Page 25 of Little Blue

Eleven

Ilya

She’s speechless. I’ve rendered her entirely, hopelessly, beautifully speechless.

Her breasts rise under the loose shirt when she sucks in a shaky breath. A deep bloom of rose rises in her pale cheeks. The spatter of freckles I find so curiously endearing is less enhanced when she blushes. When she wets her lips, my eyes drop to her mouth. She has a beautiful mouth with full, pink lips that deepen in color when she’s angry or—aroused?

I want to kiss her.

The urge to taste her strikes me like a lash. It takes monumentous effort not to lean in and take her lips as I’ve taken her life—for my own.

When her bottom lip wobbles, I harden my resolve against claiming her mouth. She might be affected by my words, but she doesn’t trust me. She doesn’t feel safe with me.

I want her to feel safe with me.

I would protect her with my life.

“Are you hungry?”

Her brows draw close in confusion as she digests my words, and the abrupt turn in conversation. “Um—I—I don’t know.”

She’s in shock. It’s no surprise.

Ignoring my body’s desire to close the small distance between us, I push away. Standing, I pull my phone from my pocket and send a text to my housekeeper. I don’t usually do this, demand her attention in the middle of the night. But after my little captive’s threat to run from me at every chance, I’m not keen to let her run amuck through my house. She might find a door. She might run through the door into the dark, into the snow—into the jaws of one of my dogs who has yet to meet her and does not know she is to be protected—not mauled.

After proper introductions, when I’m confident I will be able to chase my prey, I’ll indulge her in a little game of cat and mouse.

The idea of chasing her through the trees under the light of a full white moon, snow crunching beneath her feet as I track her through the dark. I can see it now, the way her pale hair will glow silver under moonlight, her skin white as porcelain against pale snow. Heat will flare like fire through my veins.

I’ll hunt her. I’ll catch her. And I’ll plunder her.

My cock is stone stiff. Blood rages as it pumps violently inside the chambers of my heart.

Fucking hell. I’ve spent my life kissing women, a desperate and failed attempt to prove to myself that I can experience the burn of excitement. The quickening of my pulse.

Every kiss, every touch, has fallen flat.

And yet, somehow, the anticipation of having her, of claiming her, has my heart coming alive in my chest. I feel more in the anticipation of having her than I ever have while with anyone else.

She flinches when Polina knocks. Her eyes track me as I move across the room, pulling the door open. As I requested, the chicken bone broth and vegetable soup wafts from the bowl that sits on a tray. A small dinner roll and hot cup of chamomile tea accompanies the bowl.

“That will be all for the night, Polina.” I take the tray, close, and lock the door behind me.

When I turn back to my little captive, I find her standing. The bed sits between us, as though she thinks it can stop me if I want to get to her.

Has she learned nothing from earlier?

Nothing can keep me from her.

I carry the tray to the table that sits between two wingback chairs, close to the fireplace. Then I angle the chair so it’s facing the small round table, gesturing at it with a hand. “Chicken and vegetable soup. Tea.”

She eyes me cautiously. Looking down to her exposed legs, she nibbles her lip. Hesitation paints her face. Then she looks with longing at the steaming soup. Hunger flares in her eyes and she swipes the throw blanket from the foot of my bed, wrapping it around her body as she moves nearer.

When she sits, having taken a few bites, she finally lifts her eyes to look at me where I sit in the chair opposite her. I can’t take my eyes off her.

“You know, I have people who will miss me.”

“They will be taken care of.”

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