She wasn’t wearing a bra, her small breasts firm and high, her nipples beaded from the change in temperature. My cock was hard, a steel rod behind the fly of my black cargo pants.
God, I was so fucking dark, hiding away like the predator I was, getting off on just the sight of her.
For the next ten minutes, I just watched her through the slats in the closet door as she sat on the edge of the bed and brushed her hair before braiding it.
She reached over and grabbed her cell phone from the small table beside her, staring down at it, her knuckles turning white because she held it so tightly. I felt my brows pull down low. Something was wrong. I could feel it coming from her.
With an almost resigned sound, she tossed the phone back on the nightstand and slipped under the covers before turning off the light, plunging the room into darkness and muted shadows from the city spearing through the window.
It took only six minutes and forty-five seconds for her to fall asleep, and then I was moving out of the closet quietly, making my way over to the bed. I stopped at the edge, watching the rise and fall of her chest, seeing her dark braid across her white pillowcase like an ink stain.
I leaned in close, the strands of her dark hair smelling sweet, fresh, and clean. She used a citrus shampoo and conditioner, a subtle scent that was by far one of my favorite aromas. I lay down on the mattress and moved in behind her.
Looking down at the bedside table, I looked at the locket I’d left for her all those years ago. She still had it, still wore it daily. I felt my heart beat funny at that thought.
Anastasia stirred briefly but she was a heavy sleeper, and when I wrapped my arm around her and pulled her in close, her back to my chest, I heard her sigh of contentment and felt her body relax further against mine. Ana was so much smaller than me, feminine and soft, warm and perfect.
I’d never had a true home, but I imagined holding her was what that felt like.
Part of me knew doing this was probably wrong, a violation of her privacy, of her consent. But, God, it was the greatest fucking feeling in the world, even if she didn’t realize I was doing it, even if she couldn’t turn around and look me in the eyes like she had all those years ago when I slipped into her bedroom after everyone went to sleep.
I buried my face in her hair and scented her.
And for the next several hours, I held on to my girl, knowing I didn’t have a heart or love to give, but whatever I had, it was irrevocably hers.
Chapter
Six
Anastasia
“And I told him I didn’t think we’d work out, but he just wouldn’t get it through his head.”
I was barely listening to Katarina, one of my fellow dancers as we sat at the coffee shop down the block from the studio and grabbed a caffeine hit before we went to practice. I was idly running my finger over the face of the locket, the one I never took off unless I was showering or at dance practice.
“Mmm hmm,” I said as I brought my cup to my mouth and took a long drink of the green tea I’d ordered. I stared out the large front window and watched the busy weekday life of the city move back and forth.
All morning I’d been thinking about the dream I had last night, the one where a faceless man came into my room, held me close, and told me I was his and no one else’s. And I fantasized that it wasn’t just a faceless man, but Kostya sneaking into my bedroom like he had all those years ago. I closed my eyes and shook my head.
Maybe I needed to talk to somebody, a professional, a therapist who could help me work through this clear obsession, this longing from a broken heart that I just couldn’t shake.
Ten years was too long to be hanging on to something that could never be. Although I’d always prided myself on being optimistic, thinking positively in all aspects of my life, wishing and hoping for something that just wouldn’t be wasn’t healthy either.
I lifted my hand and picked up a strand of my hair and bringing it to my nose. I swore I could still smell that mystery man from my dream in my hair. My body heated.
I was absolutely losing my mind, especially given the fact I kept misplacing items. Jewelry, a shirt I’d taken off the previous night and swore I’d draped it over my bedroom chair, yet it was gone the next morning. Even my favorite perfume was gone.