Page 9 of Bound By His Name
Anya
I haven’t stopped thinking about his voice.
It’s not just what Lev read, but how he read it—calm, low, never theatrical. The words were rough, violent even, but there was something else in them. He didn’t look at me while he read. That unnerved me more than anything. It was as though he knew the weight of being watched, and he wanted me to feel it alone.
I didn’t sleep. I lay in the bed, tangled in the sheets, fingers itching toward the book I still haven’t opened. I don’t know what’s worse—that he left me untouched again, or that I wanted him to stay.
I don’t know who I am in this house anymore. I only know I feel watched, not by guards or cameras, but by the man I’m not sure wants to touch me—or ruin me.
At nightfall, I light the fireplace myself. No maid comes and no dinner is sent.
Finally, I hear a single measured knock. The door opens and Lev steps inside. He doesn’t carry anything. Not a tray or a book, he brings only himself.
He remains quiet as he lowers himself into the chair across from me. I stay seated on the floor in front of the fire, legs pulled to my chest. I should be colder than I am. My skin’s flushed and my heart isn’t calm.
“You came without anything,” I say.
“I didn’t think I needed anything.”
I don’t respond. I should be used to him saying less than he could.
But tonight, I want more.
I turn toward him. My robe has slipped from one shoulder and I don’t fix it.
“Why didn’t you touch me last night?” I ask.
He doesn’t smile or flinch. He leans forward slightly with elbows on his knees and his eyes steady.
“Because I wanted to know if you’d ask.”
I breathe in, then out—carefully. “So that’s what this is? Some kind of test?”
“No.” His voice is even. “It’s permission. And proof you’re the one giving it.”
I blink up at him, surprised. My heart pounds faster, beating harder against my chest. His eyes are intense as they roam over my face.
I don’t move closer. There’s already too little space between us. I feel him in the warmth crawling up my legs, in the heavy pulse sitting low in my stomach. When he leans in, I meet him halfway.
Our mouths brush. Just slow heat, rising between us like the fire behind me. He kisses me once, then again, deeper this time, until I open to him without being asked.
I melt into him as he explores my mouth with his tongue, my body molding to his as I kiss him back just as eagerly. Our tongues dance together, exploring each other's mouths with hungry abandon.
I moan softly into his mouth, my body responding as he breaks the kiss, trailing kisses down my neck and across my collarbone.
Lev’s lips find mine again, softer this time. I don’t even remember closing my eyes. I just know I open them when he pulls back slightly.
His hand finds the tie at my waist. He pauses, waiting. As soon as I give him a nod, he loosens the knot.
Then he takes my wrist, gently, and guides it down—lower, between my legs, where the slip of my robe has already exposed the top of my thigh.
“Go slow,” he says quietly. “Feel it. Don’t fake it.”
His voice isn’t teasing. It’s reverent, almost careful. He doesn't touch me yet but watches.
“Let me hear what you sound like when you’re not afraid.”
His hand stays on my wrist, but he doesn’t guide the movement. He doesn’t need to as I’m already there.
