Moriarty (An Anna Kronberg Thriller) by Annelie Wendeberg

Author:Annelie Wendeberg [Wendeberg, Annelie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Annelie Wendeberg
Published: 2014-05-29T00:00:00+00:00

— day 74 —

The click of the pipe on the coffee table pulled me out of my dream. James turned towards me, face softened, eyes dark. I remembered that the air around him had tasted different today. I remembered the shock it had brought, how my heart had tightened in my chest, how my knees seemed to lose their firmness. His intentions were clear before noon had struck and I used the remainder of the day to find my peace and willpower. His invitation to smoke opium, his hand on mine as he led me to the ottoman, the steady gaze, all betraying his decision to finally take what he needed.

His eyes intense, he reached out and touched my ankle. Only with the tips at first, then followed by long and precise fingers and the whole of his palm. He let it rest there, observing what my face would reveal. I let him see nothing, watched him in return, and marvelled at the dance of two intellectuals on a razor’s edge.

Slowly, he pushed his hand further up and I noticed the peculiar characteristics of expensive silk stockings — a quality I had been unaware of until now: this fragile barrier amplified the tingling sensation of skin slipping over skin. I found myself focusing on his hand instead of his face.

He pushed it higher, together with the hem of my dress. The fabric whispered softly, caressing my skin. His fingers curled into the tender hollow of my knee and an involuntary hiss escaped my nostrils. The corners of his mouth twitched, his irises blackened.

I knew he was waiting for a genuine response, while we played a dangerous game of deception, control, power, and exploration. I gazed up at him. His pupils were wide open, his expression calm. I closed my eyes, focusing on what my skin whispered and not what my mind shouted; thinking not of him, but of the man I loved, with a mind just as sharp and hands equally precise. As the slender hand travelled up along the inside of my thigh, brushed the garter, to finally rest only an inch away from what had got warmer than should be considered normal, I knew that I could do it.

I opened my eyes and was met by a scrutinising gaze.

His face hid every emotion as his hand slid away. He rose and started for the door.

‘Why do you find such pleasure in torturing me?’ I called after him.

He stopped. Without turning around he answered, ‘I never wished to torture you. My apologies. It will not happen again.’

He was about to leave. ‘And yet you walk away,’ I said softly.

His hand slipped off the doorknob. I rose to my feet and approached him. We were only inches apart; my palm resting on his shoulder accelerated his breath. He turned around, his hand went behind his back and turned the key in the lock. The metallic click tipped me forward.

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