“No, you weren’t listening.” His tone isn’t angry, but full of conviction that, one day, soon, I will.
He sets the bottle on the floor behind the chair before coming back to me, lifting me as if I weigh nothing.
Despite everything, I offer no resistance, my body going limp in his hold, giving Knox all the permission he needs to carry me.
He does, taking me around the chair, setting me on my feet next to the bottle. When he arranges my hands to rest against the chair’s back.
There’s a quiet confidence about him.
And—crazy as it sounds—that confidence steadies me. No matter how afraid I am, he soothes me.
“You’re important.” His chest expands against my back, his hands folding over mine. “I tend to what’s mine. I keep what’s mine. And you, Skylar, you belong to me.”
He lets go of me, robbing me of his touch that I absolutely shouldn’t crave, but then, before I can beg him to touch me again, he’s back.
His hands glide over my body. He’s meticulous and pensive as he works the oil into my skin. My shoulders. My arms. My wrists.
Despite his devotion, doubts slip in, telling me this is the calm before the storm.
My head falls between my hands, bracing for the axe I fear will hit me at any moment now.
But seconds pass, and nothing comes. No pain, at least. Only the press of Knox’s palms as he lathers the oil, rubbing it methodically into me, not missing an inch.
It feels like he’s not just coating me. He’s transforming me. Turning me into something better. Somethinghis.
A man who wanted me dead would’ve been careless, cruel. He would’ve splashed the oil over me like I was just another hide strung up on a hook.
Not Knox.
That certainty does things to my heart. Dark, dangerous things.
What Knox is doing to me—how he’s treating me—is the first time I’ve been cared for. I can acknowledge that now that I’m no longer scared of him.
“I’m yours.” The truth escapes me, my whole body echoing the vow. “I am.”
“Trouble.” A kiss to my neck. “Such a good girl.”
“Thank you.” My body reacts to the oil, to his care, by tilting my hips up. By offering more of myself.
“This…” His hands linger on my waist. “Preserves you. Keeps you supple. A hide that cracks is ruined forever. With you, I won’t let that happen.”
My heart expands as I listen to him. He’s reaching out to me, teaching me about his life. His explanations are another proof that I won’t die here.
My pussy clenches on air when he slides his hands forward. When he coats my stomach, the curve under my ribs. My breasts.
My nipples harden when he rolls them between his fingers. A low growl vibrates in his chest, but otherwise, he stays controlled.
In his own way, he really is worshipping me.
This precision, for him, isn’t a matter of detachment. It’s his version of affection.
The thought steadies me, and I let myself lean back farther into him.
More oil. More of Knox’s fingers. More of his devotion.
His almost clinical movements make me heady.
Make me feel safe enough to speak. “Hey, Knox?”
