Depravity

Chapter 15 #2

“That’s why I’m keeping you on your feet. So you don’t rot.” I tip her head back, and she opens her eyes, looking at me despite the water running into her eyes. “So you don’t die.”

“So that I won’t die? I almost did, Knox. Your huge hand was wrapped around my throat. You could’ve killed me.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

I’m not hurt by her accusations. That’s why we’re talking, after all.

“You… You…”

“I’m being gentle. I’m taking care of you.”

When I aim the showerhead at her breasts, she sucks in air, her chest rising. Her nipples harden. The faintest touch, and she’s starving for sex. For me.

My cock jerks against her back, my whole body coming alive at her reaction.

“You’re being gentle now. And later?” Her question breaks my focus. “Who knows with you? One minute, you want me, and the other, you carve into me. You take care of me, make me feel things, and for what? So you can kill me? Like them?”

Like them.

That particular accusation is the worst. A gut punch. A knife to my jugular.

She doesn’t mean it. Remember where she’s coming from.

Deep breath.

The showerhead’s back in its place. Skylar’s up in my arms, glaring at me with her fists clenched at her front. With her eyebrows lowered.

Ready to fight. Wanting to trust me.

Poor thing, she needs me more than she realizes. And I can’t be mad about that.

Can’t be mad about anything anymore. I finally understand what’s truly bothering her.

There’s this emptiness inside her. Loneliness.

The ones who were supposed to take care of her, they failed. No one’s ever been there for her.

On the surface, she looks like she’s lived the perfect life. White teeth, flawless skin, the picture of health.

But beneath it, her soul bleeds. Starving for someone to see it. To claim it.

After what her sister just admitted to, I bet Skylar doubts anyone would ever love her. Probably thinks she’s not worth the effort.

Not for long.

“If I were anything like the rest of my family…” I grab a clean towel from one of the shelves lined up against the wall. Throw it on top of her. “I wouldn’t have done this.”

“A towel? Really?” She’s close to losing the battle against her exhaustion, barely catching a yawn. “You’re proud of giving me the bare minimum?”

Instead of laughing like I want to, I just arch a brow as I carry her toward the kitchen. That’s all I give her.

She curls tighter into herself at my silence.

Tough luck. There’s nowhere for her to go but deeper into me.

“You were different back there,” she muses, as if she’s unable to help herself. I want her curiosity unrestrained. Want all of her. “In the farmhouse.”

“I’m the same as always.”

We reach the chair I covered in towels before I took her to the bathroom. I lower her into it, careful, before turning to the table.

“Wait,” she whimpers as I double-check that I have everything I need there. “Are you going? Don’t. Please.”

My heart is in my throat.

“My Skylar. You understand it now.” I use the towel I draped over her to dry her off, then tie it around my waist. Neither of us misses how hard I am beneath it. “You need me. You belong to me.”

“I just don’t want the others getting to me when you’re gone.” The corners of her eyes crinkle as her shoulders droop. “They’re awful.”

She doesn’t mean it, that she could see me walk away.

Skylar’s just crashing, and crashing confuses people. They say things they usually wouldn’t.

“You need to be bandaged.”

“It…” Her voice wavers with surprise as she glances at her leg, then at me. “It doesn’t look like it needs stitches.”

“That’s because I carved it clean.” I have one hand on her shoulder to offer comfort. Using my other hand, I grab the saline water bottle from the table. Drop to my knees. “No stitches. Just a scar. A reminder you’re mine. Now, quiet. Let me tend to the wound.”

My movement causes her gaze to slide to study the bottle I’m holding.

“Oh. You really are going to clean my wound.” Terror widens her eyes. “It’s going to hurt.”

“Yes.” No point lying to her. “It will.”

Her brow furrows. “You’ll enjoy this, won’t you?”

And there it is. The accusation that cuts even deeper than being grouped with the rest of my family.

Guess we’ve found where I draw the line.

“Look at me.” I dig my fingers into her chin and shake her head. “The way I make you come. The way I keep you breathing. Every second I’ve spent looking after you. Does any of that feel like I’m harming you? Just for the fuck of it?”

Her lashes flutter, frantic, like butterflies trying to escape. “You cut my thigh. Right after I came.”

“We stitched ourselves together in blood. Your blood.” My mouth hovers over hers. Her heat seeps into me, my sanity’s cracking. “We connected. You were there. You felt it. You know I’m right.”

“You’re going to kill me.” But her conviction is thin and wavering. It’s a lie her voice can’t carry.

My compassion is the only reason I settle for nipping her bottom lip. If I were completely out of my mind with rage and lust, I would’ve…

No. I would’ve done the exact same thing.

I want her lip.

“I’m not.” I hold her face in place so she can’t turn from my teeth as they nip her lip. “You’re wrong about that.”

Skylar is beautiful. The shape of her chin is perfect. Her fear smells sweet.

But I can admire her all I want later. Her wound needs my attention.

“About the other thing, you were right.” I start.

“How you’d enjoy my pain?” She’s blinking back tears while focused on my eyes, which is good.

Otherwise, she would flinch if she saw me tip the saline bottle over her leg.

I need her to stay where she is and not flinch.

“No.” I aim the bottle without looking, my fingers tightening their hold on it. “That it’s going to hurt.”

The faster the saltwater goes over her wound, the better.

As expected, Skylar screams. I capture each of her cries with my lips. With my tongue. I empty the bottle on her while she thrashes and bats at my face.

When the bottle’s nearly empty, Skylar finally gives in. She kisses me back. Screams turn to moans. Slapping turns to clawing at my cheeks.

I like that. I like her. Breathing, crying, wrecked.

Perfect.

“Enough.” Pulling my nails out would’ve been easier than pulling away from her.

“You’re so mean,” she accuses.

“And you’re being good.” I toss the bottle aside. “Keep it that way while I make sure the wound doesn’t get infected. Promise me you won’t move.” My hand goes around her throat. “I need to treat you.”

I need you alive.

“Okay.” Okay works. I’m about to let her go when—“But I need answers.”

“Ask me anything.”

My gaze follows the glossy red line of her skin as saline trickles down her thigh, soaking into the towel.

Satisfaction hums through me when I find no flaw. The wound is clean.

Clean, but angry.

Like Skylar.

I did that to her. Cut her open, stripped her bare, forced her to face the depth of my obsession.

Me.

“Looks okay,” I conclude, looking from her thigh to her beautiful face. “You wanted to talk, Skylar. Speak.”

All she does is blink at me. It’s as if she has too many questions and she can’t choose which one to ask first.

She’s not just curious, though. She’s turned on.

When I scan the rest of her body, I catch wetness trickling down her pussy. Her hands grip the seat of the chair, her knuckles turning white.

Licking my lips, I drag my eyes from her pussy to her face. “I can’t help you now, Trouble. Not like you helped me. Your skin needs my attention.”

“What about me? What about my heart?” One last tear slides down her cheek.

I press my lips to it and wonder what I’m doing wrong.

I thought talking would help Skylar. That it would make things easier for her.

When I come up with nothing, I’m about to ask what she means.

“Knox,” she whispers, beating me to it. “I need your attention. I need to feel…okay again.”

“Okay? You’re better than okay.” My voice hardens, humor gone. “You’re perfect. Can’t you see that?”

Her cheeks flush, and I drink it in. If she could see how hard I am for her, her blush would spread down her chest.

I want that.

I’ll take that.

But not yet. I drag everything I need to the edge of the table, focusing on the task at hand.

While I do, I feel a shift in the air. Brow furrowed, I look up.

Skylar’s watching my hands with rapt attention.

She’s curious. She’s interested.

It suffocates me, this need that builds in my chest every time she looks at me like that. I don’t know how much more of it I can take.

I divert my gaze to the table before it breaks me, grumbling, “I told you to ask your questions.”

Her startled whimper and her hand covering her pussy tell me that was the wrong thing to say. That I hurt her.

Regret eats at me, so I try again.

“Skylar.” I pry her hand off her sex, placing it at her side. “Talk to me.”

“Okay. Okay. So, you,” she huffs, raising her hand. I don’t let her cover herself up again, capturing her wrist in my much larger hand. “Can’t I hold on to a shred of my decency?”

My hardened glare is a firm no.

With a sigh, she sinks into the chair. She obeys. “Never mind.”

“You don’t get to dismiss me like that.” I swipe iodine over her wound, precise, deliberate. “Every inch of you belongs to me. Your bare skin, your pain, your breath, they’re mine.”

Next, I press the medical adhesive mesh over the cut.

“Fine,” she whispers. “But this first.”

I glance up to find her holding out the non-stick gauze pad.

Time stills. My pulse slows.

We’re a team. For the time being, anyway.

Yes, she could be playing me. Could be waiting for the moment I lower my guard so she can bolt, naked, bleeding, into the dark.

But right now, I’ll take the win. I’ll even call it happiness, whatever the fuck that is.

“You’re patching me up really well.” Her voice carries only awe, no trace of sarcasm. “Do you have medical training? Did you ever try to be something that isn’t…this?”

Fuck. Fuck. The things her curiosity does to my heart. Skylar has no idea.

I’d love nothing more than to fuck her. To kiss her for the next two weeks and never stop.

There are more important things to take care of.

Her.

As I wrap her up with an elastic bandage, I answer, “The living-hides, they fight back sometimes. Can’t have my family dying of infections.”

“I knew it. I knew it. I knew it,” she murmurs to herself. “No, but wait. Knox.” Skylar swallows hard, throat working in a way that makes my cock ache. “What’s a living-hide?”

“What you were supposed to be.” I give her a look that says never. “What that boy and your sister are. We turn people into leather. But while they’re still breathing, we call them living-hides.”

For me, it’s routine. It’s my life.

For Skylar, it’s a nightmare. It’s the ground cracking open at her feet.

Her scream makes sense.

Problem is, she’s been through too much today. She can’t afford to waste more energy on losing her shit.

Not to mention, she hasn’t eaten. I haven’t fed her dinner yet. I’ve been saving it for later, when she’s rested and bandaged up.

She won’t eat now, when she’s like this.

What’s left to do is give her what only I can.

The comfort of being possessed.

I don’t hesitate, fisting her hair, dragging her mouth to mine.

One breath, and I crush our lips together in a kiss that’s meant to strangle her fear and leave only me behind.