Page 65 of Petrify

My eyes snap open. “Who?”

He thrusts again, too harshly, pulling a cry from my lips. “I know he’s invited you to his room.”

Baz moves quicker, his hips meeting mine in slow, deep movements. In this position, I’m wide open to him, unable to squirm away as he sheathes himself as deep as I can take him. There’s a lewd squelch every time he thrusts, a delicious burn every time his hips are flush with mine.

“And you know I—” I gasp, unable to speak, all my thoughts disappearing when his thumb brushes my clit.

“What?” His head tilts mockingly. “What do I know?”

I grit my teeth. “You know I haven’t—I’m not—” My hands fumble for his hips again, but with my legs bent as they are, it’s futile.

“What Idoknow,” he says, his voice vibrating through me, “is thatIam the one who’s fucking you. I’m the one you belong to.Ihave your nights, don’t I?”

“Yes.” I give up, falling limp against the bed as his pace quickens. Fire builds in my core, my hips grinding side to side to find any relief. “Yes,yes.”

“Ihave you,” he says, leaning closer, letting my legs fall on either side of his arms. I notice that he’s wearing only a black long-sleeved shirt, not his usual sweater. His dark hair falls in messy waves around his white mask. “Ihave your nights, your music, yourmind.”

My core tightens. “Yes.”

Another brush of his thumb on my clit and I gasp his name, my pussy spasming on his cock, unable to breathe as my orgasm crashes over me. Everything in me tightening, then releasing, the world stopping for a few mindless seconds before it starts again. He follows a few seconds later, his hips slamming to mine.I feel every twitch of his cock, his stomach flexing with each ragged inhalation that hisses through his teeth.

“I can guarantee you he won’t listen to every hitch of your breath the way I do, every little sound, to know what drives you crazy,” he mutters, leaning closer to me again. My thighs are splayed open around his hips. “No onewatches you like I do, Mallary.”

Still flushed with pleasure, my lashes wet, I feel raw, exposed, underneath him. My hands find his chest, skating down to the firm, lean muscles above his hips. “You have my nights,” I say.No one else.

As the aftershocks start to abate, he pulls away from me. I’m a mess, wet and sticky, and there’s still a persistent anxiety in my chest that won’t disappear, and even though I shouldn’t want him anywhere near me, that static energy shaking my limbs lessens when he’s touching me.

“Please.” I reach for him, and this time, my fingers find his wrist. “Please, stay.”

He always leaves. He claims to want me so badly, but he never lingers long.

Baz stares at me like he hadn’t expected me to ask. “Alright.” He sits next to me, the warmth from his body like a furnace in this cold room. His back is stiff, and he looks down at me with wary eyes.

Naked, my oversized shirt discarded on the other end of the bed, I curl closer. I don’t let go of his hand—I want to hold him as my own captive. His fingers are long and thin. A pianist’s fingers. I trace his palm, the ridge of his knuckles.

“What happened?” His voice is low.

I can’t meet his eyes, staring at the length of my hand against his.

“Mallary.”

“They want me to push Henri harder. They said—” I swallow the lump in my throat. “If I can’t get him to play one of Chopin’s preludes at the party, then I’m fired.”

Henri is eight. His hands are often too small for what a piece requires. I’ve told him to omit a few notes. But if Mariane and Leo are sofondof the song, won’t they be able to tell?

There’s an almost imperceptible twitch to his fingers.

“It’s fine, I don’t know why I’m so…”

He shifts, so he can fully face me while I lay against my pillow. I want to roll over and hide. Why would he truly care how I'm feeling about the Beauchenes’ threat? If they follow through with it, it’s not like there is truly anything to prevent me from leaving. There is nothing between us, except the music, and whateverthisis—a lust that’s still unspent. It’s always there, simmering in my blood, roiling and dissipating only when he buries himself inside me.

I tell myself I am only using him. He has sway over Leo and Mariane, and if I let him do what he wants, then one day these will only be distant memories of mutual pleasure.

This calmness is strange, this conversation is too casual.

“I can take care of this for you,” he says.

I can’t truly expect him to make good on his promisesandkeep the family from getting in the way, can I?