throat as he feels my racing pulse. I’m terrified, but I’ve given him enough. He will not have my dignity. I will not beg or try to appeal to a creature like him.
“You’re scared.”
I don’t answer at first, and it seems to agitate him further. “You have all the power. I’d be stupid not to fear you.”
His hold loosens, and he strokes his fingertips over my face so gently, like a lover’s caress. “Kiss me,” he orders. “Like you mean it this time.”
