Pulls away stiffly.
His eyes narrow.
“What?”
“Were you hurt?”
My gaze drops. “Yes. I didn’t tell you because you were already wounded.”
“Let me see.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“Kings only ask once,” he says firmly.
I slowly turn. My nipples scrape against the blooms as I face away from him.
Eryx sucks in a breath.
Ugh. He’s gonna be mad.
I wait for him to curse. Damn the monster. Bang a fist against the wall.
But it doesn’t come.
What happens is—his lips fall onto my back.
He runs his mouth down each scar, whispering, “I would take these for you if I could.”
My body pulses—with want and with something deeper, something that’s been buried in my heart—locked behind the thickest door with the smallest key—something I hid when I saw my aunt and uncle’s relationship, how toxic and sad it was.
The door inside me unlocks and is thrown wide open.
I reach behind me and run my hand over Eryx’s hair. He tugs me close and drops his mouth to my neck.
“Chelsea,” he murmurs.
“Eryx.”
His hands find my breasts, and he gently runs his thumbs over them. A moan slips from my lips, and he slowly turns me around to face him.
I feel bare, like he can read my mind, knows the depth of what I’m feeling. In his eyes I see it reflected back.
He feels it, too.
This thing between us, it’s impossible to describe, but if anyone would understand, it’s him.
And that door I just threw open?
He’s standing in it.
“Eryx,” I murmur.
“Chelsea,” he answers, and his lips find mine again, slow, sensual, like he’s in pain because of my wounds.
I kinda think he might be.
He slowly strips me, kneeling and taking his time. There’s no more ripping.
