Page 52 of Cruel Promise

“Would looking like me be so bad?” he asks in a voice so soft I can barely hear him.

“Would you want me to look like you?”

His fingers tighten just slightly on my face before he lets me go. “You wanted to take a bath. Don’t let me stop you.”

Keeping my eyes on him, I lower my arms and step into the bathtub. He doesn’t take his eyes off my face. Somehow, it’s even more intimate than if he looked at my naked body.

I slip into the warm water and feel some of the tension leaves me. Only some.

Nikolai remains in the bathroom.

“Are you going to leave?” I ask.

“No.” He leans against the counter, his hands in his pockets. This relaxed stance is so unusual for him. It’s sort of … nice to see.

“Are you just going to watch me?”

His eyes turn more intense. It’s the shifting of his stance, the furrow of his brow, the rigidness of his body that shows the intensity. “No. I want you to touch yourself.”

Heat flares through my body, unbidden. There it is again—that flutter between my legs.

I stretch my legs out in the tub. The warm water sloshes over me. I’m safe in here, and yet I’ve never felt more unsafe in my life.

“Why?” I whisper.

“Because I want to see pleasure on your face.”

“Why don’t you just do it yourself?”

“Because I want to see you do it to yourself.”

My hands grip the edge of the bathtub so tightly my fingers turn white. There’s no way I can do this. I hate this man before me.

So, then, why do I feel that tingle between my legs?

Nikolai doesn’t remove his eyes from me once. Finally, I decide to move.

My hand touches my upper chest. His eyes follow the motion. My heart is fluttering like a hummingbird.

Then I move my hand lower, between my breasts and down to my stomach. It feels like someone else has control of my body. Why am I doing this?

I know. I want to feel alive. I want the numbness to go away.

Finally, I my hand goes between my legs. Nikolai can’t even see it through the soapy water. But it’s not my hand he’s looking at—it’s my face. I keep my eyes locked onto his as I trail my fingers along my folds.

I’ve never done this before. My father scared the idea of masturbation right out of me.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I admit.

“Touch your clit.”

My cheeks turn hot. I know enough about my own anatomy to know what he means. When my finger brushes the sensitive nub, I know the second I’ve found it. A rush of pleasure shoots through me.

I gasp.

“Rub it,” he instructs. “Play with it. Do what makes you come.”

“I’ve never …”

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