Page 81 of Kept in the Dark

“Okay. And Dimitri? Thank you. Again.”

“The clothing is nothing, Nicole. I do not require your gratitude.”

“No, I mean…” she blows out a breath. “Well, yeah, the clothes, but I meant for everything. I know I wasn’t exactly thrilled to be here at first, but Eleanor’s been explaining how it all works to me, and I know that what you’re doing is keeping me safe. Alive. So… thank you.”

I do not want her thanks for this; I would rather she understand that the alternative is unacceptable.

I stoop to pick up a towel from the ground to include in the laundry, then turn in time to see her eyes lingering on my ass, full of fire and longing. Heat slams through me, chasing out the uncertainty and listlessness. I have been giving her space. I no longer wish to.

“There is another way you can thank me, mymed,” I rasp. “A kiss.”

Her eyes widen. I watch her lips part as her eyes dart back and forth between mine.

It takes only three large strides to cross the room. Her head comes up as I prowl into her space, the top of her forehead level with my mouth. Still holding the pants, her arms are caught between us as I wrap mine all the way around her. She becomes loose in my grip.

How I crave her pliant response, her softness, her eager passion.

Moving slowly, I watch her watch me coming. Her eyes are locked on my lips, with a rawness and hunger to them. The way my woman looks at me… fuck. It unravels me.

Her own lips part in anticipation. Something soft hits my foot, and I realize she has dropped the pants she was holding so she can clutch at my sides. I brush my lips against hers, reveling in the whispering exhale against my mouth. I am gentler than I want to be, pressing a soft, brushing kiss to her open, willing, waiting mouth, and pulling away before either of us gets the chance to get lost in it.

Blood pounds in my ears, and my body strains for her. But when she does not reach for me to pull me back, I slide a hand into her hair and angle her head down so I can press my lips more firmly against her forehead before releasing her.

She is not quite ready. She must come to me. Because when I finally take her, I want it to feel like a victory for both of us.

24

Nicole

What self-respecting woman asks a man to ruin her?

This feels appropriately circular.

I’m sitting alone on a cold bench overlooking a manicured property, shivering in a thin dress, staring up at the moon, waiting for a tall, dark stranger to find me. Last time, I didn’t know I was waiting for Dimitri. Now, my hands are clasped tightly in my lap, and every large shadow in my periphery draws my attention.

There are other differences, of course. This bench is wood; that one was stone. It’s not the same dress; now I'm wearing a silky nightgown that was calling my name from the sale page where I did most of my shopping. He bought it for me, but he hasn’t seen it yet. And it’s not the same moon—it’s in a different phase of its cycle now.

But there’s only one reason I’d be freezing my tits off in a skimpy nightgown.

It’s a gesture. One I hope he takes as the seduction attempt it is.

I’ve never tried to seduce anyone before, and turns out I’m pretty bad at it. In my defense, it’smortifyingtrying to seduce someone. And logistically hard, too, since it feels like we’ve been on opposite schedules for over a week now. Every day I wake up in the bed alone with nothing but a warm memory of him holding me that feels more like a dream. I know he moves my pillow wall, and I stopped caring ages ago. When he holds me, I don’t have the nightmares.

So every night I go to sleep, hoping I’ll work up the courage to say something the next day. I’ve almost told him a dozen times that I’m ready for whatever he wants to do to me. I’m more than ready—I need it. I might even say it exactly that way, desperate wording and all.

But what self-respecting womanasksa man to ruin her?

I racked my brain to find a way toshowhim. I came up with and immediately discarded a handful of bad ideas—waiting for him on my knees, letting him hear me masturbate in the shower, going to bed naked, grinding back on him when he curls himself around me in the wee hours of the morning, “accidentally” brushing against that fat cock after his shower or before he changes out of workout clothes…

I mean, I know he wants me. There’s been no shortage of yearning in this pool house; I feel like I’m living in a damn Hozier song. I know this frustrating delay has nothing to do with a lack of desire. He’s down bad. It’s honestly exhilarating.

And for my part, I’m going out of my mind. I want him so badly it hurts sometimes—I’m constantly fantasizing and making myself wet, constantly clenching so hard it makes my inner thighs ache. My poor clit is sore, and my fingers just aren’t doing it for me anymore. I need to be properly filled.

So yeah, the idea is to seduce him, but it’s not really why I’m out here. If it were just sex, I wouldn’t be trying so hard. Just sex is easy. I know how to do that.

No, I’m out here because I… like him.

I actually like him.