Chapter 5 （continued） #2
"Oh?" He says it almost fondly. His grip on my jaw tightens, pain shooting through me sharp and bright, and my breath hitches in a way I can't control.
"You're wet right now. I can see it in how you're standing.
How your thighs are pressed together like you're trying to hide what's happening between them. How your breath keeps catching."
Another wave of shame floods through me, hot and overwhelming. "Please—"
What the actual fuck? I did not just say that.
Please?
"Please what?" His face is so close now I can feel his words against my lips. "Please stop? Or please don't stop?"
I don't answer because I genuinely don't know which one I mean.
His hand moves from my jaw to my throat—not squeezing, just resting there, feeling my pulse hammer against his palm like a trapped bird.
"If I slid my hand under your skirt right now," he murmurs, and the words make everything inside me clench, "would I find you dripping? Would you gasp or moan or both?"
Both. Heaven help me, you’ll find both.
"Answer me, Valerie."
"I don't know." It comes out strangled. "I'm not—this isn't—"
"Your body's already answered." His thumb presses against my pulse point, feeling how it races. "You can lie with your words all you want. Your body tells me the truth."
Heat floods my face. My chest. Lower. I am wet, soaking, my underwear damp, my thighs slick, and I want to disappear, want to die from the humiliation of wanting this man who terrifies me, who threatens me, who I'm supposed to betray.
"This is what you don't understand yet." His hand slides from my throat to the back of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair. "The fear makes it better. Sharper. You're so alive right now, you can barely stand it. And part of you, the part you're ashamed of, wants more."
"No—"
"Yes." He tugs my hair, tilting my head back, exposing my throat. "I saw it in the bathroom. That flash of darkness when you stopped being afraid and became something else. And I'm going to pull it out of you again. Make you show me what you're really hiding underneath all this terror."
My legs are shaking so hard I can barely stay upright. My pulse is hammering everywhere, throat, wrists, between my thighs. And I'm so turned on I can't think straight, can't process anything except his hand in my hair, his breath on my skin, and the ache building inside me that I don't understand.
Please, Lev, just fuck me and end this damn assault from my own body.
He releases me suddenly, stepping back like nothing happened.
Like he didn't just threaten to break me while making me so aroused I can barely breathe.
"Your room has been moved to the east wing. Third door on the left. You'll start your new duties tomorrow morning." He moves to his desk and picks up a file. Dismissing me like I'm nothing. "Elena will brief you on Mila's full routines. Don't be late."
I stand there trembling, confused, aroused, terrified, unable to process the shift.
"That's all, Valerie. You can go."
I don’t go, I run.
Out of his office, down the corridor, barely making it to my new room before my legs give out completely.
The room is bigger than my old one. Nicer. Windows overlooking the gardens. En suite bathroom. A bed that looks fit for a queen. And it's thirty feet from Lev's bedroom.
I can hear him through the walls even now. Footsteps. Water running. A door closing. Every sound makes my pulse race, makes me hyperaware of his proximity, makes me imagine what he's doing on the other side of that wall.
He's right there. Just through that barrier. Moving around. Existing. Breathing.
The thought shouldn't affect me the way it does.
I pull out the burner phone with shaking hands. Patrick's been waiting. I need to send him something, or he'll escalate the threats.
My fingers tremble as I type, documenting everything I've memorized over the past week:
Guard rotation: 6-hour shifts with a total of 8 men. Change occurs at 2PM and 8PM. The northeast corner has a blind spot between cameras that lasts about 30 seconds during shift change.
Vehicles: Daniel drives the Mercedes for daily errands. Uses the town car for formal events. Black SUV (bulletproof) is for Lev's business meetings. SUV departs Tuesday and Thursday mornings, returns by 6PM.
Layout: Main floor - study (locked, keypad 6-digits), library (unlocked), sitting room (unlocked). Second floor - 4 guest bedrooms (unused), Lev's office (locked, requires fingerprint). East wing - Lev's quarters, Mila's room, staff rooms.
Nothing critical. Nothing that could get anyone killed immediately. Just enough to satisfy Patrick for another week.
But my hands are shaking so badly I almost drop the phone.
Because I'm documenting the home of a little girl who now trusts me. Mapping vulnerabilities in the fortress of a man who threatened to break me, but also made my body respond in ways I don't understand.
I'm a traitor. A spy. A liar.
Patrick's response comes immediately:
Good. Keep going. One week. Then I want his schedule. Where he goes, when, with how many men.
One week to find information that will definitely get Lev killed.
I delete the messages, my body trembling, and hide the phone.
My real phone buzzes. Tash.
TASH: How'd the meeting go???
ME: He threatened to break every bone in my body if I hurt Mila
TASH: Hot
ME: TASH!
TASH: WHAT? Intensity is sexy! also you're alive, meaning he likes you.
ME: He terrifies me.
TASH: And?
ME: And WHAT?
TASH: Does he turn you on too?
I stare at the screen for a long moment, unable to type the truth.
ME: I hate you.
TASH: That's a yes. I knew it! Val, you have to use this.
ME: Use what? My horrifying trauma response?
TASH: Your ATTRACTION! He wants you. You want him. Use that to your advantage.
ME: It's not that simple.
TASH: It never is. But babe... you can't risk getting attached. Not to him, not to Mila, not to any of this. It's too dangerous. You understand that, right?
Her words settle in my chest like stones.
ME: I know.
TASH: Do you? Because you already sound attached.
ME: She's seven, and she's been through hell.
TASH: So have you. Don't forget why you're there. Don't forget what happens if you fail. Do not forget you are still in hell. You do not yet have the luxury to say you have been through it.
ME: I know.
But I'm lying. To her and to myself.
Because I am attached. To Mila's small hand in mine. To the way she smiles when I braid her hair. To the trust in her eyes that I don't deserve and can't return honestly.
And worse, so much worse, I'm drawn to Lev in ways that should horrify me more than they do. Ways that make my body respond even when my mind knows it's wrong. Ways that make me crave his attention even when it comes wrapped in death.
I lie in my new bed and listen to him move around through the wall.
Footsteps. Water running in what must be his bathroom. The creak of floorboards as he walks from one room to another.
My imagination fills in the gaps I shouldn't be thinking about.
Is he showering? Getting ready for bed? Touching himself the way I touched myself thinking about him?
The thought makes heat flood through me again, makes my thighs press together, makes my hand slide down my stomach before I can stop it.
No. This is wrong. I can't—
But my fingers keep moving, slipping under my underwear, finding wetness that's been there since his office. Since he threatened me, grabbed my jaw, and made me feel things I shouldn't feel.
I'm soaked. Embarrassingly wet. And I hate myself for it, hate that his violence turned me on, hate that I'm touching myself while thinking about pale gray eyes and rough hands and the way he looked at me like he wanted to break me open and see what spilled out.
But I can't stop.
My fingers move in slow circles over my clit, and I bite my lip hard to stay quiet because he's right there, just through that wall, and what if he can hear? What if he knows what I'm doing?
The thought makes me wetter.
I imagine his hands instead of mine. Imagine him walking through that door and finding me like this—desperate and ashamed and aching. Would he be disgusted? Amused? Would he finish what I started or make me beg for it?
My fingers move faster, and I press my face into the pillow to muffle the sounds trying to escape.
This is wrong this is wrong this is so fucking wrong but…
But I can't stop imagining him. The way his fingers dug into my jaw. The rough drag of his thumb across my lip. The promise in his voice when he said he'd pull the darkness out of me.
What would that feel like? What would he do if I let him?
My other hand comes up to my breast, pinching my nipple through my shirt the way I imagine he would—rough, demanding, taking what he wants without asking.
I'm close. So close. Pressure building sharp and tight inside me.
And then I hear it.
Footsteps. On the other side of the wall. Moving closer. Coming toward the wall we share.
Then stopping.
Right there. Right on the other side of where I'm lying.
Oh God. He knows. He can hear me. He knows what I'm doing.
The thought pushes me over the edge.
I come hard, biting down on my fist to muffle his name as it tries to escape my lips. Pleasure crashes through me in waves—sharp and intense and followed immediately by crushing shame.
I lie there in the dark afterward, hand still between my thighs, breath coming in ragged gasps, listening.
The footsteps don't move.
He's still there. Standing on the other side of the wall. Listening to me fall apart.
Knowing exactly what I just did.
Minutes pass. Maybe longer. Time does something strange when you're drowning in shame and satisfaction.
Finally, the footsteps move away. Back toward what must be his bedroom. A door closes softly.
I curl into a ball, pulling my hand away and wiping it on the sheets like I can erase what just happened.
But I can't.
Because I just masturbated thinking about a man who threatened to break me. Came with his name almost on my lips. And he may have heard me do it.
Tomorrow I have to face him. Have to pretend this didn't happen. Have to take care of his daughter while knowing I'm betraying them both.
I'm caught between two predators—Patrick, who'll kill my family if I fail, and Lev, who'll kill me when he finds out what I'm doing.
And the worst part—the absolutely horrifying part—is that lying here in the dark, still feeling the aftershocks of orgasm, still hearing his footsteps in my head, I'm more afraid of Lev finding out than I am of Patrick's threats.
Because at least Patrick's violence is straightforward. Expected. Something I can prepare for.
But Lev? Lev is unpredictable. Dangerous in ways I don't understand. And somehow, impossibly, that makes him more terrifying and more fascinating in equal measure.
I fall asleep listening for his footsteps, wondering if he's thinking about me the way I can't stop thinking about him.
Wondering what he'll do tomorrow when he looks at me, and we both know what happened tonight.
Wondering if that flash of darkness he's hunting for is already surfacing.
And terrified that I want him to find it.