Page 20 of Cain

“Of course, Mr. Manson.” And she walks away, leaving me alone with her again. Finally.

At first, I don’t talk; I merely prowl around her. She seems scared. Intimidated by my presence.

“I see you came out of your nest,” I jeer and take a seat on the chair next to her, leaving the rose on the table.

She shrugs herself in fear again, almost tossing the fork on the plate. Her lashes flicker between mine and cast me a few awkward glances. She is amusing.

“Are you afraid of me?” I ask again. She doesn’t talk or look back at me. I raise her chin with my fingers. “You don’t have to be.”

Her chest heaves. I can almost dance to the rhythm of her shallow breaths.

“You don’t give me much of a choice,” she mutters.

“I apologize, little rose. I had a moment of weakness, and I snapped,” I explain, my thumb brushing gently onher soft cheek. “We can both make sure it won’t happen again.”

She takes a deep breath and lowers her eyes again.

I click my tongue. “I see you didn’t snoop around.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re still in my shirt when you had a closet full of clothes chosen specifically for you.”

“Wait, you bought all those clothes for me?”

I lean in and look straight into her glacier eyes. She doesn’t move back. “I don’t want you to feel like a hostage.”

“Then what am I?”

“My guest.”

“Name it however you want. I still can’t leave this place,” she hisses, her Slavic accent soft on my ears. She has no idea how intoxicating she sounds. No idea how irresistibly alluring she truly is now that she looks like a mess, utterly disheveled and powerless.

“Then why don’t you try to make it worth it?”

“And do what?” She raises her brow. Fuck, I’m too close. Even her natural scent is sexy. “Put on dresses and walk around like your puppet?”

Feisty, naughty girl!

I approach more, causing her eyes to flicker in stress. Purposely, I don’t talk, just to intensify her anxiety and her longing for my answer. Her breaths come faster, sharper, grazing the collar of my white cotton shirt.

“You’re tense, little rose.”

“Stop calling me that!”

“What?”

“L-little rose,” she mumbles as some strands of her unruly, blonde hair fall unevenly over her face. I want to fuck this face so roughly.

I’m struggling to restrain myself. At this point, I don’t care that she’s scared of me. I don’t care if she will bemoreafraid of me. All I care about is touching her. Feeling her skin trembling under my fingers.

Slowly, I spread her lean legs and kneel in front of her once again. She is scared, I know. She is quivering even before I touch her, and all I can think about is how she’ll sound when I fuck her. How her shaking will become more intense as the pleasure consumes her.

“What are you doing?” She draws herself back. I grab her legs and pull her closer to me, eliciting a gasp. “I-I have a boyfriend.”

“What makes you think I care?” I raise a brow. “Besides, that didn’t stop you the other day.”

“I didn’t know you were crazy.”