Chapter 19 #2
I miss the way he looked at me that night when he was tender, t the sound of his voice, even when it's cold and commanding. I miss the feeling of being seen, of mattering to someone, even if that someone is a monster.
I'm so fucking broken.
—
The next two days blur together.
I stop trying to maintain any kind of routine. I sleep when exhaustion finally drags me under. I eat when I'm hungry. I exist, and I try not to think about how fucking lonely I am. And more often than not, I cry.
I want to go home. I want to see Andrei. And neither of those things can exist together in the same world.
On the fifth day, I hear a vehicle. I go to the window immediately, pressing my face against the glass. I'm desperate for something, anything different. An SUV pulls up to the entrance and the door opens.
Andrei.
My heart twists in my chest, a rush of relief and anger and desire crashing through me until I can't begin to untangle them.
Even from this distance, I can see the exhaustion in the way he moves and the dark circles under his eyes. His clothes are rumpled and his hair is disheveled. He looks like he's been fighting a war.
He has been fighting a war, because of me. Because my father won't pay. Because I'm here instead of home where I belong.
I watch him speak to one of the guards, his posture tense. Then he disappears into the house. I hear his footsteps on the stairs and hear them stop outside my door. He doesn't bother knocking before he opens it.
He stands in the doorway, and up close he looks even worse. The exhaustion is carved into every line of his face. His eyes are bloodshot.
"Liesl." My name sounds rough in his mouth.
"You're back." My voice sounds strange too.
"Are you okay?"
The question is so absurd I almost laugh. Am I okay? I've been locked in this room for five days with no human contact, slowly losing my mind from isolation, terrified to speak to the guards because I'm afraid he'll kill them for talking to me.
"I'm fine," I say.
His eyes narrow. I can tell he doesn't believe me. "Do you need anything?"
I shake my head sharply. "No."
"Liesl—"
"I said I'm fine." The words come out sharply. "Is that all?"
He's quiet for a long moment, just looking at me.
I can see him trying to read me, trying to understand what's happening behind my carefully blank expression.
I don't give him anything. I don't let him see the desperate loneliness, the aching need, or the way I want to cross this room and touch him just to prove he's real.
"I need to go back," he says finally. "The situation isn't resolved. But I wanted to check on you. To make sure—"
"I'm fine," I repeat. "You can go."
Something flickers across his face. His jaw tightens, and I see him fighting for control. "Okay," he says. "I'll come back when I can."
He starts to turn away, and something breaks inside me. Before I can stop myself, I move across the room, my hand shooting out to grab his arm.
He freezes and looks down at my hand on his sleeve, then up at my face.
"I'm sorry." The words tumble out before I can stop them. "I'm sorry my father is doing this to you. I'm sorry for the war, for the men dying, all of it. I'm sorry you're—" My voice cracks. "I'm sorry."
For a moment, he just stares at me. His expression is unreadable, but I see something shift in his eyes. And then he turns, takes two steps to close the distance between us, and bends to kiss me.
It's not the rough possession of before or the tender exploration of the most recent night.
This is something else entirely—desperate and hungry and aching with need.
Like he's been starving and I'm the first meal he's seen in days.
His hand cups my face, thumb sweeping over my cheekbone, and I kiss him back with equal desperation.
My hands fist in his shirt, pulling him closer, and he makes a sound low in his throat that sends heat straight through me.
His other hand slides into my hair, tilting my head back and deepening the kiss. His tongue sweeps into my mouth and I taste him. Desire pulses through me, and I can't stop. I don't want to stop. We break apart just long enough to breathe, and then we're kissing again. Harder this time,more urgent.
His hands move to my waist, pulling me against him, and I can feel every hard line of his body through our clothes. I can feel the tension in his muscles, the barely controlled aggression that's always simmering just beneath his surface. "Liesl." My name is a growl against my lips. "I missed you."
Pain lances through my chest. "I missed you too."
"You were so cold. So distant. I thought—" His hands slide under my shirt, warm against my skin, and I arch into his touch. Need pulses through me, hot and insistent, drowning out every rational thought.
"Please," I whisper against his mouth. "Please, I need—"
"I know what you need." His voice is rough with desire. "I'll give it to you."
He walks me backward until my back hits the wall beside the window.
His hands are everywhere—sliding up my sides, cupping my breasts through my bra, moving down to grip my hips.
A whimper slips from my lips, against his mouth, and I can't even be embarrassed about it.
Not when he's touching me like this, like he needs it as much as I do.
His mouth moves to my neck, kissing and biting, and his hand slides between my legs. Even through my jeans I can feel the pressure, the promise of what's coming. "Off," he commands, his fingers working at the button. "Get these off."
I help him, fumbling with the zipper and pushing the denim down my hips. He doesn't wait for me to step out of them completely before his hand is back, sliding into my underwear and finding me wet and ready.
"Fuck." His voice is a low, rasping growl. "You're so wet for me."
"Yes." I can barely form words. "Please, Andrei, please—"
His fingers slide inside me and I cry out, my head falling back against the wall. He knows exactly how to touch me now, his thumb finding my clit, his fingers curling to hit that spot that makes my vision blur. "Look at me," he commands.
I force my eyes open to meet his gaze. The intensity there steals my breath—raw need and possessive hunger and desperation. "You're mine," he growls, his fingers moving faster. "Say it."
"I'm yours." The words come out broken. "I'm yours, I'm yours, I'm—"
The orgasm hits me like a wave, crashing over me with devastating force. I cry out, my body convulsing, my hands scrabbling for purchase on his shoulders.
He doesn't stop or slow down. "Good girl," he almost purrs. "God, you feel so fucking good coming on my fingers. Now you're going to come on my cock."
He pulls his hand away and lifts me.
My legs wrap around his waist automatically. My back is still against the wall, his body pinning me there, and I can feel him hard and ready against me. "I need to be inside you," he mutters, his voice rough. "Tell me you want this."
"Yes." I'm already reaching between us, fumbling with his belt. "Yes, please, I need—"
He helps me, one hand supporting my weight while the other works his pants open. Then he's there, the head of his cock pressing against my entrance, and we both freeze.
"Liesl." My name is a question, and I can only formulate one answer.
"Yes," I whisper. "Please. I need you."
He pushes inside in one smooth thrust, and I feel every inch, every piercing. "Take it," he breathes as he bottoms out inside of me. "Just breathe, Liesl. I know you can take it. You take my cock so fucking well."
I moan as he talks me through it, my body adjusting to the sudden stretch of him, which is always difficult no matter how wet or ready I am.
The pressure, the fullness, the alien feeling of the piercings which nothing and no one will ever be able to replicate.
I tighten around him automatically, and he groans in a ragged sound.
"Fuck." His forehead drops to mine. "You feel so good."
"Move." I dig my heels into his back. "Please move."
He does. Slow at first, letting me adjust, then faster.
Harder. Each thrust drives me back against the wall, and I cling to him, lost in the sensation of being filled, being claimed, being his.
His mouth finds mine again, swallowing my moans, and I kiss him back with everything I have—all the loneliness, all the fear, all the desperate need for connection pouring into this moment.
"I've got you," he murmurs against my lips. "I've got you."
And for the first time in five days, I believe it.