It isn’t the knife that touches me then.
It’s his hand.
Carrson reaches for me in the dark. His fingers hover near me for the briefest instant, as if he’s giving himself time to stop.
Then they’re on my face.
Wiping away my tears. Cupping my cheek.
His kindness ruins me in a way cruelty never could.
Another sob breaks free. I turn my head and nuzzle into his palm, taking comfort from the roughness of his skin, the calluses earned from thrown knives, battered punching bags, and all the hard things he’s survived.
“Why would the universe take her?” I ask into the space between us, not even sure if I’m talking to him or myself. “Why her instead of me?”
The words burn on the way out.
With his hand on my face, Carrson steps into me, his chest brushing against mine. The fabric of his shirt is rough against my bare skin, and I shiver at the contact.
“I don’t know why that happened to you,” he says quietly. “That your sister was taken. I don’t know why I had to grow up the way I did or why the world is so hard and full of pain.”
His thumb drags once across my cheek.
“I just know there are moments…” He hesitates, like the words don’t come easily. “Where it’s quieter. In the clearing. When my head finally shuts up.” His breath ghosts over my mouth. “And sometimes,” he adds, softer, “when I’m with you. Like this.”
The knife is still there, the tip resting lightly at my throat, his other hand warm against my cheek like he’s deciding.
Violence.
Or something else.
The weapon slips from his hand and hits the ground with a loud clang.
And for the first time since I’ve known Carrson Ashford, he’s unarmed.
Chapter thirty
Soft
Becky
Both hands come to my face.
His lips find mine.
Soft at first. Careful, as if he’s tasting something unfamiliar. Then firmer, his body pressing against me as heat flares between us. His mouthopens, his tongue brushing mine.
I moan in response, the sound helpless and needy. I strain against the manacles, chasing him.
He pulls back to breathe, air rushing in and out in short, erratic bursts.
I follow instinctively, catching at his mouth, but the chain goes taut, stopping me short. I let out a frustrated huff. One kiss and I’m already aching for him. Desperate. I’ve never wanted someone I should avoid this badly.
I don’t have to wait long.
He’s back. His hand slides to the nape of my neck, holding me there as his mouth moves over mine again, less tentative now, more sure. Learning me in real time.
Desire hits fast, disorienting, pulling me deeper.
