But…
“Our situation is different. Bronwyn was going to murder you.” Jett wants me just as dead, but yeah, he’s needed here. “That’swhy not.”
Skylar swallows and immediately starts protesting. Her muffled words are a cluster of adorable mumbo jumbo. I love them. How she sounds. The brush of her lips on my palm is as sweet as it is depraved.
And with those lowered eyebrows, she looks like a hellion. A lethal one.
I see it then, clearly. She’s not meant to be a gentle wallflower. She’s mine, and that means she belongs with me. She can work with me. Can help me flesh Easton.
More than help. We’ll do it together.
I’ll tell her about it soon enough. Right after I’m done playing with her.
Getting her riled up has become one of my favorite things.
“Knox!” she yelps when I throw her over my shoulder.
I slap her luscious ass. “Quiet.”
She snarls, kicking and scratching my back as I carry her to the table, grab the rope, and haul her back onto the hook. Every act of her rebellion has my cock throbbing.
Once she’s beautifully hung on the middle hook, I plant a kiss on her growling mouth. “Be right back.”
She doesn’t hurl more accusations, already quiet as I go up the stairs.
The front door’s hinges squeak when I tear it open. Sunlight blasts across my face as I lean down to grab the container holding Easton’s skin.
I slam the door shut, and those damn hinges whine again. Not loud, but enough to grate on my nerves.
It shouldn’t matter. In two weeks, this house will no longer be my home.
But old habits win out. I set the container down and grab a can of lubricant spray from the kitchen.
While I oil the hinges, I make a vow to myself. When Skylar and I move into our new home, the hinges will never squeak. I’ll take care of everything. Always.
Once I’m done with that part, I pick up the container and return to the basement.
“Put me down,” is how she greets me.
A smirk tugs at my lips from watching her limbs thrash as she flings herself side to side.
She’s going to love my surprise.
“Don’t you touch him. Knox.” Her cries grow louder, more desperate, the closer I get to the table.
Apparently, at the sight of Easton, she’s forgotten all about killing my family, her possessiveness claiming her whole. It sparks something dark and electric in me, a pulse that shoots straight through my chest.
“You said you were mine.” Once I drop the container onto the table, her panic rises. “You can’t be his. You can’t.”
Arms folded across my chest, I face her. Christ, I like her squirming. The red blotches on her cheeks and neck get me hard enough to ache.
“Someone’s gotta do it,” I tell her. It’s a half-truth, enough to rile her up some more. “And since you don’t know the exact steps?—”
“Teach me,” she snaps. Skylar’s snarl is something wild. Starved and territorial. “I’ll do it.”
“Hmm.”
Her eyes are like daggers, sinking into me as I walk toward her.
