He senses it, his voice softer when he asks, “Want to talk about it?”
Knox is more than just curious. He’s trying, in his unconventional way, to break through my walls. To give me everything I need. Comfort. Space. Connection.
How effortlessly he burrows into my soul and comes up with solutions. A man who doesn’t know me is giving me everything.
Before I open my mouth—and God, do I need it, this outlet—I think twice. A million times.
It’s not that I don’t trust Knox.
It’s my past haunting me.
The words Bronwyn encouraged my classmates to say, even in college.
No one cares what you think, Skylar. Would you just shut up already?
Almost everyone but Alexandra and a handful of others took turns bullying me.
But what if Bronwyn didn’t convince them to be mean to me? What if she only gave them permission to treat me the way they already wanted to?
If that’s the case, and I start blabbering, will Knox get tired of me too?
I shiver at the thought, my hands clenching into fists.
“Hey.” His fingers flex against my back, sliding to my arm and squeezing it. “Whatever’s going on in that pretty head of yours, stop it. You can tell me anything, and I’m not going anywhere. I want you. All of you.”
If only it were that easy. Being myself and hoping for the best. “I don’t know.”
His thumb strokes my arm as his reverence speaks to my fears, my pain, my scars.
“Nothing you say will make me love you any less.” He runs his hand up my arm before resting firmly at the base of my throat, a silent claim. “Come to me. Talk to me.”
His devotion feels like home. I hold on to him tighter, snuggling into him as if he isn’t a monster. As if I can melt into his body so he’ll never leave.
“Knox,” I sigh, snuggling closer.
“I’m here.” Love, tenderness. A sense of belonging. That’s what he gives me with this one simple sentence. “Talk.”
I want to. Just not about my parents. Or my solitude. Or the years-long ache.
Not yet.
“I can’t stop thinking about how you found me.” I trace the hard lines of his pecs, the barely there brush of hair. “And how much I like being in your arms. Which is reckless.”
“Why?” Not a hint of hurt in his voice.
If anything, he seems even more certain. He eases me onto my side and shifts to face me, one of his long legs sliding between mine.
He cups my cheek in his palm, a wordless plea to keep talking.
Every movement is a quiet reassurance.You’re safe. I’m here, I won’t run.
I curl my hand over his wrist, pressing my thumb to his pulse point. Shamelessly, I’m learning the rhythm of his heartbeats through my fingertips.
“We don’t know each other.”
That statement doesn’t offend him either. His eyes are a light shade of hazel, nothing dark about them. His expression is open.
“What else?” he probes, curious.
