Tormentor Mine(42)
If we stay on this topic, I might lose control and hurt Sara.
One movement at a time. One task at a time. I blank out my mind like I do when I’m on a job, and focus on what needs to be done. In this case, it’s clearing the table, putting the leftovers in the fridge, and stacking the dishes in the dishwasher. I focus on those mundane activities, and gradually, my boiling fury eases, as does the urge to do violence.
When I start the dishwasher and turn back toward Sara, I see her watching me warily. She looks like she’s about to bolt at any moment, and the fact that she hasn’t already means she understands her predicament.
If she runs right now, I won’t be gentle when I catch her.
“Let’s go upstairs,” I say and walk toward her. “It’s time to go to bed.”
* * *
Her hand is icy in my grasp as I lead her up the stairs, her beautiful face pale. If I didn’t feel so raw inside, I’d reassure her, tell her I won’t hurt her tonight either, but I don’t want to make promises I may not be able to keep.
The monster is too close to the surface, too out of control.
“Take off your clothes,” I order, releasing her hand when we get to her bedroom. She’s wearing skinny jeans and a loose ivory sweater, and though she looks phenomenal in the simple outfit, I want it gone.
I want there to be no barriers between us.
Instead of obeying, Sara backs away. “Please…” She stops halfway between me and the bed. “Please don’t do this. I’m sorry about what happened to your family, and if George was in any way responsible—”
“He was.” My tone is cutting. “It took years, but I got the names of every soldier and intelligence officer involved in the massacre. There’s no mistake, Sara; my list came directly from your very own CIA.”
She looks stunned. “You got it from the CIA? But… how? I thought you said they were involved, that George was one of them.”
“There are many divisions and factions within the organization. One hand doesn’t always know or care what the other one is doing. I know an arms dealer who has a contact there, and he—or rather, his wife—provided the list. But that’s neither here nor there.” I cross my arms in front of my chest. “Take off your clothes.”
Her eyes dart to the bed, then to the door behind me.
“Don’t. You don’t want to test me tonight, trust me.”
Her gaze returns to my face, and I can feel her desperation. “Please, Peter. Please don’t do this. What happened to your family was awful, but this won’t bring them back. I’m sorry about them, I truly am, but I had nothing to do with—”
“This is not about that.” I uncross my arms. “What I want from you has nothing to do with what happened.” Except even as I say it, I know it’s a lie. My actions are not those of a man courting a woman; they’re of a predator stalking its prey. If she weren’t who she is—if she were just a random woman—I wouldn’t be forcing myself into her life like this.
My desire for her would’ve been gentle and restrained instead of dangerously obsessive.
Sara gives me a disbelieving look, and I realize she understands that too. I’m not fooling anyone. What’s happening between us has everything to do with the dark past we share.
So be it.
I step toward her. “Remove your clothes, Sara. I won’t ask again.”
She backs away again, then stops, likely realizing she’s getting closer to the bed. Even with the thick sweater concealing her curves, I can see her narrow chest heaving as her hands clench and unclench convulsively at her sides.
“All right. If that’s how you want it…” I start toward her, but she raises her arms, palms facing me.
“Wait!” Her hands shake as she reaches for her sweater. “I’ll do it.”
I stop and watch as she pulls the sweater off over her head. Underneath, she’s wearing a tight blue tank top that bares her slender shoulders and highlights the soft curves of her breasts. They’re not the biggest I’ve seen, but they suit her ballerina-like frame, and my cock hardens as I recall how those pretty breasts felt resting on my arm last night.
Soon, I’ll know how they feel in my hands—and how they taste.
“Go ahead,” I say when Sara hesitates again, her gaze darting past me to the door. “Tank top, then jeans.”
Her hands shake as she obeys, pulling the top off over her head before reaching for the zipper of her jeans. Under the tank top, she’s wearing a utilitarian white bra, and I have to force myself to remain still as she pushes her jeans down her legs, revealing light blue panties. Though I felt her bare skin against mine last night, and saw her undressed several times on the cameras, this is my first time seeing her naked up close, and my heart rate jacks up as I hungrily take in every graceful line and curve of her body.