42. Bared By Moonlight

CHAPTER 42

Bared By Moonlight

WREN

The rose sits on the windowsill, framed by the glow of the moonlight, a silent invitation I never expected to see. But it’s not the flower that holds my attention now, it’s her .

She’s there, standing at the open window, the faint light tracing the delicate lines of her shoulders, and the curve of her breasts. Her hair shifts slightly in the breeze, the cold air teasing her skin, hardening her nipples. I stay still, hidden in the shadows just out of view, watching.

She hesitates, her hands gripping the window frame like it’s the only thing keeping her there. Her breaths are uneven, chest rising and falling rapidly, clearly showing her battle between stepping back into safety and leaning further into the night.

What are you doing, Ballerina? What are you asking for?

Her lips part as though she might say something, but there’s no one there to hear it … or at least, she thinks there isn’t. She looks out into the darkness, searching … for what, or who, I don’t think she even knows. But I do. She’s searching for me. For the ghost she’s been chasing all day, the one that’s haunted her every thought since I marked her throat.

And now, she’s proving that she’s mine.

The sound of a car turning onto her street breaks the silence, and she startles. The headlights sweep across the front of her building, momentarily illuminating her. She flinches, one arm wrapping around herself, and she pulls back from the window, snapping the curtain closed.

The look of terror on her face makes me laugh.

She’s bold, but she’s not fearless. Not yet.

I wait in the darkness, watching her silhouette as she retreats from the window, my eyes fixed to the rose.

It’s a clear message. An invitation. One I’m not going to ignore. But I have to time it right.

After ten minutes or so, her light turns off, plunging the room into darkness. I still wait, counting the minutes in my head. When I’m certain she’s in bed, I move silently, squeezing through the gap in the window, and cross the room. She’s lying on her side, facing away from the window, her breathing slowing as sleep overtakes her. She doesn’t seem to hear me when I sit on the bed, lowering myself carefully until the mattress dips under my weight.

When I slide my arm beneath her head, she stirs. And when I press my hand over her mouth, her eyes snap open.

“Shhh. We wouldn’t want to wake Daddy now, would we?”

Her reaction is immediate. A shiver runs through her, and her breathing picks up speed. I keep my palm flat against her mouth, firm enough to keep her silent. The way she freezes sends a rush through me.

“Though, I wonder. Would he come running if he heard you or would he hide from the threat he thinks has found him?”

Her scent surrounds me, something faintly floral, and I can’t help but inhale deeply as I stretch out beside her. My arm stays under her head, the other hand firmly in place over her mouth. My chest presses against her back. When her legs shift restlessly, I hook one of mine around hers, to pin her in place. The heat of her body bleeds through her thin top, her skin warm where it presses against the denim of my jeans.

She’s so soft. So breakable.

“I saw your invitation.” I press my lips against her throat. “The rose was a nice touch. Very poetic.” My teeth graze her earlobe, and she gasps against my palm. “Tell me, what made you do it? What gave my pretty little Ghost Girl the courage to stand at her window and display herself to the world? Did you hope I was watching?”

I lift my hand from her mouth, giving her just enough freedom to speak. Her lips part, but she doesn’t say anything. I slide my hand down to her throat, wrapping my fingers around it, and squeeze gently.

“I didn’t?—”

“Oh, such a terrible little liar. You’re going to go to hell for that.” I tighten my fingers, just enough to trap her next breath. “You left the rose for me. You unlocked your window. You stood there with no top on. You wanted me to come.” My grip eases, thumb stroking the hollow of her throat. “Admit it.”

“No.”

“No?” My other hand trails down her arm. “Then why did you look for me today?” My voice lowers, my lips pressed against her ear. “Why did you touch your throat over and over, like you were making sure my bite was still there?”

Her breath hitches, and she tries to pull away.

“How do you—” She stops herself but I know the question she doesn’t want to ask.

“Monty and Nico are very helpful when I’m not around. Which I’m sure you know already.”

Her body tenses against mine again.

“I told you. I know everything. Every secret. Every lie. Every reason Daddy keeps you hidden.” I trail my hand lower, ghosting over her ribs. “Did you know he had a different name once? Mommy did too.”

“What are you talking about?”

“First, I want you to admit why you invited me here.”

“Please … ” Her voice falters when my hand pushes beneath her top. Her body arches slightly, and the faintest sound escapes her lips.

“Tell me.” My hand splays across her stomach, pulling her against me. I kiss my way down her throat. “Tell me how many times you looked for me today. How many times you jumped at shadows.”

“I … I don’t kn ow.”

“Liar.” I bite the soft skin at the base of her throat, my palm moving up over her ribs until my fingertips touch the underside of her breast. “Tell me, Ballerina. Count them. Every time you looked up, hoping it was me. Every time your heart stopped when a door opened.”

“Wren …”

“What?” I shift, rolling her onto her back, and push one leg between hers. The moonlight catches her face, highlighting the faint flush on her cheeks. “Admit how much you want this.” I brush my thumb over her nipple. “And then I might tell you what I found in those fascinating files about your family.”

“What files?” Her tongue snakes out to wet her lips.

“Ah, look at that. Now I have your full attention. Do you want to know why Daddy is so obsessed with you not being seen? Or why Mommy’s medical records don’t quite add up?”

“Medical records?”

“Mmhmm. Lift your top. I liked the little display outside, but it wasn’t enough.” I want to see more, want to watch her struggle with her own desires. The way she fights herself is delicious. Her hesitation isn’t from fear, it’s from wanting this too much, from knowing she shouldn’t crave my hands on her body the way she does. I watch her face, drinking in every flicker of emotion. When she hesitates, I trace my fingers along her collarbone. “Show me, Ileana.”

Her hands shake a little when she grabs the hem of her top. She pulls it over her head in one fluid motion, and lets it fall. The sight of her deliberately baring herself to me makes my dick turn to stone.

“Private planes. Mafia operations gone wrong.” I punctuate each revelation with a kiss. “Now tell me, how many times did you think of me today? How many times did you wish I was touching you …” I pinch her nipple. “... just like this …”

Her hands clutch at my shoulders when I lower my head and suck her nipple into my mouth .

“I didn’t?—”

I swirl my tongue around the hardened tip. “Lying doesn’t suit you.” I lift my head, positioning myself until I’m lying between her thighs, my mouth hovering over hers. “How many times?”

Her eyelashes lower, the red in her cheeks deepening. “All day.” The confession bursts from her like she’s been holding it back for hours. “I couldn’t stop. Everywhere I looked …”

“Yes?” I pinch her nipple again, drawing another of those delicious moans from her.

“I kept seeing you. Expecting you. Want?—”

I catch the slip, the hunger in her voice, before she cuts herself off.

“Wanted what? Say it. Tell me what you wanted, Ballerina.”

“This.” Her whispered admission sends satisfaction and lust coursing through me. Her fingers dig into my shoulders. “Your hands. Your mouth. Your?—”

I silence her with my mouth, sliding my tongue against hers, tasting her surrender before pulling back.

“See? Telling the truth isn’t so hard, is it?” I claim her lips again, my hand pushing between our bodies, over her stomach, to toy with the waistband of her shorts. Her hips lift slightly.

“What do you want more right now? Answers or my mouth?”

“I …” Her lips press together, and I smile. She’s fighting herself still, but every tremor, every hitched breath, every touch tells me exactly what she wants.

I hook my fingers into the waistband of her shorts and slowly drag them down her legs. She’s not wearing any panties, and the sight of her pussy is a temptation that’s impossible to resist.

“Look at this.” I shift down the bed, and use two fingers to spread her open. “So pretty. So wet. Were you wet when you stood at the window?”

“No.”

I pinch her clit, and she gasps, hips pressing back into the mattress.

“Liar. Try again.”