I’ve always considered myself assertive, efficient, and highly unaffected, but my resolve and the very marrow of my control have been tested over the past few days.
So when Ilya just relayed the piece of information, I forget all about my attempts to calm down.
My guard jogs in place, sweat glistening off his pale skin that appears pasty in the cloudy daylight.
Ilya straightens and nonchalantly wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. “In the midst of the chaos, right after you were taken to the East Wing to recuperate and when we were putting out the fire, Miss Knight showed up at the gate. She asked the front guard about Miss Volkov and then about you.”
I narrow my eyes, absolutely loathing the heartburn flowing through my chest. It’s the injury. My doctor will be hearing about his incompetence in putting me back together.
Also, what the fuck is Cecily playing at now?
That night, the night I smeared her blood all over my cock and fucked her like a seasoned whore instead of an innocent virgin, I planned to abandon her on the deck and leave.
We weren’t lovers and I don’t even like her. I only fucked her because we both cater to the depravity of pretending to be primal strangers in the dark.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
But the thing is, I couldn’t.
She looked so vulnerable and small, her pale skin serving as the perfect bait for predators that lurked in the dark. I simply was not allowing another predator besides me to touch her.
My courtesy should’ve stopped the moment I carried her to the house. But no, I went to further lengths.
I have no fucking clue what came over me when I warmed water and wiped her from head to toe. I massaged her muscles, too, especially when I felt her turning catatonic.
I shouldn’t know that state is possible, even during sleep, but I do.
Very fucking well.
So I massaged her cunt with my tongue, partly because I wanted to, and partly because I figured it could loosen her muscles.
And it did.
She was slowly relaxing and releasing low, pleasure-filled sounds that hardened my cock and toyed with the beast inside me.
I was so ready to claim her again, strap my mark on her, and forbid her from leaving.
But she did something.
Something that I nearly killed her for.
She called me by that fucker’s name.
She was probably dreaming about him and wishing he was the one who chased and fucked her like an animal, per her initial plan.
I can still feel the quickening of her pulse and the quivering of her flesh beneath my fingers when I choked the fuck out of her.
It’s a miracle I managed not to kill her at that moment.
Or any of the other moments that followed.
“What are your orders?” Ilya asks when I remain silent. “Should I continue to keep an eye on her?”
“For now.” I glide my forefinger along the side of my sweatpants.
The wisest thing to do under the circumstances is to drop the subject, ignore her as I’ve been attempting to the past couple of days, but the fucker of a beast who has been craving her since that first taste refuses to let go.
I meet Ilya’s gaze. “What else did she say?”