Page 81 of Penance

I roll onto my side, curling into a ball as if I can protect the baby growing in me from the stress that tangles in my chest.

The moon casts a silver glow through the cracked window, painting eerie shadows on the walls that dance in the night air. I’ve kicked off the duvet, my body restless and heated despite the chill in the air. My nightgown, a modest cotton thing I’d brought from home, clings to my damp skin, each twist and turn of my body creating a growing tangle of fabric and frustration.

With a swift movement, I throw off the blanket and swing my legs over the side of the bed. I’m moving before I can even realize what’s going on or what I’m doing.

I need to know. I need to know now.

I step out of the bedroom and into the hallway, and my eyes catch on a door to my right. I don’t remember seeing that before. Briefly, I wonder what was in there.

Would that be my room after we got married? Would we sleep in separate beds?

I force the thoughts away.

No. No, I’m not doing that.

If he was going to put a ring on my finger, it was going to be a real marriage, not a fake show.

The apartment is silent, the stillness punctuated only by the occasional roar of a car driving by outside. The shadows dance and sway as I make my way down the hallway and stop at the doorway that leads into the living room.

My eyes are immediately drawn to Draco, his tall, muscular frame sprawled out on the couch, one arm behind his head and the other on his phone. I can see the light of the screen shining across his face, illuminating his expression.

Was he smiling?

Draco’s head snaps up, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that steals my breath. Time seems to slow as he darkens his phone screen, throwing his angular jaw into shadows. His gaze is curious, probing, like a predator sizing up its prey. I feel a shiver run down my spine, a physical response to the danger that radiates from him.

But he’s not dangerous.

No, he’s my safe place.

Isn’t he?

“What’s wrong?” he says. “Can’t sleep?”

He doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink, just watches me with those eyes that make my heart race. My hands tremble slightly as I approach the couch. My mind is screaming at me to turn back, to run, to hide.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I climb onto the couch, my knees sinking into the cushions on either side of him. I sit where he can see me, where he can’t ignore me, and then I realize I’m straddling him, and my body starts trembling. I flatten my handson his chest and stare down at him. All the words I want to say are stuck in my throat and I don’t know what to do.

Draco’s eyes widen, a flicker of surprise breaking through his stern expression. He says nothing, just watches me. I can feel the heat of his body beneath me, the hard planes of his muscles pressing against the insides of my thighs.

It’s intimate, too intimate, and yet not intimate enough.

“Draco,” I begin, fighting to grab onto what’s left of my determination.

It’s slipping away from me as easily as water between cupped hands.

Looking down at him, and the way he looks at me, is crumbling me.

Especially when I see his eyes rove over my body and his tongue flash out across his lips.

No.

Why does he affect me like this?

This is wrong.

This is sinful.

“Yes, Mercy?” he asks, his voice a low purr that sends shivers down my spine.

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