Page 14 of Savage Princess

She starts to stand up, wobbly-legged, and before I can stop myself, I grab her, my arm encircling her waist as I help steady her. It brings her up against me, her soft bare skin against mine, and I’m overwhelmed again with the urge to pick her up and take her back to bed, even though I just came seconds ago.

She doesn’t pull away, either. And as she looks up at me, her hands braced against my chest as her tongue flicks over her lower lip, still tasting me, I know the line I’m riding is knife-thin.

It would be all too easy to give in.

Elena

Ilike having the taste of him in my mouth. More than that, I like how it feels with his arm around me, holding me against him. I can feel his softening cock against my thigh, still damp from my mouth, both of us flushed and heated, sticking to each other a little bit. I arch against him without meaning to, hoping against hope that he won’t let me go. I want him to lean down and kiss me, his hand sliding into my hair again, his tongue tangling with mine. I want to feel him get hard all over again, for him to carry me back to bed and slide into me, spending the rest of the morning tangled up together skin to skin.

Instead, he pulls back, disentangling himself from me as he steps towards the bag of clothes. I can feel the moment he starts to put distance between us again, and my chest squeezes painfully as I reach for my robe, suddenly wanting to be more covered than I am now.

“Here.” He thrusts the bag out towards me, fishing out a pair of jeans and a shirt, and boxers for himself before handing it to me. “Hopefully, this fits.”

I turn away from him, carrying the bag into the bathroom. It makes no sense, really—only moments ago, I was naked on my knees with his cock in my mouth. But after the physical distance he just put between us, taking my robe off and getting dressed in front of him somehow feels too intimate, like something that lovers do.

There’s underwear in the bag but no bra, a pair of stretchy bike shorts, and an oversized t-shirt with a graphic of a sunrise splashed across it. It’s hardly the most attractive outfit I’ve ever seen, but the bagginess of the shirt will make up for the lack of a bra, and somehow I feel oddly touched by the idea that he thought of that.

A pair of high-top sneakers are at the bottom of the bag, and I can tell they’re a little big, but there are thick socks in there too, and shoes are better a little big than too small. I set all of it down on top of the toilet as I shrug off the robe, leaving it on the floor as I turn on the hot water in the shower.

Fifteen minutes later, scrubbed clean and my hair rewashed, I feel a little better. I pull on the clothing, looking at myself critically in the mirror as I run my fingers through my damp hair. I don’t look anything like any version of myself that seems familiar, but somehow that feels right. There’s a lot about myself that I’m starting to not recognize.

Levin is waiting for me when I come out, dressed in dark jeans and a black henley t-shirt made out of some nubby cotton that makes me want to run my hands over it—although that also could just be my reaction to him. It feels as if just about every time I see him, I want to run my hands over him.

“We need to go meet with an old contact of mine,” he says without preamble, his voice as cool and distant as if none of the events of this morning happened. It makes my stomach knot to hear it, and I hate the coolness between us, the way he pulls back so quickly when he remembers—what, exactly? That he doesn’t actually want to be doing this? When he comes to his senses and his personal moral code clicks back into place?

I find it frustrating and irritating, and I want to shout at him that he can’t have both—but the truth is that I know I would let him have both, if that’s what he wants, and beyond that, I know that it’s not a conversation we need to have right now.

“He might be able to get us back to Boston,” Levin continues, and I frown at him.

“Why don’t you just call Viktor?” I ask curiously. “Surely he can help—he’s your boss, right? And he has a lot of influence and money? Why can’t he just get us out of here?”

Levin chuckles, but it’s at least not a patronizing sound. “We have no identification, no passports,” he explains patiently. “Viktor can help me in a lot of places, and he’s gotten me out of more than a few scrapes, it’s true—but he doesn’t have much sway here. This isn’t a place his influence has reached. I know some people from my time with the Syndicate, and those are the contacts I’m going to have to rely on.”

Because that worked out so well with the hotel,I want to say, but I don’t. I know that’s not fair—Diego’s men could have found us anywhere, and they very well still might.

“What do you mean,you know some people from your time with the Syndicate?” I ask, mimicking the absolutely calm way he delivered it, as if that isn’t a strange thing to say at all. “What did you do here?”

“That doesn’t matter,” Levin says, his lips thinning slightly, and I narrow my eyes at him.

“Are you ever going to just explain anything on your own, or do I have to pry it all out of you?”

He laughs shortly. “I just told you a decent bit without youdraggingit out of me. I told you, Elena. I had some jobs here, off and on, throughout the years. I’m somewhat familiar with the city, and if my contacts from before still operate here, I might have some means to mitigate our situation. I know this one man is still working in his old trade.”

“That’s still very mysterious,” I complain, and Levin’s jaw tightens.

“I’m not going to give you all the gory details of my past life,” he says calmly. “I’ve been honest with you about what I did. You don’t need to know every file on me.”

“They keep files?” I blink at him, and he lets out a sigh.

“Elena, there are some things that it’s just better if you don’t know. Especially since—”

He breaks off, but I’m pretty sure I know what he was going to say.Especially since once we’re back in Boston, we’re never going to see each other again.

“Come on,” he says finally, nodding towards the door. “I’ll drop off the key, and we can go.”

I follow him, feeling the pit of anxiety in my stomach deepen as he drops off the key at the motel window, and we head out to the street. We have to walk a little ways until we reach a part of town busy enough to flag down a cab, and I wince with every limping step, but I bite back any complaints. I don’t want to be the one to hold us back.

The relief I feel once we’re sitting in the back of the cab, however, even if it is warm and smells slightly of old sweat, is palpable.

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