Page 108 of No Longer Mine

No one had ever said that to me before. Not like that. His words caused something new to stir within me. It was easy toaccept that he was one of the hottest men to set his eyes on me, but it was something deeper. He wanted to know me. It wasn’t just about my looks. It wasn’t just about what I could do for him. It was confusing. It was addicting.

The tension that ran through my body turned into something else. I pressed my legs together and squeezed my eyes closed. Heat pooled low in my belly as I imagined him cutting my sports bra free and sliding my panties down my legs.

Tonight, he had checked my wound to make sure it was healing right. Other than that, he kept his hands to himself. I wasn’t sure if I liked him being a gentleman or not. But my body couldn’t take this torment much longer.

The ache inside me had nothing to do with the bullet wound.

I exhaled sharply, my hands gripping the sheets as my mind played traitor, replaying every moment in excruciating detail—Dimitri’s hands steady as they peeled away the bandages, his eyes dark with something unreadable as they tracked over my skin, his fingers brushing against my ribs as he checked for swelling.

He hadn’t lingered. Hadn’t let his touch stray. But I had felt it. The heat. The restraint.

And now, with him still here, somewhere in the dark, that restraint was driving me mad.

I shifted again, desperate for relief, for distraction, but every movement only made it worse. My skin felt too tight, too sensitive. I swallowed hard and dragged a hand over my face. This was ridiculous. I was stitched up, exhausted, and yet my body didn’t seem to care.

My thoughts continued to head south as I reminded myself of the toys he’d touched just the night before. He was a wholefloor down, but I was silent as I carefully twisted my body to not disturb my stitches and quietly pulled the drawer open.

Except, the drawer was empty besides all of my sexy nightgowns and hand restraints. I stared down at the drawer in horror. When had he come in here to take them? Where had he taken them? I pressed my fist into my mouth and groaned. I could wait for him to leave for work and scour the house, though I still needed help getting down the stairs. The last thing I wanted to do was ask Don to help me with my missing toys.

Heat flamed across my face as I shut the drawer a little too fast, my mind spinning.

That arrogant, smug, infuriating?—

Where the hell did he put them? And more importantly, why?

I bit down on the inside of my cheek, debating my options. I could wait, pretend I hadn’t noticed, but the idea of Dimitri knowing what I was reaching for, knowing what I was thinking about, sent a fresh wave of frustration through me.

I wanted to scream. Instead, I carefully twisted my body back onto my side, staring at the door like I could will him to appear.

What if I just asked?

The thought was absurd, and yet… would he really be shocked? He had been the one who pulled each toy out of the drawer, one by one, watching me with those knowing, darkened eyes. He hadn’t judged me then. No, the look he’d given me had been anything but judgmental.

I squeezed my legs together, cursing my body for betraying me so easily. I slid my hand down my belly and dipped my fingers into the waistband of my panties. I could always go old school. My finger swirled over my clit and I bit my bottom lip. A soft moan escaped me, and I knew this would be fine. Not as exciting as using a toy or even Dimitri, but it would do, for now.

I threw my head back against the pillows and sighed. I wanted a toy, desperately if I couldn’t have the real thing. But still, my fingers moved against myself, finding the perfect rhythm. My breath quickened with every push of my fingers.

My stitches pulled, and I let out a frustrated growl. The sound had barely enough time to settle in my throat before a shadow shifted in the doorway, and there he was… I hadn’t even heard him come up the stairs.

My breath caught as my fingers froze, trapped between my legs.

Dimitri stood there, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. His expression was unreadable. His eyes, however, burned.

Every inch of my skin prickled under his scrutiny.

I swallowed hard, trying to decide if I should pull my hand away or keep going. If I should act innocent or brazen this out. But the weight of his stare had me squeezing my thighs together involuntarily. His jaw ticked.

“Having trouble?” he asked, voice smooth but laced with something darker.

Heat flooded my cheeks, but I lifted my chin. “You stole my toys.”

His lips twitched, but he didn’t deny it. “You’re healing.”

I scoffed. “That’s a bullshit excuse.”

“I didn’t say I had a good excuse,” he murmured as he stepped farther into my room.

A fresh wave of heat rolled through me, my pulse hammering as he took slow, predatory steps closer.