Page 66 of Stripped

She shook her head. "I can't."

"Did he touch you, Primrose? Is that why you can't tell me?"

"No."

"I found you without any clothes on."

"He took them, but that's not what he wanted from me."

"What did he want? Help me understand."

"It's like he's linked us."

"Linked you?"

"He knew things about me. Everything from the way I wear my pointe shoes to the books I've read, the variations I've danced, my relationship with my father. He even knew the phrase you would say to me, that's my girl. He took it all and warped it and used it against me."

"Christ." He pulled her in tight to his chest.

"He said I owed him a debt from my grandfather. A life for a life. He made me dance for it. Then he killed one of the girls in front of me and made me watch her die, saying it would make me a better dancer."

"Jesus Christ."

"The thing is I am a better dancer. With him, I'm a better dancer."

"That's not true."

"I think it would have been easier if he had just used my body, but he penetrated my mind, seducing my soul into some kind of morbid dance with him."

"No. He doesn't control you, Primrose. I promise you that."

"I hate him, yet I need him. I'm flawed without him."

"No one can control your mind." He stood up with her in his arms. "You need to get some sleep." He set her down on the large, king-sized bed and lay next to her. She rolled over, the towel falling off, and kissed him, running her hand over his chest. "Fuck me until I forget."

"I'll make love to you but not fuck." He flipped her over on her back.

"You know there's no future for us," she said, putting her hands between them and pushing them apart.

"There's right now. We have right now." He felt her stiffen as he traced the curve of her cheekbone. "You're afraid."

* * *

He didn't say it as a taunt or an offensive, she could tell by his voice. It was more of a realization. "I'm not afraid. I just don't see the point." She felt as if her insides had been turned out. Raw and exposed. He was a killer, he had told her before, 'I've killed men,' warned her. She watched as he slit the throat of the man in Sokolov's room when he rescued her. Yet she wanted him, somewhere inside her, she trusted him, this Robert with a hundred names.

He gently moved her hands down to her sides and kissed her. "The point is you need to know what it feels like to let someone in and to feel safe," he whispered as he kissed her again. "Truly safe."

She didn't have a response. His hand, warm and large, cupped her bottom as he eased her on her side and pulled the towel from around his waist. Lifting her leg, he entered her so they faced each other. "What do you want, Primrose?"

She wanted him to hold her down and fuck her. This was too gentle, too intimate. She put her hands above her head, prompting him.

"No, darling. I mean, what do you want in life?"

"What kind of question is that?" Her voice came out thick and husky. He was large and the feel of him inside her began to dominate her senses.

"Tell me what you want."

"I've told you, I want to be perfect."

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