Chapter 73
Lorenzo:
Elena lies on her back, her legs spread wide as she lets out a small sigh.
I trail my fingers up her leg, watching as her eyelids flutter open.
“Good morning,” she whispers.
My smile is genuine. “Good morning.” I push a strand of hair from her forehead, watching as she turns her head to stare up at the ceiling.
I wish I could see what she’s thinking.
Wish I could tell her how beautiful she is in the morning light.
But I don’t. I just let my hands roam her body, over the swell of her breasts, the curve of her hips. I’ve never touched her before, and it’s driving me crazy. I’m practically salivating as I trace her belly button, following the dip below it.
Her body is perfect. Soft and curvy, round with life.
I pull myself up on my elbow to look down at her, to trace every line and dip on her body with my eyes.
Elena’s hand reaches out to grasp my wrist, stopping my progress. “Where are you going?” she whispers, her gaze still focused on the ceiling.
“I need to get out of here,” I murmur. “I’ll be back soon.”
She lets go of me instantly.
I stand up, grabbing my shirt from the ground and pulling it over my head. I shove my feet into my shoes and head for the door.
I pause at the last second, turning to look back at Elena. She’s staring up at me with a look that makes my heart skip a beat. A look that makes me wonder if she realizes how much she’s changed already.
How much she’s already mine.
“See you soon,” I whisper, closing the door behind me.
I don’t look at the guards as I walk past, don’t answer their greeting.
I have too many things running through my mind to think about that now.
Elena.
* * *
Elena:
I stare blankly at the clock on the wall, my heart racing from the encounter with Lorenzo.
How did he get in my room? How long had he been there?
Why did he touch me like that?
I shake my head, forcing those thoughts out of my mind.
I need to focus. I need to figure out how to get out of here.
Because this is getting out of hand.
Lorenzo seems to be enjoying this game too much, and I don’t think I’m going to last much longer.
He’s been messing with me, playing mind games for too long. And even though I haven’t figured it out yet, I know that there’s a deeper meaning to all of this. A deeper purpose.
I just need to find it.
I pull open the drawer next to my bed, my hand reaching in and searching around. It feels empty and useless.
But then I feel something metal.
I pull it out slowly, staring down at it in shock.
A pen knife.
It must have fallen out of one of the books and ended up in here.
My hand closes around it, my fingers trembling with excitement.
This could work. This could get me out of here.
I look up as the sound of a key fitting into the lock echoes through the room.
My heart drops into my stomach as the door creaks open.
Lorenzo steps inside, a tray in his hands and a smile on his face.
But when his gaze falls to my hand, the smile drops.
His brows pull together, his eyes narrowing. “Elena,” he says, his voice sharp. “What are you holding?”
My fingers tighten around the knife, my mind working quickly. I need to keep him distracted, need to make him think I won’t use it.
“I found it,” I say softly. “In the drawer.” I open my fingers, showing him the blade.
His jaw clenches. “Give it to me.”
I pull my hand away, taking a step back. “No.”
“Give it to me,” he repeats, dropping the tray on the ground and stepping towards me.
“No,” I say again, louder this time.
I step back again, but this time, my back hits the wall. I’m out of room, out of options.
I raise the knife, holding it up between us.
Lorenzo halts his steps, his smile returning. “Good girl,” he purrs. “You’re learning.”
I don’t understand. He doesn’t seem to be angry about this, doesn’t seem scared. But then he takes a step closer, reaching out to take it from me.
And all my thoughts fly out of my head as the pain sears through me.
My scream echoes through the room as I feel the blade sink into my palm.
I drop the knife with a gasp, falling to my knees.
Blood pours from my palm, pooling on the floor below me.
Lorenzo crouches down next to me, picking up the knife. His eyes are cold and hard, his gaze piercing through me.
“That wasn’t nice,” he whispers. He trails the blade down my thigh, pressing the point against my knee. “Next time, it won’t just be your hand.”
I shake my head, trying to ignore the pain. “No,” I gasp. “Please.”
“Shh.” His free hand strokes my hair, calming me. “All better,” he murmurs.
His finger touches my palm lightly, and suddenly, the pain is gone.
I blink at him in confusion. “What did you do?”
“I made it better.” His smile returns. “Now give me your hand.”
My fingers tremble as I hold it out to him.
He takes it gently, examining it closely. “Better,” he murmurs to himself. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”
I let him pull me up from the floor, let him lead me into the bathroom.
But even as he washes me clean and bandages my hand, I still can’t shake the feeling.
That I’m losing myself in his madness. That he’s changing me into something I no longer know.
Something that belongs to him. Only him.
And no one else. Not even myself. Not even me. But him. Only him. Forever.
And that maybe, just maybe, I’m okay with that. That maybe, I like it. That I want it.
Even though I shouldn’t.
Even though it’s wrong.
* * *