My eyebrows draw together. “You don’t have to. It’s really okay.”
“Enough of that, Skylar.” He switches the light bulb on. A dim light, and nothing else. “None of this is okay. That’s why we’re here, in the bathroom.”
He slams the door behind him, putting me down.
His fingers clasp around my chin, and he leans in slowly until our faces are level.
“Where I can claim your last virgin hole to myself.”
29
KNOX
Sweet, hurt Skylar reaches up for me again.
Her fingers brush over my jaw, cheek, temples.
Everywhere she touches is raw. Every inch of me is cracked open, bleeding.
I slept while another man had his hands on her.
The guilt digs deeper than anything ever has. Tears me apart limb by limb.
I was supposed to protect her. Should never have forgotten to barricade us down here.
The flashbacks raise bile in my throat.
I only realize that I’m breathing hard when Skylar tries to soothe me with her hand pressed to my bare chest.
“Shh,” she whispers, her brow creasing. “I told you, it’s okay.”
Her? Worried about me?
After what she’s been through?
Unacceptable.
She should be screaming at me. Punching me. Telling me I ruined what we’ve had before it even started.
Hell, I wouldn’t have blamed her if she told me to go fuck myself. She deserves better. A man who’d keep her in a secure home. Who’d install locks on all the doors, all the windows.
He’d have alarms up to protect me, she could say.
She could do anything other than leave me, and she’d be right.
I’d fucking deserve it.
But she isn’t saying any of that. Isn’t hitting me either.
She’s quiet, the corners of her green eyes crinkling. Compassion rolls off her in waves.
She tries.
Thing is, her attempts to calm me aren’t soothing my guilty conscience at fucking all.
What they do is smother me with more blame. Bury me under heaps of regret.
My heart pumps blood through my body faster than ever. The beating of it is loud and aggressive, my pulse deafening.
