THE FINGERS THAT FOLLOW
She hadn't slept.
Not even a little.
The sheets smelled like him. Her skin still felt his breath. Her bones ached in places she didn't know could ache. Her thighs were sore. Her lips raw. Her chest tight.
But none of it showed.
Not with all those eyes.
---
Breakfast was already on the table when she entered. Warm pastries, hot tea, fruit sliced too perfectly.
Roman looked up from his seat.
> "Good morning, wife."
She didn't respond.
Not in words.
But her body gave it away — the way she stopped walking for half a second, the way her fingers curled around the chair, the way her gaze never lifted to meet his.
He noticed.
So did Lelo.
---
She sat in silence.
Fork untouched. Tea cold. Eyes down.
Then a hand slid over her knee beneath the table.
Warm. Familiar. His.
Her entire body tensed.
She moved her leg away slightly — not enough to draw attention.
But Roman followed.
His hand stayed there. Heavy. Claiming.
She didn't move again.
---
Later, as she walked down the hallway toward the coat rack, he appeared behind her — like he had stepped out of the shadows just for her.
He wrapped an arm around her waist.
> "You smell like night."
Her back stiffened. She didn't speak.
He brushed a kiss beneath her ear. Just once.
She shivered.
---
She went to the kitchen for tea.
He followed.
Brushed his fingers along her spine like a secret. Whispered something in her native language — words he'd learned just for her.
She flinched.
---
She bent to fix her shoelaces by the front door.
He leaned down, palm sliding over her hip as if it belonged there.
> "Don't be long today," he said.
She looked up at him — finally — and her eyes held something hollow.
> "You said I'm still allowed to study."
He smiled.
> "For now."
---
She left the house like a shadow fleeing the sun.
But behind her, in that house of glass and luxury, two pairs of eyes followed her with identical hunger.
One tall. Cold. Male.
The other small. Wide. Waiting.
---