Page 73 of Bound By Revenge

My beautiful, dark angel.

I step inside, closing the door behind me without a sound. The room feels electric, charged with the weight of her presence.

It should feel wrong, this intrusion.

But it doesn’t.

It feels inevitable.

I move closer, my gaze drinking her in, committing every detail to memory. The way the dim light kisses her skin, the way her lips look so soft, so inviting, that it physically hurts to resist.

There’s something so fragile about her in this moment, and yet the pull she exerts is anything but delicate. She’s magnetic, irresistible, a force of nature disguised as a sleeping girl.

The tension in my stomach coils tighter, sharper, as I let my gaze linger too long on her lips. My fingers twitch at my sides, aching to touch her. To see if her skin is as soft as I remember. To feel her warmth under my fingers.

She stirs slightly, murmuring something incomprehensible, and my breath catches.

I freeze, watching as her lips move, soft and tempting, before she falls still again.

I stay rooted in place, watching her sleep, my chest tight with something that feels like possession. Like hunger.

I take the chair next to the bed, the same one I sat in a few nights ago when she woke up screaming from that nightmare.

I can’t help but feel like a bit of a creep, sitting here in the shadows, watching her sleep, blissfully unaware of my presence. But the shame of it isn’t enough to keep me away.

It takes every ounce of restraint to stay in this damned chair instead of sliding under the sheets, pulling her warm, pliant body against mine, and giving in to every impulse screaming in my head.

I lose track of time as I let my gaze trace over her. Slowly. Methodically. Taking inventory of every visible inch. The sunlight filters through the windows, catching her hair and setting it ablaze with a coppery glow that makes her look otherworldly. It’s mesmerizing. Hypnotic.

She groans softly, her eyes still closed as she stretches languidly, her body arching beneath the blankets. My breath catches as the movement sends my imagination spiraling into dangerous territory. My cock hardens painfully, and I grip the arms of the chair so hard I hear the faint creak of wood, forcing myself to stay put.

Her lashes flutter, and then her eyes blink open—big, blue, and still hazy with sleep. She sighs softly, and I have to bite back a groan of my own.

I must’ve made some kind of noise because her head snaps toward me. Her gaze locks on mine, sharp and startlingly clear.

“Do you always watch over all your enslaved women while they sleep, or am I just that special?” she asks, her voice low and raspy, still thick with sleep.

I feel properly chastised—until she flashes me a grin. Mischievous and knowing, her eyes glitter with amusement.

No one should be this beautiful. It’s almost cruel.

“I was just making sure you were still alive,” I reply dryly, making a show of checking my watch. “You’ve been out for twelve hours. I was starting to think you might never wake up.”

She rolls her eyes, but the smile lingers.

“I’d never dream of inconveniencing my demanding overlord with my sudden demise,” she says, brushing her hair over her shoulder with a movement so casual it feels deliberate. “I wouldn’t want you to go through the trouble of finding another minion to boss around.”

“I appreciate that. Truly,” I say, meeting her sarcasm with my own. “Good help is impossible to find these days.”

“And don’t you forget it.” Her voice drops an octave, playful but edged with something darker as her gaze flicks to the obvious strain in my jeans. “I expect a very big bonus once I deliver on my end of the bargain.”

“For you, I can make that happen,” I murmur, my tone matching hers, thick with unspoken promise.

Her lips curve into another smile—this one slower, more private.

“How big?” she asks, her voice low and raspy, her eyes fixed on the front of my jeans. The innuendo dances between us, the air growing thicker as she continues. “And just so you don’t accuse me of playing games again, let’s be clear—I’m not talking about money.”

“Use your imagination,” I reply evenly, my tone pointed. “Or try to remember. It hasn’t been that long.”

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