Page 67 of Crimson Tears

“It is three in the morning, why are you awake?” he questions, placing papers down to stand beside me.

“Couldn’t sleep,” I shrug. “What about you?”

He looks at me for a moment then back at his desk. His brows pinch together, and I have this urge to rub my thumb over the wrinkle to smooth it out. He may be old enough to be my father, but there is something about him my heart calls to.

“I had the same issue.”

We stand there, watching as the lights in the city refuse to sleep. My tea grows cool, and I sip on it, appreciating the silence. It’s so rare that two people can just enjoy the peace silence brings together.

“Is something wrong?” he asks gently. “Do you need another blanket or something in your room that I can have delivered? Or if it is tea you seek then I can…”

I don’t let him finish the thought because I can’t have him do another thing for me. Boris and I have been dancing around this for a few days now, and I want to see what it is.

My hand fists in his shirt while the other holds my now empty cup and I pull him in. With our lips less than an inch apart, he stares down at me.

I have never wanted a man to save me, never asked for it and probably never will. But Boris did it anyway.

When I insist I have everything I need, he buys me more. When I say that anything works for dinner, he calls my friends to find out what I enjoy. He doesn’t take no for an answer when it comes to taking care of me.

Which is why I rise onto my tiptoes, slanting my lips over his so that my breath caresses them lightly.

“Tell me you feel it too.” I loosen my hold on his shirt and place the palm of my hand over his heart.

Boris’ forehead falls to mine and his eyes close.

“I do. But I do not want to ask so much of you. I am much older than you.”

I allow my eyes to fall closed and explore his body with my free hand. First, I start with his hair, the smooth strands gliding through my fingers like silk. Then, my fingers drift down to broad shoulders that ripple under the sensation of my touch before finally latching onto muscular arms that have the capability of caging me in and keeping me safe. He doesn't feel old, he just feels like a man. One that makes me feel safe and cherished.

“You don’t feel old to me,” I whisper. A sharp breath leaves him and I tilt my head slightly, letting him make the choice.

His warmth greets me so suddenly that I nearly drop my cup. But his hands reach out, taking it from me to set it down on the table beside us without having to look. Then, I am in his arms.

Firm muscle wraps around me in a way that makes me feel as if his strength is bleeding into me. Our mouths fuse as our bodies come together. And my heart that just moments ago felt so vulnerable, starts to awaken.

Just a year ago, I felt that love wasn’t for me, but now it feels as if I can hold it in my hands and take it, keep it for myself. So, I do. I vow then and there that Boris is mine and I am his. No matter what happens.

Chapter 20

Nessa’s breathing has been off for about an hour now. I can tell Boris is more than a little concerned at this point. Green spent at least five hours with her last night, and the more she bled, the weaker she became.

She ended up passing out in the chair, not an ounce of fight left in her body. She hasn’t been given food since we arrived; I think it has been almost three days now, if not more. Gray leaves a small cup of water by her bed each time Green is done carving chunks from her body, but this time she hasn't woken up to drink it.

I don’t think she can. There is more blood on the floor of her cell than water she has been offered.

I don’t think Green realizes that Nessa will die before giving into him and this fecked up plan her father concocted. And I am terrified that’s exactly what’s happening right now.

A groan meets my ears, but a sputtering cough that comes with a cry of pain makes my fingers work faster at getting to this control panel. I no longer care that they’re bleeding as they scrape into the stone, I just know we are running out of time.

“Please talk…please,” Nessa begs. She has been insistent that the only thing that helps is to hear Boris and me banter.

Okay, maybe she said ‘the sound of your voices soothes me’, but I can see it for what it is. She likes how we give each other a hard time, and I think she likes that underneath it all, we actually do get along.

“Seems like you’ve got some talented fingers there, Kid,” Boris says. It is strained, which makes my hands shake. I am so close to the panel that I can see it, I just need to be able to pull it back so I can trip the circuit.

“Bet you have had a few women screaming over the way you know how to work them.”

What the feck, Old Man? Why would this make her feel better?

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