Satisfaction hums through me when I find no flaw. The wound is clean.
Clean, but angry.
Like Skylar.
I did that to her. Cut her open, stripped her bare, forced her to face the depth of my obsession.
Me.
“Looks okay,” I conclude, looking from her thigh to her beautiful face. “You wanted to talk, Skylar. Speak.”
All she does is blink at me. It’s as if she has too many questions and she can’t choose which one to ask first.
She’s not just curious, though. She’s turned on.
When I scan the rest of her body, I catch wetness trickling down her pussy. Her hands grip the seat of the chair, her knuckles turning white.
Licking my lips, I drag my eyes from her pussy to her face. “I can’thelpyou now, Trouble. Not like you helped me. Your skin needs my attention.”
“What about me? What about my heart?” One last tear slides down her cheek.
I press my lips to it and wonder what I’m doing wrong.
I thought talking would help Skylar. That it would make things easier for her.
When I come up with nothing, I’m about to ask what she means.
“Knox,” she whispers, beating me to it. “I need your attention. I need to feel…okay again.”
“Okay? You’re better than okay.” My voice hardens, humor gone. “You’re perfect. Can’t you see that?”
Her cheeks flush, and I drink it in. If she could see how hard I am for her, her blush would spread down her chest.
I want that.
I’ll take that.
But not yet. I drag everything I need to the edge of the table, focusing on the task at hand.
While I do, I feel a shift in the air. Brow furrowed, I look up.
Skylar’s watching my hands with rapt attention.
She’s curious. She’s interested.
It suffocates me, this need that builds in my chest every time she looks at me like that. I don’t know how much more of it I can take.
I divert my gaze to the table before it breaks me, grumbling, “I told you to ask your questions.”
Her startled whimper and her hand covering her pussy tell me that was the wrong thing to say. That I hurt her.
Regret eats at me, so I try again.
“Skylar.” I pry her hand off her sex, placing it at her side. “Talk to me.”
“Okay. Okay. So, you,” she huffs, raising her hand. I don’t let her cover herself up again, capturing her wrist in my much larger hand. “Can’t I hold on to a shred of my decency?”
My hardened glare is a firmno.
