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So, I flee to Rosalie.
I feel her before I see her. Her aura is so strong, so beautiful, so calming that I almost forget what I just saw.
I find her by the fountain. She is sitting on the rim.
She trails her finger in the water, a look of melancholy contentment settling on her beautiful face. Her blond hair is pinned up, fastened at the base of her neck. A few gently curled strands have escaped to frame her soft, round face.
But there is something on her neck... Finger marks.
And there are bruises on her chest, and another on her cheek.
Biting her lower lip, she closes her eyes.
A wave of sickening realisation washes over me. He did this to her. He hurt her. Part of me knew that was what he was capable of, but seeing the evidence of it on her perfect skin makes me feel as though I can’t breathe.
Even though I am not, in fact, breathing at all, because I am not here.
I stare into her face.
Oh, how I wish I knew what she was thinking, so I knew whether I could show myself to her or not.
I want it more than anything.
Especially now. I want to take comfort in her gaze, and her words, and her. But how can I do that when there is a chance that seeing me will break her?
While I watch her, she hooks her legs up and lowers her feet into the water. She doesn’t lift her dress, just lets it dangle into the fountain.
It becomes damp, water seeping up through the fibres of the skirt so it clings to her legs, her knees, her thighs.
I am transfixed by her.
I cannot stop watching.
She shivers a little, and as I sit down beside her, still keeping myself invisible, I breathe warmth into the water.
She sighs, and a smile parts her lips. She moves her feet gently through the water, then she looks up at the pale moon and the velvet sky.
“I miss you, Kayan,” she breathes. “I miss you so much.”
Hearing her name sends an exquisitely violent shudder down my spine. Fuck.
I stand up, standing in the water, then kneel in front of her. I want to kiss her so badly my entire body aches with need. But I can’t; she wouldn’t feel it.
She will feel this though . . .
With water clinging to my fingers, I reach out, slip my hand beneath her skirt, and trail one slow line up her calf towards the back of her knee.
As the warmth and the wetness moves over her skin, her eyes widen. Her toes curl a little, and she instinctively leans into my touch. I add more fingers, stroking her again from her ankle up to her knee.
I know she loves this spot. This is where I would kiss when I was trying to drive her wild. I’d flip her over, watch her wiggle her perfectly round ass at me. I’d nibble her ass cheeks, the backs of her thighs, her hips. Then I’d use my tongue to tease this exact spot.
As I make circles with my fingers, she closes her eyes and tilts her head back. Her hand goes to her chest, and she strokes her collarbones, her breath quickening.
Her dress is tied at the front, gathered over her breasts, accentuating them, teasing me with the thought of pulling the string that will expose them for me.
I remember their fullness, her pale nipples, and the way they seemed to grow darker when she was aroused.
With my other hand, I nudge her legs open.
