Page 16 of Saviour

And it isn’t until she turns her eyes away from mine, looking at the ground, that I relish the fact my beautiful swan is naked and pure and standing right in front of me.

Only half of her body is illuminated by the moon, the other half a silhouette in the shadows. I can only make out the curve of her small breasts and the slim line of her frame, but my dick twitches and begs to be freed.

Fuck, she’s beautiful.

She quickly locates her clothes, rushing to put them on and standing still as I watch her finish doing up her last button.

I can tell she’s embarrassed and I wish she weren’t. What I could do to her to make her feel loved and worshipped. I cough, clearing my throat, hoping I don’t come across as perverted as I probably am.

“Ready?” I ask and hold my hand out.

She doesn’t say anything, but her small, cold hand slides into mine and her legs follow me.

Iknew coming back would be a mistake for many reasons. The biggest one being whoever called me earlier today definitely knew who I was and who I was running from and that in itself is my biggest threat. For a smaller, but possibly just as deadly reason, whoever Dax is, I was so relieved that he found me at the lake. He makes me feel things I’ve never had the capacity to feel and I’m not sure I’m okay with it. But I also can’t stop chasing it either.

Walking me back into the apartment, I’m wary as I take in the surroundings, hoping this isn’t a trap and the man who called earlier wasn’t instigated by Dax. I feel like I’m more street-smart than this, especially in the last two years, but coming back with him just feltright.

Dax cooks for us again, except this time we eat in silence. Every now and then, I peek my eyes up at him, studying his features and movements. He uses his right hand to hold his fork instead of the left, he guzzles the dark liquid in his glass in huge gulps every now and then, and his tongue always licks his lips after each mouthful.

I help clean, refusing to let him wait on me hand and foot, and after that he retires to his room and after a quick shower, I do the same.

It’s odd. We’re not really talking, but it’s not uncomfortable either.

After drying and getting under the covers, I lie awake for what feels like an eternity, trying to switch my mind off of the past twenty-four hours. The lake, Sophie’s, the dead man, Dax, the man on the phone, running. Finding myself back in the very spot where I was threatened with my past barely twelve hours before.

Two years I’ve been running and not once have I been caught or seen by anyone who may know where I come from until now. And how did this man even know I was here? I think back over our conversation, albeit very quiet on my part, and recall what he said about Districts. I’ll have to try and slyly ask Dax what that means.

And just as my mind wanders to Dax, I hear the same soft grunts that invaded my thoughts yesterday.

I am still in the room, letting the darkness hide my blush and bite my lip at the heavy breaths of pleasure travelling through the walls. Does this man wank every night or is this for me? Does he know I can hear him?

I look at the clock and see it’s just past two in the morning, so he must think I’m asleep surely?

With every grunt, my clit throbs and the urge to touch it is driving me over the edge. I can feel the wetness gathering between my thighs and I squeeze them together as tightly as I can.

I hear a much louder and breathier ‘oh fuck’ and my whole body shivers, my pussy throbbing with ache and the need to be touched. But I won’t. Not after what nearly happened this morning. Even though I’m desperate forsomething. I can't.

The noises die down and I bury my head under the pillows, silently screaming at the voices in my brain to stop.

I didn’t do it!

But you wanted to.

But I didn’t and I won't!

I curse at my thoughts over and over as I continue to torture myself until I fall asleep.

* * *

Dax isthere when I wake in the morning, dressed in a suit and looking fine as hell. His blond hair is damp and curling more than usual and I try not to gawk.

“Good morning, Birdie.”

I arch an eyebrow at him and he smirks, lifting a mug to his lips, and I find that it feels normal and comfortable to be silently sassing him out in the kitchen over coffee like it’s an everyday occurrence for us.

“How are you feeling?” he questions after I’ve poured myself a mug.

“I’d like to go to Sophie’s today, please,” I say casually, after deciding what I needed to do last night.

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