Page 77 of Trust

I’d gone to Club Alpha with Silvano Cresci and Kyran Winters.

I picked Micah up from the restaurant.

Shit. Anyone could know.

“Ilya?” Micah asks, drawing my attention back to him. He’s still tense, but he isn’t backing away from me.

“I’m sorry,” I repeat for who knows how many times tonight. “I’ll take the guest room tonight.”

“What?” Confusion flickers across Micah’s expression. “Why would you do that?” He sets the cello case aside and approaches me, as cautiously as he might a feral dog. “I don’t want you to sleep in a different room. I mean, unless you want to?”

“I am, am…” I curse, the English word slipping from my mind.Wound up, I want to say, but I can’t think of the English equivalent so I settle on, “still angry.”

“That’s okay,” he replies, stopping in front of me. He’s within reach, but he doesn’t completely close the distance between us. “What can I do to help you relax?”

“I don’t know,” I answer truthfully. “I won’t hit you. Not now. It’s not safe.” I glance down at my hands. “I am out of control.”

Now Micah does step closer, and he puts his hands into mine. “Youarein control,” he whispers. “I’ll prove it to you.”

“How?” I ask. “If I do it wrong, if I hurt you?—”

“Tie me up,” Micah says. “Blindfold me. You can do whatever you want to me.”

I inhale sharply. “Mishka… I don’t know all the rules, but that’s dangerous. Don’t offer such things to strangers.”

“You aren’t a stranger,” he says, his eyes locking onto my own with strange determination. “I know you won’t hurt me. You’vehad so many chances, and you never have. You’ve always been so careful with me.” He squeezes my hands. “I trust you.”

Trust.

How easily he throws that word out. He knows who I am,whatI am, and he still desires me.

And god help me, but I want him too.

I want to prove to him that he can trust me, that I’m nothing like my father.

I nod.

“All right,” I say. “But if I do something wrong, you’ll tell me immediately.”

There’s something strange in his expression, but he promises, “I will.”

Micah leads me to the bedroom, holding my hand. It’s so small compared to mine, but it isn’t delicate. I can feel the calluses, the ones he earned by practicing the cello.

I want to know more about him. I want to lay him bare for me.

I want somethinggood.

“Do you want me to undress?” he prompts. “To kneel for you? Or do you want me on the bed?”

I think about what I’d seen at the club, and some of the sites Silvano had sent to me.

“Undress,” I order. “And lay down on your back on the bed.”

He nods, his expression one of intense concentration as he quickly undresses and neatly folds his clothes before setting them aside. He climbs onto the bed, lying down on his back, then looks at me without raising his head.

He obeys so easily, without hesitation.

I let out a long breath, and some of my tension eases.