Chapter 8
Sabine
The light from the chandelier cast prisms on the paintings that lined the staircase. On the landing, Kara shifted me slightly to adjust her grip, and I jolted against her.
“What's upstairs?” I asked, my voice low and shakier than I’d like.
“The bedrooms. We’ll be sleeping in shifts.”
The light was dimmer and air warmer at the top of the stairs. She carried me down a long carpeted hallway, the soft pile muting her steps. Framed photographs lined the walls, their images blurred in my quick glances.
She continued. “There will always be someone up, someone watching.”
My fingers curled slightly into the fabric at her shoulder, not entirely from the movement. “Is that a threat?”
Her mouth tipped at one corner, though her eyes stayed forward. “It’s a promise, Sabine.”
We passed a closed door, then another. The hallway narrowed before opening again, the light warmer here. She stopped in front of a dark walnut door, the grain catching in the glow from a nearby sconce.
“This is you,” she said, shifting her stance to turn the doorknob before pushing it open with her foot.
We entered a large bedroom. She set me down slowly, keeping one hand at my waist until I was steady on my feet. The mattress of a four-poster bed loomed beside us, the carved posts stretching almost to the high ceiling.
She was close enough that the heat from her body touched mine. When I looked up, her gaze was already on me. Something tightened low in my stomach, the air in the space between us felt claustrophobic.
Her hand came up, fingertips brushing along the side of my face. The touch was sure, the warmth of her palm cupping my cheek. I concentrated on not moving, but found myself leaning into it, my breath catching as the distance narrowed.
For a moment, it felt inevitable. Inescapable. Her eyes dropped to my mouth, then mine to hers. My fingers curled lightly into the fabric at her waist—to push her away or pull her closer. I wasn’t sure which.
Her mouth was covering mine before I could register what was happening. Her kiss was hard, insistent, and her tongue delved into my mouth, exploring depths I wasn’t prepared to bare. Her hand slid around to cup my neck, trapping me against her, and when I tried to pull away, her hand tightened.
Her mouth slid from my mouth to my jawline, then down my neck, nipping at my collarbone.
“Stop, Kara.” I gathered myself and rolled my neck to try and escape her capture.
Her eyes were a thunderstorm of desire when she slid one hand under my sweater and covered my breast with her other hand.
My nipples hardened into pebbled peaks against the lace and she squeezed with her palm and thumb, hard enough to make me jump.
Her eyes caught mine and I shook my head, barely getting the word “stop” out of my mouth again before she pressed my hips against the high mattress, forcing me onto the bed.
My sweater slid up to reveal pale skin above the waistband of my pants, and her eyes feasted before her mouth dipped low, kissing me there. Charges of electricity ran from the contact point through my body.
This can’t be happening.
“No, Kara,” I said, pressing my palms against her head, trying to push her off of me.
She was stronger, and her forearms braced on either side of me like a heated cage as her tongue traced circles up toward my breasts.
The pressure was delicious. It would be so easy to—but no, I couldn’t.
It was bad enough that they had me stashed away in this opulent prison.
She looked surprised for only a flash, then stood up. My eyes flicked down unwittingly and I couldn’t help but notice her hard nipples through her t-shirt. She let out a slow breath and stepped back, her hand scrubbing over her short hair.
The heat that had built between us drained into the empty space she left.
“You should have stopped the first time I said so,” I managed, pulling myself to a sitting position.
She gave a single nod and crossed to the door. “I’ll bring your suitcase and bag up in just a few minutes,” she said, her voice even. The sound of the door closing was soft, but it left the room very still.
I scooted forward onto the edge of the bed, the carved frame cool under my palm. The mattress gave easily beneath me, the spread smooth and neatly tucked.
The room was beautiful: high ceiling, thick curtains framing tall windows, a wardrobe of dark wood against the far wall. A small sitting area with two chairs and a low table sat near the hearth.
It should have been comforting, but the details slid past without catching. My chest felt tight with something I couldn’t name. Disappointment. Confusion.
Desire. The warmth from her hand still lingered on my cheek, and I traced the grain in the bedpost with my thumb, trying to understand why the space felt so much emptier than it had a few minutes ago.
A hot blur burned behind my eyes before I could stop it, and a tear slid down my cheek. I caught it with the heel of my hand, annoyed at myself for letting it fall.
What the hell had just happened? One moment her mouth was on mine, her hands everywhere, and I’d almost let myself drown in it. The next, I was shoving her back, spitting words I wasn’t sure I even meant. My chest still rose too fast, lungs pulling against ribs that didn’t want to settle.
The warmth of her lingered like a phantom: the cup of her palm at my cheek, the moist heat of her tongue against my neck, the heat of her body pinning me down.
My body ached with the memory, even as my mind recoiled.
I pressed my fists into the bedspread, willing the sensation away, but the echo of it throbbed low and sharp, impossible to ignore.
The bed dipped beneath me as I edged forward. My chest was still too tight, but another small discomfort intruded, impossible to ignore. I needed to pee.
I drew a breath and slid one foot to the floor.
The rug was cool under my toes, but when I shifted to test my bad ankle, fire shot up my leg.
I caught a sharp breath and stilled, waiting for the ache to ebb.
I reminded myself that it was just a sprain.
I eased more weight onto it, hopping a fraction until the muscles steadied. Tentative, uneven, but possible.
The en-suite door stood a few steps away, walnut panels dark in the lamplight. My hand trailed the bedpost as I pushed off, hobbling forward with my injured foot barely grazing the carpet. Each movement sent a dull throb up my leg, but momentum carried me through the doorway.
The bathroom opened wide, far larger than I expected, its marble counters running the length of one wall beneath a gilt-edged mirror.
Pale stone tiles cooled the soles of my feet, and light from a sconce caught faint shimmer in the grout lines.
A clawfoot tub crouched under tall windows, curtains drawn tight against the night.
I paused, steadying myself against the counter.
My gaze snagged on the neat arrangement of toiletries waiting there.
Shampoo, conditioner, body wash, and lotion were lined in a careful row.
All my favorite brands. It felt like these women, who I’d never laid eyes on before today, somehow knew every one of my secrets and desires. It was unnerving.
I reached out and touched the nearest bottle. The slick plastic was cool under my fingers. Every detail was right, down to the subtle citrus scent I always chose over the floral ones.
It shouldn’t have comforted me, but it did, in a way that felt dangerous. I wasn’t supposed to like this. I wasn’t supposed to feel anything except suspicion, maybe fear. Instead, heat curled low in my stomach. I had been noticed. Seen.
How could they know? Not even friends paid attention to things like this. Not coworkers. Not the women I’d dated.
I gripped the counter harder. The tiles blurred in my vision as if the room itself leaned closer, waiting for me to choose what to believe. Were these women protecting me, watching me, or something else?
The silence pressed in, heavy with answers I didn’t have.
I lifted my head, caught by the reflection in the wide mirror above the sink.
The woman staring back didn’t look like me.
My cheeks were flushed, eyes too bright, lips swollen as though I’d already given in.
I raised a hand to my face, tracing the same line Kara’s fingers had only minutes ago.
The memory was sharper than it had any right to be.
The callused pad of her thumb along my jaw, the heat of her palm cupping my neck.
I should have been furious. I should have hated the way she’d taken liberties, the way she pushed past the word stop until I forced it again. But instead of rage, something else hummed beneath my skin, a restless ache that wouldn’t quiet.
My gaze slid lower, catching the faint rise and fall of my chest under my sweater. The outline of my body felt unfamiliar, as if Kara’s hands had redrawn it. Her mouth had burned along my throat, down to the edge of my collarbone, leaving places that still tingled when I breathed too deeply.
I pressed both palms to the counter, forcing myself to meet my eyes. I was trembling, though whether from anger, desire, or some impossible mixture of both, I couldn’t tell. The mirror offered no clarity. Only the truth that, for a few stolen moments, I hadn’t wanted her to stop at all.
And that truth scared me more than anything outside these walls.
The need to pee finally outweighed everything else.
I braced a hand on the counter and shifted my weight carefully.
I limped the few steps to the toilet, each shuffle sending a twinge up my leg.
Lowering myself onto the seat took real effort.
My palms pressed hard into the cool porcelain to steady the rest of me until I finally settled.
The relief was immediate, though the position made the throbbing in my ankle harder to ignore.
When I finished, I sat still a moment longer, straining to catch any sound from beyond the door.
Nothing. No footsteps on the stairs, no voices in the hall.
Just the quiet hum of the house around me.
My chest tightened with the realization that I had no idea what time it was.
I’d have to power my phone up—but no, it was under lock and key somewhere. Irritation dusted over me.
I pushed myself upright, biting back a hiss as the tender joint protested.
One hand trailed along the wall until I could lean against the counter again to pull up my pants.
My fingers slid through my hair, catching on a tangle.
The motion made me ache for a shower, to strip off the day and stand under heat until the tension ran down the drain.
But the bandage around my ankle pulled at the skin when I flexed, a reminder of Ellie warning me to stay off of it.
I muttered under my breath, half to the empty room, half to myself. “Better be healed up by morning.”
The mirror caught me again as I turned away. My reflection looked worn, hair mussed, sweater stretched, eyes too wide. I let out a long breath and eased my way toward the door. Every step was a rhythm of careful balance and stubborn will.
Crossing the threshold into the bedroom felt like reclaiming a fraction of control. I made it to the edge of the dresser and steadied myself against the wood just as a knock sounded at the door.
The handle turned, and Kara stepped in. She stopped just inside, her pale eyes finding mine instantly. For a long second, neither of us spoke. We only looked at each other, the silence stretched taut between us.