Page 66 of Break Me Open
The noise from the main hall dulls to a muffled roar behind me, and my shoulders relax a fraction. “Running away again, detka?” The words slide in behind my ear like smoke. My body reacts before my brain does; every muscle goes tight, like someone yanked a wire. I don’t turn around straight away. Instead, I stand very still, staring at the scuffed floor tiles, counting a second, then another.
He’s not touching me, there’s just the heat of him at my back, not quite close enough to be obvious if someone glanced down the corridor, but close enough that I can feel where he is. Close enough that if I step back, I’ll touch him. “Not running,” I manage. “Just... walking.”
He makes a low, amused sound that curls around my spine. “Semantics,” he murmurs. “You were watching me.”
“Everyone was watching you,” I say. “You were in the middle of the room trying to kill someone.”
“Not kill,” he says lightly. “Just... remind. There’s a difference.”
“Right. Very reassuring.”
I can hear him breathing, as if we’re not standing in the sort of proximity that should come with hazard pay. “Looked like you enjoyed the show,” he adds.
I swallow. “You’re very pleased with yourself, aren’t you, Sergeant?”
“I am very good at what I do,” he says. “It would be rude not to enjoy it.”
I can feel the smirk on his face, even without seeing it. That lazy, cutting almost-smile that says he knows exactly how he sounded. “Go away,” I whisper. “I’m not in the mood.”
“I think you’re exactly in the mood,” he says softly. “I’m just not sure which one yet.” I could walk away; all it would take is three steps forward, turn the corner, then keep going. “I’ve been thinking about you,” he says, and that... makes my heart skip a beat properly.
Like a damn misfire in my chest.
“I’m sure you’ve been very entertained,” I say. “Find a new hobby.”
He ignores that completely. “Last night,” he continues, voice dropping lower. “I couldn’t sleep. Tried all the usual tricks. Cigarettes, music, pacing, but none worked.”
“That’s such a shame,” I say, because if I don’t cling to sarcasm, I’m going to slide right off the edge.
He leans in a little, still not touching, still officially safe. Unofficially? My body is convinced he’s everywhere. “You know what worked?” he asks. “Thinking about you on your knees again.”
My fingers curl into fists in my pockets. “This is wildly inappropriate,” I say, and immediately realise that it comes out too thin to be convincing.
“I was thinking about how you sound,” he goes on. “How hard it is for you to stay quiet. The little noises you make when you try not to make any at all.”
My lungs forget their job and seize up in my chest. For a second, I actually forget to breathe. “Arseny,” I warn.
“What?” he asks with his fake innocence. “We agreed no sex on base. We didn’t say no thinking about it. I do a lot of thinking, Caiden.”
I shut my eyes. Big mistake. It just makes the images sharper. His hands on my hips, his mouth, the feel of his breathagainst my skin as he looks up from being on his knees. “Stop,” I say quietly.
“No,” he says, just as quietly. “I don’t think I will.” He shifts, just enough that I feel the warmth of his breath right at the curve of my neck. “Do you know what else I thought about?” he murmurs. “How you’d sound if I finally got all of you. Not just your hand, or your mouth. The whole of you. Spread out underneath me somewhere we can be loud. Somewhere you don’t have to bite your lip so hard it bleeds.”
My whole body flushes hot and cold in the same second. My brain trips, and I clutch at rational thought and come up with nothing. “We’re in a corridor,” I snap. “On a military base.”
“I noticed,” he says mildly. “That’s why we’re not doing anything. Yet.”
Yet is a dangerous word. Yet is a cliff edge. “You can’t say shit like that here,” I snap, finally turning. “Anyone could walk around that corner. If they hear...” I break off when I see his face. He’s closer than I realised. Enough that I have to tilt my chin up to meet his eyes properly. He looks like he’s the picture of restraint. There’s a faint flush along his cheekbones, like the fight never fully left his blood. He’s looking at me like I’m a puzzle he’s already solved and is now just enjoying handling.
“No one’s listening,” he says calmly. “They’re all still in the hall, shouting about whose turn it is to get beaten next.” His gaze drops briefly to my mouth, then back up. “Your English paranoia is cute, detka, but unnecessary.”
“Don’t call me...”
“Besides,” he cuts in, “you’re not really worried about what they will hear.” His head tilts, studying me. “You’re worried about what you’ll do if I keep talking.”
That... stings. Because he’s not wrong, I am worried. Worried that if he keeps painting pictures like that in my head, I’m going to say yes to something that’s going to get me shot. “We can’t,” I say. It sounds weak even to my own ears. “We said we wouldn’t. On base. It’s too...”
“On base,” he echoes. “Da. That’s why we’re not staying on base.”
