Depravity

Chapter 17

SKYLAR

“To come to you?” When I gulp, a devastatingly cutting smirk stretches across his face.

There and gone.

In a heartbeat, he’s back to being unreadable. Somber. Cold.

The expression is now familiar. So much so that it disarms me more than the smirk. The butterflies in my belly respond to the sharp lines of his jaw.

“Yeah. You know I’m right. That you’re not like the others. You’re my clever girl,” he praises, still every bit as harsh and terrifying. “Mine.”

Warmth washes over me before I mentally slap myself.

Being his feels way too good. And that’s a problem.

The biggest problem of them all.

The Skylar from home would never let something like this feel right. Discussing tanning people’s skin like it’s a totally normal, morally okay thing.

Never.

What the hell’s wrong with me?

He is. Knox and my corrupt, turned-on brain. I’m not a selfish person. I shouldn’t condone murder. Unless it’s the people who wronged me. But even then…

I have no right to lust after Knox. My pussy shouldn’t be wet in a room that thrives on death, surrounded by the ghosts of people who likely didn’t deserve their lives to end this way.

But—fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I’m so attracted to him that I could start crying and never stop.

“Stop it,” I tell him and myself.

“Skylar. Are you…jealous?” His eyes glimmer. “That there were other people’s hides here? Dead ones?”

A humiliated cry threatens to break free, because he’s right. Now that he says that, I realize this isn’t about my moral compass. Isn’t about right or wrong.

He oiled other people. Touched them.

That’s what both bothers and terrifies me.

The air around me thins as this terrible truth hits me.

I am jealous.

He bends lower, ignoring me when I repeat, “Stop it.”

His mouth presses to my temple. “It’s cute, except…”

My mind short-circuits altogether when Knox moves behind me and drops to his knees. Heat sparks through me, raw and consuming, as he parts my legs and tilts my hips.

I’m bare to him. All of me.

I want him to take the pain and shame away.

I want him.

“Except what?” My voice is shaky and unfamiliar.

He pats my ass like you’d pet an animal. “Patience.”

What should’ve calmed me does the opposite. Even the mildest touch from Knox makes my whole body clench with need.

The worst of it is realizing he isn’t about to lick me.

His tongue isn’t where I crave him most.

Without an explanation, without a single word to assuage my jealousy, he’s back to oiling me.

My calves first, then the backs of my thighs before sliding to the front, careful to avoid the bandage.

His touch climbs higher, higher, higher, teasing the seam between my legs and my pussy. My knees buckle, a helpless tremor. But I don’t fall.

I have Knox.

He growls, firmly gripping my thighs above the knees, steadying me. Holding me upright. Saving me.

“I’ve never oiled anyone else like this.

Never wanted to. You’re jealous for no reason.

” He’s close to my pussy, the promise of his touch waking deeper, more depraved cravings inside me.

Coaxes tiny whimpers out of me. “You’re not like the others.

You’re mine. Mine to keep. Forever. Tell me, Trouble, does it finally sink in?

What I’m doing to you? What you mean to me? ”

“Yes.” I rise onto my tiptoes, my body pushing me into him. I’m miserable without the friction only he can offer. I’m losing my mind, and I don’t care. “More, I’m more.”

“More? That’s all you’ve got?” His fingertips coast over my pussy lips, a feathery touch that is pure evil.

“Please…”

“Try harder.” He traces my entrance, inflicting the worst kind of torture by teasing me. “That’s all you get until I hear what I want.”

“I’m different. You won’t kill me. You”—I moan when both his hands slide back, grabbing my ass cheeks—“scare me. You scare me sometimes. And intrigue me.”

“That’s better.” Another two pats on my behind make me feel like he’s calling me a good girl.

But—wait. His hands, they aren’t on me anymore. Where is he?

My head hangs down, my pulse skittering and skipping. “Knox?”

“Hands up.”

Thankful to hear his voice, I obey without a word.

I’m still painfully aroused when, with one hand on my waist, he helps me into a standing position. He eases his cotton shirt down my body, the fabric whispering over my oiled skin before settling past my knees.

“There you go.” He guides my raised arms down slowly.

I didn’t even think about lowering them after the shirt slipped on. That’s how entranced I am by him.

“Skylar.” One of his arms snakes around my waist, yanking me flush against his body.

His lips are close. His body vibrates with barely restrained aggression, and…

Cruelty.

I don’t get to revel in it when he bends me over, arranging my hands on the seat of the chair again.

“What are you doing?” I pretend to fight him, wriggling while praying he never lets me go.

“Whatever it is I want.” He kicks my knees apart. “Whatever your body’s begging me to give you.”

His palm cracks against my pussy, sharp and merciless.

I howl, thrashing, desperate to close my legs. Pleasure and pain twist together until I’m delirious. “No, stop!”

“You need it.” He delivers four more sharp spanks, then lifts me, my back flush to his chest as he carries me forward.

“Why?” I’m choked, wet, and the most humiliated I’ve ever been.

“The pain. I saw how it helps you focus.” His lips brush my ear. “And I want your full attention.”

“I-I’m listening.” Every twist of my body only burns my strength away, so I sag against him, breathless.

“That’s better.” He grabs a rope hanging from one of the hooks.

In seconds, Knox has my wrists bound, and my body hauled up. We’re eye to eye, his hands cupping my cheeks.

My toes barely brush the floor.

But it isn’t the strain in my shoulders or the pull at my wrists that makes my chin wobble. It’s the panic rising in me.

“Put me down.” Each time I blink, another tear slides from my eyes. I feel so small, so helpless. “Put me down.”

“Breathe for me.” His hand around my throat isn’t there to choke me. He’s grounding me. “Breathe.”

I blink up at him. “What are you doing?”

“Trust me on this. Have I ever let you down?”

I shake my head.

“Good girl. Now. You’re up here because we need to talk. There’s one more thing I have to teach you about me.” His brows draw together. “After you answer this. What do we call the process of hanging you on a hook? In my world?”

The feel of his thumb stroking my jaw, it’s like he’s softening me. He’s steady, repetitive, never stopping even as I slump in my restraints, my lids growing heavy.

My arousal is long gone, my body begging for rest. But Knox keeps me awake enough to feel all of this.

I wouldn’t want it any other way.

“This is…where you cure them?” My throat rasps like sandpaper. My vision blurs, slipping in and out of focus. So…tired. “You hang them out to dry, right? Before you tan them?”

“So smart.” His hands cup my face, possessive, oily, and hot. “Curing comes first. You hang the hide so air touches every inch. It pulls the moisture out, stops the rot. Leave it damp, you lose it. Do it right…” His eyes flare. “…and it’s yours forever.”

The meaning behind what he’s saying sinks in. My stomach twists. “Forever…as in here?”

“As in mine.” He squeezes my face, sealing his ownership over me. “But there’s something wrong with this picture. Something I’m doing wrong. What is that?”

Think, Skylar. Think. This is crucial. It might save your life. It might make him want you.

I don’t know what happens when Knox is disappointed, and I don’t want to find out.

As I rummage through my head, silence stretches, heavy as the lump in my throat.

A few more minutes pass, and then it clicks.

“Curing. It comes before the oiling.” My lips are dry, and I dart my tongue out to wet them. “You’re doing it backward.”

His gaze drops to my mouth, then fixes on my eyes again. A flicker of pride and hunger turns his eyes into two glowing embers.

At his silent approval, my chest aches with want.

Feels so good. So right.

“Exactly.” He leans in, sucking my bottom lip between his teeth, then releases me. “That’s what I wanted you to see. Doesn’t matter if I broke the order. What matters is why. I did it for you.”

He isn’t insane. It’s deeper than that. His family’s legacy is ingrained in him, their rituals etched into his bones.

But he’s done with them.

He’s breaking all the rules for me.

And me, I’ve changed too. I’m no longer the pre-med student Skylar. Not the girl from New York. That version of me doesn’t exist here. He’s pulled me under, into his world, and I’ve let him.

“You bent the rules because you want me.” My voice trembles.

Understanding him feels like picking a lock to a door I’ll never be able to close again. A door I want to leave open for the rest of my life.

“I’ll break all of them for you.” His thumb drags over my jaw, rubbing oil into me. “Like I did now. I oiled you first because I couldn’t leave you on the hook without a shirt covering you. Without something protecting what’s mine.”

He kisses the corner of my lips, then moves toward the table, the one directly in my line of sight.

Even exhausted, I can’t help but watch him in awe. This is his domain, and he navigates through it with effortless ease.

He stops in front of the table, where two large jars are waiting. One holds a clear liquid. The other looks like some kind of puree.

Food. Water.

Yes.

Knox returns, lifting the clear jar in his grip for me to see.

“Got it from town last week. Drink.” Not a request. He shoves the straw between my lips. “It’s good for you.”

The cool liquid hits my tongue, and I moan at how good the coconut water tastes. How much I needed it.

As I suck on the straw eagerly, Knox’s lips pinch. His chest rises and falls. Each breath is controlled.

He’s working hard to stay still while he studies me, though I can tell his restraint is slipping. His teeth grind so hard that it’s audible.

I watch him, mesmerized, and keep sipping, sipping, sipping.

Until he snatches the water from me.

“Hey!” I yelp.

“You’ll throw up.” His second kiss at the corner of my lips turns filthy when his tongue swipes away the excess coconut water. “Be good.”

I’m trying so hard. To be good, to survive this place.

More than anything, I’m trying to get him to stay close, not to go away, not even to the table.

Before panic can take root, he’s back carrying the other jar.

“Open up.”

I’m too slow, but it doesn’t matter. My lips part just barely, and he’s already there, pressing a spoonful of mango puree past them. Sweetness floods my mouth.

“Mmm.” I swallow and eye the jar greedily. “More.”

“There you go.” He’s being careful as he feeds me, though his eyes darken every time I swallow. “Beautiful.”

God, I feel so special.

I also feel—no, I know—that this is the first time he’s ever done it, that he wasn’t lying about me being the first person he’s ever cared for.

I’d keep analyzing him, except, ugh. My eyelids. They’re incredibly heavy.

By the sixth bite, my head lolls.

The seventh is still on my tongue when my lashes fall, settling over my eyes.

I think I’m dreaming when I hear him.

“Such a good one,” he whispers, his lips brushing my forehead. “Time to sleep.”

Maybe the rope slackens at my wrists. Maybe Knox’s arms catch me, cradle me against him.

I think he’s taking me with him to the chair. Could be. No way to tell, really, when sleep steals me away.