The warning lands. She goes silent.
And I resume the ritual. Bowl, water, cloth, washing her until she’s clean. I towel her off, worshipping her with every slow pass, with my attention and careful touch.
My sweet, obedient Skylar, no longer panicked, is handing me the saline water so I can get to her wound.
Being strung with desire while trying to take care of Skylar turns the entire thing into a challenge.
Somehow, I manage. When I’m done, I pull one of my shirts over her.
We’re still quiet when I lose my clothes right there, in front of her. Only our mouths.
Our bodies, they start talking.
My erection strains against my stomach, causing her cheeks to turn red and her fingers to grip the edge of the table.
The wet tip of my cock is another reason her eyebrows lower.
She hates herself for wanting to taste me.
I hate myself for denying us both of this, for having to wash myself off, for pulling on clothes. Boxers. Clean jeans. Shirt.
The mask comes last. Much like my clothes, putting it on is a must right now. That barrier will be much needed when I feed her. I have to be calm, even if she can’t.
“Just so there are no secrets between us”—I look at her behind the slits, my tone steady—“this mask, it belonged to another person once. A person my family killed.”
“Okay,” she clips as if she already knows. As if it doesn’t bother her.
She’s too focused on scowling to notice anything else, pissed that I won’t give in and let her talk to Bronwyn.
I’ll deal with it later.
Until then, I do what I was born for. Tending to her.
With the mask on, I’m in control of my emotions and soon forget why I was upset to begin with.
Skylar helps, like always. As upset as she is, she’s being obedient. She drinks when I put the straw to her mouth. Eats when I slide the spoon past her lips.
At her core, she knows I’m doing it for her own good.
Slowly, we find our rhythm again. We find each other, despite our differences. Even when the mask separates us.
My cold heart eventually thaws when she smiles. When she moans in pleasure, how she savors every bite and keeps asking for more.
This is…
Love.
No one has ever told me they love me. I heard it once, spoken from one of our living-hides to the other right before Jett killed him.
The man had longing and regret in his voice.
I understand that now.
I feel longing when I look at Skylar. A dull, persistent ache.
I love her.
She loves me.
