Page 70 of In Shadows We Dance

WREN

Moonlight spills across her body,catching every curve and quiver as she stands outside her window. Her fingers flex, curling and uncurling at her sides, as though she isn't sure whether to protect herself or surrender. The need to capture this precise moment—the second where fear meets submission—burns through me, hot and electric. My finger presses the shutter, the camera clicks, and her surrender is mine forever.

“Beautiful.” I drink in the way the cold air draws goosebumps over her arms, the way she struggles to stay still, the effort written in every line of her body. “So perfectly obedient. So beautifully on display for me.”

The need to claim her builds, a force too primal to ignore. The camera clicks, framing her every motion. The way her lip trembles, the way her hands flex at her sides. Her silence speaks volumes, and I devour it.

“You spend so much time containing yourself,” I whisper, leaning close, my breath hot against her ear. “Always pretending, always concealing, always hidden.” My hand winds into her ponytail, tugging until she gasps, her head tipping back, her neck bared to me. “Even your hair is part of your disguise.”

Her breath catches, panic flashing across her face as headlights turn onto the street. I pull her back against me, my arm banding around her waist, pinning her tight. She freezes, breath trapped in her chest, until the car rolls by, oblivious to the scene playing out nearby. The shaky exhale she releases fills the air between us.

“Good girl.” I twist her around, pressing her into the rough brick wall, my body caging her in. She winces as the coarse surface digs into her back. I lift the camera, capturing the quick rise ofher chest, the glance she throws toward the disappearing car.

I press two fingers beneath her chin, bringing her gaze back to me. “You’re not scared of someone seeing you. You’re scared about wanting it. You want someone to notice you.” My lips brush her neck, and I feel her pulse flutter erratically under my touch. “To finallymatterto someone.”

I nip at her throat, savoring the way she stiffens. Another car passes, headlights sweeping over us. She tries to turn away, but I hold her still. My camera clicks rapidly, each shot a testament to her resistance, her fear, the hesitant surrender as she yields to the excitement she doesn’t yet understand.

“Look at me.” I pull the band from her hair, letting it fall around her shoulders. My fingers tangle in the strands. “This is how I want it on Monday. No more hiding. No more disguises.”

“I—”

“You will.” My teeth close around her earlobe, biting down. “Because every time you run, every time you try to disappear …” I lift the camera, turning the screen toward her. The image is stark—her hair wild, her lips parted, her expression teetering on the edge of fear and desire. Moonlight casts her in a pale glow, vulnerable, exposed. “I will strip you down, until there’s nothing left to hide.”

My free hand trails down her throat, the camera swaying from my wrist as my fingers explore. Her skin is like ice under my touch, yet she’s so responsive—each tremor, each barely suppressed whimper is a song I want to hear again and again. She gasps as my hand moves lower, learning her body, claiming more of her. Her obedience, her unwillingness to move, feeds something dark within me, something possessive and primal.

“Monday morning.” My lips graze her jaw. She shivers. “Six A.M. The dance studio at school. Don’t make me come and find you.”

Her lips part as though she wants to say something, but she stays quiet.

“What? Don’t go quiet on me now.”

But she stays silent, glancing at the camera in my hand. The hesitation in her eyes only fuels my hunger.

The flash illuminates her, her head tipped back, her hair framing her face, her body caught in the glow. I tilt the screen toward her, watching her eyes widen as she takes in the image.

“See how exquisite you are when you stop running.”

Conflicting emotions cross her face. Anger, fear, and most intoxicating of all, confusion. She doesn’t know if she wants to fight or fold, but her stillness speaks louder than her silence.

Lights flick on in an apartment across the street, the glow spilling out onto the road. A faint tremor runs through her, her fingers twitching at her sides. Yet she doesn’t lift a hand to cover herself. Her compliance is a gift, and I reward her obedience by capturing her mouth with mine. My fingers tighten around her throat. The kiss is a brand, a reminder—she’s mine now, and no one else gets to touch her.

Her breathing is unsteady when I pull away, her eyes half-lidded, lips swollen from my kiss. I brush my mouth against hers once more.

“So fucking responsive. So perfectly mine.”

My hand trails down between her breasts. She shivers, and I smile. Each tremor, each gasp, feeds the hunger inside me. I lift my camera again, capturing her submission, her surrender, her arousal. Every image is mine—like she is mine. Every shaky breath, every unwilling arch into my touch.

I step back, giving her just enough space to think she has room to breath. But not enough to let her believe she’s out of my grasp. I don’t need the camera for this. My memory will imprint the way she stands there, half-naked, trembling, scared and turned on.

“Come with me.”

I catch her wrist, giving a small tug to guide her. Her steps are hesitant, her breathing shallow, as I lead her into the night. Beneath each streetlight, I stop her, positioning her in the paleglow, so I can take a photograph. My hands stay connected to her body, stroking down her spine, cupping her breasts, squeezing her ass. She jumps at every touch, every sound. And Iloveit. Love the way she trembles, and gasps, caught between wanting to run and knowing she can’t.

When we reach my car, I make her wait, facing the road, hands behind her back, breasts on display, while I circle her, photographing her.

“Stay still.” I adjust her position with a touch—straighten her shoulder, lift her chin—and take another shot.

I want her completely naked, her legs spread, her body offered to me without reservation. But she’s not ready for that … not yet.

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