He sees it as a game.
He draws back, holding my wrist as he raises it between us.
My blood-slicked palm glows in the low light.
A predatory smirk curls across his face.
I can’t fucking believe my eyes. He’s daring me to claim I’m repulsed, while I’m bleedingandtrembling with the aftershocks of my climax.
I’d tell him I hate it. That I hate him.
I have to. The alternative, admitting the truth that I want him, will destroy what’s left of my sanity.
But no words come out. All I’m capable of is drawing ragged breaths between each horrified scream.
I’m struggling to think—to survive—while he just…stands even taller. Slowly. Casually.
His tongue swipes over his lips, tasting my arousal on them. I must be sick for being turned on by this. He’s fucked me up so badly that I don’t act, don’t even acknowledge the small trickle of blood that trails down my thigh despite Knox’s bandage.
Knox is there, his hazel eyes never leaving mine. His shadow swallows me whole. He cocks his head, dragging his thumb over my bottom lip as if approving of my scream.
The bastard is getting off on it. On my rising panic.
The hot bastard.
Fuck.
The smartest thing to do would be to shut up. To deny him the satisfaction.
I can’t.
Hormones flood my body, tangling with adrenaline and pain until the world spins. Screaming makes everything worse, but it’s the only thing that cuts through it, the only tether I have left to earth.
Otherwise, it’ll look and feel like I’m okay with this.
The thought pushes another wave of tears out of me.
“My girl.” Knox lowers his face to mine, cupping my cheek. “My Skylar.”
His presence and his growly voice do something they absolutely shouldn’t.
They soothe me. They silence me. My tears slow, then stop altogether.
My breath hitches, hands dropping uselessly to my sides as he caresses my jaw.
No. No. I can’t want this. Can’t lean into him. I flatten my clean hand on his chest. Push him away. Hoping my need would go with him.
There’s no use. He won’t budge.
“My thigh, Knox.” My voice shudders. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“You.”
He’s crowding my space, viciously keeping me in place while he makes me take his lips. His tongue. This feral kiss that I don’t—can’t—want. I can’t.
I need it.
“Get off me,” I whisper between one demanding kiss and the next.
