I got a grip of myself and blinked back to reality. A few seconds later, the power came back on, forcing my eyes to squint at the chandelier’s warm glow.
After I adjusted to the light, I glanced behind me but saw no one. However, when I looked across the table, I found him sitting in his chair like he’d never left.
His expression stayed the same—neutral—his cold blue eyes fixed on me. This man was sitting so calmly, as if it wasn’t his hands I felt on my shoulders just seconds ago.
I couldn’t even bring myself to ask what had happened when the power went out. Because at this point, I was starting to question whether it had actually happened.
That gesture wasn’t something that a man like him would do. Why would he try to calm me down? What did he stand to gain by that?
Did that mean that it was all in my head? Did I imagine his hands as a coping mechanism to get me through the panic attack?
Nothing made sense to me at all.
Even when I searched his eyes for answers, I found none. One thing I knew for sure was that I liked the feeling. Real or not, I liked his hands on me. It was a shameful thing to admit, but it was the truth.
The fleeting darkness blurred the line between captor and captive. In doing so, it awakened something in me—something primal. Something dangerous. As we stared across the table, I realized I was no longer sure what I feared more: the man himself or this strange feeling he’d ignited within me.
Chapter 8 – Artur
Two full days had passed since the brief incident at the dinner table, and I still couldn't understand what compelled me to not only get up from my chair but also put a comforting hand on her shoulder.
I told myself that it was nothing serious; it wasn’t that deep. But was it really notthatdeep? Was feeling some sort of concern about her fear and unease really nothing serious? It was just a fuckin’ storm, a series of harmless thunderclaps.
Why did her anxiety and potential panic attack bother me so much? She was just a prisoner, someone of no real importance to me. Why couldn’t I look away and ignore her silly reaction to a thunderstorm?
I got involved, hiding in the cover of darkness to make my move, which turned out to be very effective, by the way. The moment my hand settled on her shoulder, her breathing began to steady. So did her rapidly heaving chest.
When I dared to rub her flesh in a massaging motion, I felt her muscles relaxing beneath my touch. The soft moan that escaped her lips clearly told me she loved it and was enjoying it.
At first, I wasn’t exactly sure how she would respond to it. I wasn’t sure what her reaction would be. However, after hearing the sounds coming from her mouth, I concluded that I was giving her what she didn’t know she needed.
It was strange and a little creepy—awkward, even—yet she didn’t push me away. The fact that my touch didn’t repulse her or trigger some kind of malicious reaction was something I still couldn’t quite understand.
What did that mean?
It was almost like, within those few minutes that the lights were out, we somehow connected. The tension was heavy in the air, mixed with something I wasn’t ready to name.
We’d felt it. Both of us. The charge.
It was like nothing I’d ever felt before, something that made my heart race. While massaging her shoulders in the dark, a part of me wished the power wouldn’t come back up.
I wasn’t the kind of person to force myself on a woman, even though I had the power to do so. Celine was my prisoner, far from home and without anyone to stand up for her. Taking advantage of her for my own pleasure would have been easy.
But no.
I didn’t operate like that.
I might be the devil himself, but at least I was the devil who respected a woman’s body.
The reason I snuck behind her and touched her shoulders was never to spark anything sexual. Despite the fact that I’d very much like to taste her. That wasn’t my intention. I simply wanted to offer comfort without showing my face.
After her body responded positively, the thought did cross my mind to make a bolder move. However, I didn’t. Not because I couldn’t. But because I chose not to.
To me, consent mattered more than anything else. Granted, her reaction and the sounds coming from her lips were all the invitation that I needed. Yet I chose to decline it.
Why?
Torture.