Page 48 of Madness & Mercy

But colder.

“Why did you follow me last night?” he asks, his voice deceptively soft.

Shit.

I keep my expression still, despite my pulse pounding. “I didn’t.”

“You did,” he says simply. “You thought I didn’t notice?”

I force a scoff. “You’re paranoid.”

“Mm,” he muses, leaning forward just slightly, elbows resting on his knees. “Maybe. But I’m alive because I listen to my instincts.”

His eyes trail down my body—spread out, restrained, bare beneath the sheet like a lamb in the fucking lion’s den.

“You showed up at Nocturne like you were looking for something,” he continues. “But I think you alreadyfoundit, didn’t you?”

He lets the silence drag, lets me squirm.

I grit my teeth. Stay silent.

“Want to tell me why you were out there?” he asks again, one brow lifting.

I laugh, sharp and bitter. “What, am I your prisoner now?”

His smirk returns. “No. If you were a prisoner, you’d be gagged, blindfolded, and begging for mercy by now.”

He rises slowly, comes back to the bed. His hand drifts lazily over my chest, trailing down to my stomach, stopping just above where the sheet tented before he came in. He doesn’t touch me there.

“I’m giving you the chance to come clean, Julian,” he murmurs. “While I’m still in a good mood.”

I stare up at him, heart hammering. My wrists ache from pulling. My pride aches worse.

And still, part of me wants to fold.

Not because I trust him.

But because I want him to touch me.

Fuck.

This isn’t torture.

Not the kind I’m used to, anyway.

He stands over me like a goddamn statue, smug and silent, letting his fingers ghost over the edge of the sheet. Not touching. Not taking. Justhovering.

And it’s driving me insane.

My back arches off the bed without permission, my hips chasing even a flicker of contact that never comes.

“Fuck you,” I hiss, furious at my body. Furious athim.

He tilts his head, amused. “Already did.”

“You’re sick.”

“You’re hard.”