Chapter 15
KNOX
Her eyes flutter open.
And just like that, blood starts pumping into my body again.
My Skylar.
She’s in front of me, her shampoo-soaked hair sliding over my chest when she tilts her head to the side and up, staring at me while I hold her upright by her throat.
That’s how I keep her from slipping, from crashing to the floor. With her back pressed tight to my chest, my spine braced against the tiles of my bathroom.
Earlier, I’d removed the strip of my shirt around her thigh, tossed the filthy thing aside, before I carried her in here. Blood isn’t trickling down her thigh anymore, as I predicted. She won’t need stitches or glue for this wound.
But her wound isn’t what I fixate on anymore. It’s her eyes.
Green. The kind that robs me of every thought.
It’s more than a color; it’s a world I can’t wait to experience with her. Meadows, parks, forests. The places I dream about when I let myself imagine my life outside of Colbert.
For one fragile second, I almost believe she’s already there with me.
Then a range of emotions surges in her gaze as she slowly blinks the world into focus.
Hurt, suspicion, and confusion are first.
Anger is last, hot and fiery, flashing across her face like a blade catching light.
I don’t react. Simply stare back at her, letting my obsession sink its hooks into her, to chain her to my sickness. The claim I have over her.
Only thing it earns me is her scowl.
There’s no comfort in being a captive. Even if her captor takes care of her. Even if he treats her better than he’s ever treated any of his hides. Even if his heart thunders for her, and only her.
I get it.
Doesn’t mean I’ll bend to make things easier for her. I won’t change who I am. Won’t be any less of the man she needs just because she doesn’t want me at the moment.
My hand stays right where it is, curled firm around her throat while I run a soapy washcloth over her skin.
The squeeze I give her throat has Skylar’s chin quivering.
Her nails drag lightly over my thighs. Just like in the farmhouse, she’s trapped between clinging and clawing, poised to either fight or collapse all over again.
She doesn’t breathe a word.
I could force her to talk if I wanted to. Or I could be gentler. Explain to her the reasoning behind this, why we’re standing, why I don’t let her soak in the tub.
According to her social media, she just graduated from pre-med. She’d understand that my arms aren’t a cage. That if her open wound comes into contact with the dirty tub, it could get infected.
Talking—explaining shit to her—would cost time.
Time we don’t have while her wound is still open.
I already lost enough of it cleaning myself while she was unconscious in the basement. I didn’t want to, but I had to. I couldn’t touch her again unless I were clean.
We’re almost done now. I already took care of her back. All that’s left is the front, and it has to be quick.
I do that while I continue watching her. Her defensive expression, the shivers racing down her body. I catalog every reaction as I lather her in soap, worship disguised as routine.
The silence thickens as I drag the washcloth over her breasts, the slope of her waist, the curve of her thighs.
Whenever she gasps, the sound feeds something dark inside me.
And though I wish I could stop and kiss her, I don’t. I go on, running the cloth along her hips.
Skylar bites her lip, suppressing a moan when I swipe the cloth between her legs, over her smooth pussy. It has to be the prettiest, pinkest, and barest one anywhere in the world.
My erection hurts as much as it feels good. My pulse pounds in a strange cadence that has my teeth aching. The restraint it takes not to slide into her until we both find relief costs me heavily.
For now, I have this—her whimpers, her trembling, the way she squirms when I circle the washcloth over her hipbones and drag up higher to her navel, and back down to that sweet little valley that begs to be licked.
But being turned on doesn’t make me reckless. When I get to her wound, I don’t scrub it. I don’t agitate it. Won’t open it when the bleeding has finally stopped.
While I cautiously pat the area, her hands tremble as she lifts them.
She reaches back to find me.
Her fingers brush the short hair at my nape, skimming my jaw as if searching for proof I’m really here. Maybe she’s hoping to make sense of this, of us.
Either way, I let her.
“You…” Her fingertips press harder into my skin, burning me.
I stifle a groan. Clear my throat. “Yes, Trouble?”
“Knox, what are you doing?”
“What’s it look like?”
She flinches, letting go of me, her hands dropping to her sides.
“Not mad at you.”
This damn angle is what bothers me. It isn’t working. I can’t reach her calves.
I shift, dragging her even closer, until her back is flush with my chest. Exactly where I want her.
Like this, all of her heat seeps into me, swelling in my chest. I’m forced to pause, to breathe, to calm the fuck down before I forget why I’m here.
Before I bend her over and take her like the animal I am.
Releasing her throat, I brace her with one arm around her waist and slide my other hand under her thigh. Her flesh yields against my grip. Leaning back against the wall, I lift her leg higher, close enough to reach her calf with the cloth.
“Stop. Whatever it is you’re doing, stop.” Her cry snaps me out of my trance. “Let me go. No.”
She hates that my cock is hard against her back. Hates knowing we’re both naked, that I could do anything to her.
That she might want it too.
I don’t hate any of it. Not a goddamn bit.
She belongs to me.
Her body is an extension of mine, her shivers and gasps already written into my skin. Droplets from my hair slide down her shoulder, down her arms.
Our connection burns hotter, brighter, than anything I’ve ever known.
No no or please would ever weaken my resolve. She can’t run away from this.
I squeeze her thigh to remind both of us of that fact. Of this truth.
Her shocked cry sets my blood on fire.
She’s a perfect little thing.
Balanced in my arms, I ignore her and drag the washcloth down the length of her calf, never once letting her go.
A few seconds pass before her body rewards me with her scent. Rich, intoxicating, the same sweetness I recognize as her need.
It turns me into a ravenous monster. My cock throbs with it, pulsing at the source of everything I crave.
I—
Focus.
A growl rumbles in my chest as I return to being meticulous instead of giving in. I guide her leg higher until she straightens it, until her calf is inches from her face.
“I could tell you’d bend for me.” My chin rests heavily on the crown of her head.
“Never.” Sweet little liar.
As scared as she is, there’s no denying how easily she does bend for me. In every way that matters.
What happened in my basement proved that, and it was only the beginning.
“Never, hmm? We’ll see about that.” I lower her leg, shift my grip, and hook my hand under her other thigh. “This one’s next.”
When Skylar grows quiet, I know it’s not because she’s being obedient. I sense how she’s slipping into her head, retreating where I can’t follow.
Her breathing slows, her body sagging back into me.
I want her present, of-fucking-course, but I let her drift anyway.
She can run as far as she wants in her mind.
I’ll still be here when she comes to. Until my dying breath.
As I scrub her left leg, I realize that, for once, I’m not fixated on hides, alive or not. On softening and tanning dead things.
I’m consumed by her.
I’d burn down this entire town and my family in it before anyone gets too close. Before they bring a knife or an axe to her flesh, I’ll slash their throats.
Skylar will never be some man’s belt. Never some woman’s one-of-a-kind purse.
But then she starts crying, sniffing.
Her tears are proof that she thinks I’ll hurt her. That I’ll let anyone get close to her, let them kill her.
She’s reading the situation all wrong.
And it’s my fault. I’ve prioritized the cut on her skin while her heart was just as wounded.
I lower her leg and move on to the most challenging part, the one I thought I could avoid.
Talking.
“You shouldn’t be scared.” I toss the washcloth aside, the wet slap on the tub making Skylar grimace. She pushes deeper into me, then flinches at her reaction. So sweet. “You’re fine. You’re mine. I’m taking care of you.”
“I did everything you asked.” Her gaze fixes on the shower curtain. I look down at her in time to see her face draining of color. “Then I woke up to you strangling me. To all these memories. My sister will be dead soon if she isn’t already. That means I’m next, no matter what you say. How…”
“Shh.” I turn on the water. A soft spray starts from the handheld showerhead where it hangs. “Lean on me. I need my hand for a sec.”
She does as she’s told while retreating into her own mind.
Unacceptable.
My jaw clenches before I grind out, “You had a question for me.”
While I wait for her to talk, I test the water temperature with my hand. Lukewarm, just like I wanted it.
“Speak, Skylar.”
“How am I supposed to be okay with this?” Her voice cracks. “What is this, anyway?”
“Me, cleaning you. What’s wrong with that?”
“What’s wrong is I woke up to you strangling me,” she repeats.
I growl, then do more of this talking thing. “I would’ve drawn you a bath.”
“Then?”
Her fingers graze my thighs again. Not pushing me off, simply brushing. Testing.
Heat floods my chest. Her touch, my brain latches onto it and screams for more.
Patience.
“Sterilizing the bath was a waste of time.” I twist the showerhead free, spraying water on the crown of her head, watching it rolls down her face. She squeezes her eyes shut just in time. “I was rushing because your wound is open. You need to be bandaged.”
Blonde strands plaster to her cheeks, carrying the scent of my shampoo.
When she opens her mouth to speak, she swallows a mouthful of water, and fuck, it’s beautiful.