Try to make me cry
Then, slowly, he released my hands.
His hand didn't drop back to the console. It moved. Slowly, deliberately, it came toward my face.
My eyes squeezed shut. I braced. I waited for the sting, the definitive moment when his control shattered and the brute took over.
Instead, I felt only the gentlest, ghost-like contact—a brush against my cheek, delicate enough to be mistaken for the wind. I opened my eyes. He held a single, fine blonde hair between his fingers, pulling it from where it had stuck to my skin. He flicked it away onto the floor.
Bab Populer