Her brow furrows. “You’ll enjoy this, won’t you?”
And there it is. The accusation that cuts even deeper than being grouped with the rest of my family.
Guess we’ve found where I draw the line.
“Look at me.” I dig my fingers into her chin and shake her head. “The way I make you come. The way I keep you breathing. Every second I’ve spent looking after you. Does any of that feel like I’m harming you? Just for the fuck of it?”
Her lashes flutter, frantic, like butterflies trying to escape. “You cut my thigh. Right after I came.”
“We stitched ourselves together in blood. Your blood.” My mouth hovers over hers. Her heat seeps into me, my sanity’s cracking. “We connected. You were there. You felt it. You know I’m right.”
“You’re going to kill me.” But her conviction is thin and wavering. It’s a lie her voice can’t carry.
My compassion is the only reason I settle for nipping her bottom lip. If I were completely out of my mind with rage and lust, I would’ve…
No. I would’ve done the exact same thing.
I want her lip.
“I’m not.” I hold her face in place so she can’t turn from my teeth as they nip her lip. “You’re wrong about that.”
Skylar is beautiful. The shape of her chin is perfect. Her fear smells sweet.
But I can admire her all I want later. Her wound needs my attention.
“About the other thing, you were right.” I start.
“How you’d enjoy my pain?” She’s blinking back tears while focused on my eyes, which is good.
Otherwise, she would flinch if she saw me tip the saline bottle over her leg.
I need her to stay where she is and not flinch.
“No.” I aim the bottle without looking, my fingers tightening their hold on it. “That it’s going to hurt.”
The faster the saltwater goes over her wound, the better.
As expected, Skylar screams. I capture each of her cries with my lips. With my tongue. I empty the bottle on her while she thrashes and bats at my face.
When the bottle’s nearly empty, Skylar finally gives in. She kisses me back. Screams turn to moans. Slapping turns to clawing at my cheeks.
I like that. I like her. Breathing, crying, wrecked.
Perfect.
“Enough.” Pulling my nails out would’ve been easier than pulling away from her.
“You’re so mean,” she accuses.
“And you’re being good.” I toss the bottle aside. “Keep it that way while I make sure the wound doesn’t get infected. Promise me you won’t move.” My hand goes around her throat. “I need to treat you.”
I need you alive.
“Okay.”Okayworks. I’m about to let her go when—“But I need answers.”
“Ask me anything.”
My gaze follows the glossy red line of her skin as saline trickles down her thigh, soaking into the towel.
