Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 92284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
I stifle a squeak when he reaches me. His arms cage me in, the heat of his body seeping into mine, but he doesn’t touch me. Not yet. One arm pressed against the wall, his gaze bores into mine. I lick my lips, my mouth dry.
"Go on," he murmurs, his lips close to my ear. "Tell me to leave. Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll go."
I open my mouth, ready to shout, to shove him away, to say something—anything—but nothing comes out.
I imagine he’s smirking as if he knows my answer already. One of his hands lifts, and his knuckles brush my cheek, the touch barely there but enough to send a shiver down my spine.
"You like being in control, don’t you?" he whispers. "But what if, just for a moment, you let go? What if you let someone else take the weight for once?" He bends his mouth to my ear, his words a heated whisper that makes my bones feel like rubber. “What if you gave in to that fantasy, little queen?”
I open my mouth to tell him to stop, but nothing comes out.
“You could’ve blocked me the first time I tagged you, but you didn’t. Deep down, this isn’t a fantasy for you, is it?”
When I don’t respond, he continues.
“Tell me to go, Ember.” His voice is low and molten. “Say the word, and I’ll vanish.”
He pulls back slightly, just enough to meet my eyes. "The choice is yours. Always. But make no mistake—I don’t bluff."
His words hang in the air, thick with promise, as he steps back, giving me space. My knees nearly buckle as the heat between us dissipates like smoke.
I stare at him, my pulse pounding in my ears. I should tell him to leave, to get the hell out of my life before he burns it all down.
But the words won’t come.
He chuckles softly, shaking his head. “That’s what I thought, little queen," he says before disappearing into the shadows. “I’ll be waiting.”
And then he’s… gone, like Batman. Poof.
I’m left alone on the roof, my body trembling and my mind spinning.
God help me, I think I want him to come back.
Chapter 5
RODION
I shouldn’t be doing this.
I really, really shouldn’t be doing this. Rafail is going to have my fucking head.
But what he doesn’t know…
I don’t want to terrify the girl. I’m not that kind of a guy. But I do want to call her bluff, and I couldn’t help myself. She has post after post about being tied up and blindfolded, about how she fantasizes about being taken in the dark and manhandled.
I would know. I’ve pored over every post with glee, taking clear notes.
She can lie all she wants. I know better. She wants this. I could tell by the way her breathing hitched, and she didn’t tell me to go.
I pried myself away from her with difficulty.
She was even more beautiful than I remembered.
I lean against the edge of the rooftop, watching the faint glow of light filtering through the windows below. I put the lights back on so I can see her again. She’s back inside, pacing like a caged lioness, her hair catching the soft glow of those fairy lights she loves so much. I can see her outline clearly enough to know she’s furious. Confused. But she didn’t tell me to go.
And that’s the only reason I walked away.
I’m not the monster she imagines me to be. Not yet.
Still, my blood sings from the memory of her—her wide green eyes flashing with fire and fear, the way she anchored her hands on her hips and tried to stand her ground against me. She was trembling, sure, but not from terror. I’ve seen terror before. This wasn’t it. This was something else.
Excitement.
Even as I left her, I could feel it, a live current connecting us, sparking every time her lips curled in defiance or her voice rose to challenge me. She wanted to fight, and I wanted to let her win just to see how far she’d push.
But I can’t. I can’t fucking get involved.
She’s innocent—wrapped in her soft blankets and fairy lights, her books and dreams. And my world? It’s drenched in violence and lies, blood under every nail. She doesn’t know what she’s playing with. She doesn’t know what I am.
I clench my fists, my knuckles aching from how tightly I grip the edge of the roof. I should leave her alone, let her think this was some strange fever dream, a flirtation gone too far. She deserves to live her life in peace, untouched by men like me.
But when I closed the distance between us earlier, when her breath hitched, and her pupils dilated as I leaned closer…
Fuck.
She can lie to herself all she wants. I know better.
She wants this. I’ve seen it in every word she’s typed, in every post she’s shared. The way she threads her fantasies with raw longing, the way her voice breaks just a little when she talks about surrendering control.