Catherine opened her eyes to find Maximilian still bowed over her, his fingers steady at her ankles, thumbs working slow circles as if grounding himself there.
Something twisted painfully in her chest at the sight.
It wasn't the touch. The touch was… careful. Almost reverent.
It was the way he looked lowered, contained, as if service was the only language he was allowing himself to speak.
Pity burned, sharp and unwelcome. Pity, because he was doing this for her when she had already decided she would never accept his love. Not in this life. Not ever.
She tried to pull her leg back.
It felt good… too good, but that wasn't the point. He didn't have to do this.
Maximilian didn't let go.
He shifted her leg, resting it on his thigh, hands resuming their slow, unyielding rhythm. Not possessive. Not aggressive.
Intent.
"He wants me," Catherine said lightly, almost idly. She said it to provoke him. To test him.
To see if jealousy would finally make him cruel.
She watched closely.
