of her?” I ask him.
“You’d like that,” he answers. “Wouldn’t you?”
“What does that mean?”
“You would use any excuse not to feel the way you do right now.”
He’s right. He’s so right that it scares me. I feel something with him. Something more than the reckless behavior and the self-hatred.
I feel… safe with him. His house is my sanctuary. His body, my fortress. He is tall and strong and dangerous. And like Magda said, I believe that he will protect me.
That’s the most dangerous belief I could ever have with a man.
I need to level the playing field. I need him to know that I know his secrets too.
“That’s exactly what a hypocrite would say.” I lean close and murmur into his right ear. “Lyoshka.”
He freezes, his hands still on my ass, his head moving back to examine me. To question me with those pale blue eyes.
“I know,” I tell him.
“And what have you to say about it?” he asks.
His jaw is taut, his eyes hard and appraising. I know instinctively this man could spot a lie if I ever dared to utter one. But I only ever have my honesty to give to him.
“I like it,” I admit. “Because maybe that makes us even. Maybe that means it’s you and me against the world.”
He relaxes slightly, and his brows draw closer. I’ve surprised him with my answer. He expected something different.
Hatred? Disgust?
I can’t quite figure it out. But Magda’s words are ringing through my mind, loud and clear.
You are more alike than you know.
“How do you conceal it so well?” I ask. “How do you read lips without being obvious?”
“Like any skill, you perfect it by learning. Through practice.”
I nod, and he continues to watch me. And explain.
“I don't catch everything that is spoken. I catch pieces, and I put them together in my head. Like a puzzle. Everyone is different. Some talk too fast, some mumble. Some cover their mouth, or look away. Some are easy to read. Some are hard. It isn’t just about reading lips. Your face says a thousand things that your lips never will.”
“What do you mean?”
His fingers come up to touch my chin. And then my brows. They trail over my face, examining me in a way he hasn’t done before.
“It's a thousand micro expressions. The way your eyes contract and expand. The flutter of lashes. The involuntary hitch of a shoulder or a tick you didn’t even know you made. There are so many emotions that go unnoticed because most are only used to listening to the words. But I learned to watch. And now I see everything.”
It makes sense. How he’s so observant. How he seems to anticipate my moves before I even know them myself sometimes.
“And what do you see in my face?” I ask him curiously.
“The pain you are too proud to admit you feel.”
“That’s rich. Coming from you.”
“Is it?” he asks.
“Do you drink so much because you feel sorry for yourself? Or is it because of Katya?”
He doesn’t reply. His grip on me is tight and unforgiving. I keep pushing him.
“Is that why we are married in name only? So you can fuck me and think of her?”
He kisses me again. Hard this time. All the while his fingers are pulling the zipper down the back of my dress. Freeing the material enough that he can shove it down and trap my arms at my sides, allowing the cool air to hit my breasts.
He pulls away and kisses at my throat, using his hand to grind my hips down onto his erection.
“I married you so that I can fuck you,” he answers. “And think of you while I do it.”
His mouth comes over my breast, and his fingers slip into my panties and then inside of me. Fucking me with his hand while I sit in his lap. I close my eyes and try to numb myself the way I usually do. To rid myself of the feelings he is provoking in me.
Lust. Desire. Want.
And worst of all… hope.
He squeezes my jaw tight in his hand and pauses, his voice tense when he speaks.
“You look at me,” he orders. “You think of me. When your husband is fucking you.”
I open my eyes and meet his. Dark and so hot I feel like he’s burning right through my skin.
“You will only ever think of me,” he orders again, harsher this time. “I want to invade your every thought.”
I don’t know if it’s a command or a plea. So my honesty