“I won’t try to escape. I”—deep breath, I can pretend to be this attractive, confident woman I’m not—“want to reciprocate. This will be another first, but…I know you must be in…”Jesus, it’s just words. “You must need help.”
I’ve never heard a groan like Knox’s, not ever.
Full of anguish. Frustration.
Heat.
He tugs on his mask, throwing it away.
I barely hear it dropping.
The only thing that registers is him.
This man is beautiful in the most broken, rugged way.
The square jaw. The sharp cheekbones. Eyes set just deep enough to give him that haunted edge.
And his hair is thick, brown, unruly. I want to sink my fingers into it.
But what turns my shameful attraction into actual longing is how he studies me back. His gaze digs deeper, like he’s trying to carve his way inside my head.
“You want to help me?” Hard to breathe. So hard when his full lips move. When they’re so close to me. When my need is a living thing. “Do you, Skylar?”
What little confidence I’ve had shatters at his words. Tears burn my eyes.
He knows this would be my first time, and he can probably already tell I’ll fumble. I’ll gag, drool, make a mess of his cock.
His only pleasure would be watching me on my knees, laughing at my inexperience.
But I’m not backing down.
I want to live.
I want him.
I swipe at my tears, growling, “Yes. I do.”
He leans in and, foolishly, I drift toward him, palms pressing against the hard planes of his chest.
The silence between us hums, stretched thin, his eyes burning into me until every nerve in my body sparks to life.
My thighs tighten, squeezing hard.
Then—
One by one, his fingers slip free of my hair.
He exhales low and slow as he steps back.
My breath catches in my throat.
It’s happening. He’s going to order me to do it.
Except he doesn’t speak, just glowers.
His fists are tight at his sides. My eyes drag to them, then to the veins cording his lean arms.
My pulse skitters. My arousal drenches my shorts.
