Depravity

Chapter 18 #2

Our future where her stomach will stretch with our child. With dozens of them, one after the other.

Putting a baby into that stomach isn’t a calling or something I was conditioned to do.

It’s the ache in my bones. The beating of my heart. The precum wetting the head of my dick.

Fuck. My restraint is slipping, but I’m stronger.

I take a deep breath and clear my head, figuring out what she needs instead of what I want.

That’s what I focus on. Her. Cleaning her.

When I’m able to concentrate, I start by dipping the washcloth in the water. The next step is to pour sanitizing soap on it and tend to Skylar.

Just like I did with the oil yesterday, I start with her shoulders. But her hair is in the way.

I reach with my free hand to move it aside, but Skylar, the confusing tease she is, gets there first.

Electricity snaps through me when our fingers graze. I’m too turned on by the simple contact to stop her from tucking it behind her back on her own.

My body tenses as I follow every movement, watching her thick blonde hair slide aside and bare more of her neck that’s bearing my marks.

Desperate for a bite, my teeth grind.

Too damn tempting. This woman, she’s carving my insides, changing me.

No.

Absolutely not.

I have to keep it together. Have to stay lucid to protect her.

As impossible as it is.

Frustrated, I growl, dragging the cloth over her in circular motions. Faster. More careless.

Her fault for driving me insane the way she does. For hollowing me out and filling me with nothing but her.

Half out of my mind, I blink the thought away and scrub until I’m done with the front of her body.

A surprised cry escapes her when I lift her off the table.

“You know, Skylar, talking back, taunting me…” I flip her to face away from me, pinning her hands flat to the table. “That’s also you, begging to be fucked.”

“Maybe,” she whispers.

Her husky voice. Her ass, my fucking God.

My chest heaves, and my jeans feel ready to split from how hard I am for her.

A quick, possessive bite to her shoulder, and she’s whimpering for me.

It doesn’t steady me at all. If anything, the mark I left on her, her sweet pain, they only push me closer to the edge.

“Fuck.” I straighten and start scrubbing her back.

Time goes by until finally, she sucks in a deep breath.

“So, Knox, are you going to do something…” How she can sound brave and shaky at the same time is beyond me. This mystery, her, I’m dying to unravel it. “Else later? Like check on Bronwyn? For my parents. So I know to tell them if she’s dead or not when we’re out of here.”

My brow furrows. She was teasing me a second ago, and now she’s asking about Bronwyn? Hmm. Has to be the confusion talking.

Or it’s that dark thing I see growing in her. How she maybe hopes Bronwyn is dead.

She isn’t. My family would’ve dropped her off if she were.

Anyway. Whatever Skylar’s reason is, the answer is no.

“Bronwyn can go to hell.” Scrub, scrub, scrub. “You can tell your parents that too.”

“Couldn’t I at least tell her how much she’s hurt me?” Her voice rises, breaking. “Knox, don’t let them kill her before I get my closure.”

That reasoning is far more acceptable than I initially thought. Still. “No talking to her or about her.”

“Please…”

“Shut up.”

“I don’t want to forgive her.” Skylar looks over her shoulder, her green eyes honest. Gorgeous. Sad. “I’m not manipulating you into letting me see her because I love her. It’s really not about that. I swear.”

“No.” But my conviction weakens. I want to give her everything, just not that.

“I deserve to face her. I’m the victim here,” she says, moaning as I slide the cloth between her ass cheeks, water trickling down her crack. “I’ve earned that right. Why shouldn’t I have that?”

It wounds me that even with her thighs trembling and clenching with need, she still talks about her sister.

“She’s going to die. That’s what she deserves.” I drop to my knees, steady hands working her bandage with care. “End of story. Forget about her.”

“Please…” She doesn’t take her pleading eyes off me.

My heart pounds against my ribs, my blood hot in my veins.

“You want to join her?” The irrational anger turns me into a true monster. I scowl at her, saying, “Is that it?”

“No.” Her eyebrows fly up.

“Look.” I toss the washcloth on the table. Grab a new one furiously, dipping it in the bowl. “I want you.”

“You do.” Skylar’s shoulders are tense as I drench them in water, as I clean up what’s left of the soap. “I-I want you too.”

“And I have a plan. One that doesn’t involve absolving her or facing her.” I crowd her space, resolve banging. “One that doesn’t involve her at all.”

“I need that closure. Need that off my chest.” Her voice trembles but doesn’t break. “Stop being stubborn. What I tell her won’t change a thing between us.”

“Nothing good will come from talking to her. She’ll just find more ways to hurt you.” Abusers will be abusers; she has to know that. “I know her kind.”

“I won’t let her.”

As I clean the suds off her skin, my mind drifts to my brother. He’s evil in the same way. Some people don’t change. They don’t regret a single thing.

“She’s dead to you.” I wind my hand in her hair, tugging. “No one hurts what’s mine. Understand? Now be quiet.”

The warning lands. She goes silent.

And I resume the ritual. Bowl, water, cloth, washing her until she’s clean. I towel her off, worshipping her with every slow pass, with my attention and careful touch.

My sweet, obedient Skylar, no longer panicked, is handing me the saline water so I can get to her wound.

Being strung with desire while trying to take care of Skylar turns the entire thing into a challenge.

Somehow, I manage. When I’m done, I pull one of my shirts over her.

We’re still quiet when I lose my clothes right there, in front of her. Only our mouths.

Our bodies, they start talking.

My erection strains against my stomach, causing her cheeks to turn red and her fingers to grip the edge of the table.

The wet tip of my cock is another reason her eyebrows lower.

She hates herself for wanting to taste me.

I hate myself for denying us both of this, for having to wash myself off, for pulling on clothes. Boxers. Clean jeans. Shirt.

The mask comes last. Much like my clothes, putting it on is a must right now. That barrier will be much needed when I feed her. I have to be calm, even if she can’t.

“Just so there are no secrets between us”—I look at her behind the slits, my tone steady—“this mask, it belonged to another person once. A person my family killed.”

“Okay,” she clips as if she already knows. As if it doesn’t bother her.

She’s too focused on scowling to notice anything else, pissed that I won’t give in and let her talk to Bronwyn.

I’ll deal with it later.

Until then, I do what I was born for. Tending to her.

With the mask on, I’m in control of my emotions and soon forget why I was upset to begin with.

Skylar helps, like always. As upset as she is, she’s being obedient. She drinks when I put the straw to her mouth. Eats when I slide the spoon past her lips.

At her core, she knows I’m doing it for her own good.

Slowly, we find our rhythm again. We find each other, despite our differences. Even when the mask separates us.

My cold heart eventually thaws when she smiles. When she moans in pleasure, how she savors every bite and keeps asking for more.

This is…

Love.

No one has ever told me they love me. I heard it once, spoken from one of our living-hides to the other right before Jett killed him.

The man had longing and regret in his voice.

I understand that now.

I feel longing when I look at Skylar. A dull, persistent ache.

I love her.

She loves me.

“Skylar, I—”

The damn walkie crackles on the table.

“Yo, Hide-boy.” Jett’s voice drawls deeper than usual. Happier. “You there?”

Skylar stiffens.

My teeth grind. I hate him for upsetting her. For fucking with our feeding time. Hate that if I don’t answer, he’ll fuck it up worse by convincing the others to check on me.

Fuck. No.

No one hurts Skylar. No one gets close to her.

I place the puree jar on the table. Press a finger to Skylar’s lips.

Trying not to groan at how soft they are is a motherfucking hardship.

She nods, and I pick up the walkie. “What, Jett?”

“Since you’re finally one of us…” Suddenly, he sounds affectionate. Weird. “Ma told me to invite you to help us kill the boyfriend. Join the celebrations. What do you say?”

Skylar doesn’t react. Either she’s relieved they’re killing him, or she doesn’t care.

Either way, I’m not leaving her. “Busy.”

“Busy torturing her? Fuck yes. Yoo-hoo, you there, little girl? Bleeding out from one of my brother’s hooks?”

The color drains from her face. She’s seen what he’s capable of. She knows.

“She can’t answer you. She’s gagged.” I look at her through the slits in my mask, telling her silently that yes, he’s a bastard, but I’ve got you.

Nothing will happen to her as long as I’m around.

“Ohhhh. Gagged. Are you going to fuck her later?”

He really has to stop talking about what’s mine like that.

“No, Jett. Don’t want to fuck her. I need her skin perfect before I kill her, and she isn’t there yet.

” Lies. Her skin is fucking perfect. Apologizing, I trace a path down her jaw with my thumb, and she tells me she forgives me by leaning in.

That simple gesture has my cock straining in my jeans.

I’m seconds from crushing the walkie. “Feeding her. That’s what I’m doing. ”

“You never bothered with the others.”

“The others were just skin you dropped off.” Though I don’t have to, I explain, “I want my first one to be right.”

“Hmm. That’s the most you’ve ever talked to me in your life.” Static. When he’s back, he huffs a laugh. “Alrighty then, we’ll drop the dude’s skin off once we’re done.”

“Bronwyn,” Skylar whispers, her fingers hooked into the collar of my shirt, eyes pleading.

Her sweetness will be the end of me. Reluctantly, I ask, “Just him, right? My hands are too full for two new fleshing jobs and her.”

“Nah, the girl stays. Reese is attached to her living-doll.”

I slam a hand over Skylar’s mouth, silencing the cry I could see coming from a mile away. They won’t hear her, it’s not that.

It’s how I show her that I’m here. That she’s safe and gasping or screaming isn’t needed.

I’ll protect her. Always.

“She’s already done her makeup three times,” he goes on.

Skylar’s tears soak into my palm. Damn him for planting those images in her mind. Even if she wants Bronwyn dead, this isn’t right.

“Even did her eyebrows. And her hair. Looks crazy, Bro.”

My woman squeezes her eyes tight. Opens them again.

There’s no grief in them.

There’s darkness. Determination.

Either to survive this or kill Jett, it doesn’t matter. I’m just glad he doesn’t get to ruin my girl.

“Let Reese have her fun, then.” I mean it. With every bone in my body. Bronwyn’s earned it. “I’ll be here. Waiting for the boyfriend.” The piece of shit who was going to help kill my Skylar.

“See ya.” Another laugh, and he’s gone.

“Knox.” I let Skylar remove my mask. Suddenly, the idea of walls between us infuriates me. “You’re really not afraid of them. You respect them.”

She isn’t asking about Bronwyn, but I don’t like the direction this conversation is taking either. “I told you to shut up.”

“Yes, you did.” She parts her legs wider, leaning into me.

Mind games.

I’m not mad about that, not at all. Still, I cock an eyebrow, pretending to be pissed off. “What the are you doing?”

Electricity surges through me as she scoots closer, our lips a hairbreadth away.

No more games. Besides, refusing her is impossible. I curl one hand around the side of her neck, my mouth teasing hers.

“This is me, needing to make sense of this.” She flicks the tip of her tongue on the corner of my mouth, driving me insane with that light touch. “I need to get out of here. With you. If you’re not scared of them, I don’t see why we can’t leave this place.”

Both my hands go to her thighs, claiming flesh that’s already mine.

“Not yet.” My voice is rough, a growl against her mouth.

“We’ll see about that,” she sasses.

The momentary confusion at her statement has me loosening my grip on her thighs.

Her evil smirk is the last thing I see before she swivels her legs to the side and hops off the table.

When her feet land on the floor, my confusion vanishes. In its place, there’s profound curiosity. I’m dying to see what she’ll do next.

Skylar doesn’t disappoint me. As she saunters over to the hooks, she teases me by whipping her shirt off and dropping it to the floor.

Beneath the middle hook, where I hung her last night, she turns around. Raises her arms.

Cocking an eyebrow.

Licking her lips.

Killing me.

Fuck. Fuck.

Fuck.

Her perky breasts. That taunting smirk. All that skin.

This isn’t temptation. This is a declaration of war against my decision to stay in Colbert.

A hot war.

War, nonetheless.

“Knox.” Her voice is low, sultry. I can hardly think straight. “I’ll let you cure me if you and I get to leave this place. Tonight.”

Smart girl, trying to play me.

But escaping Colbert will happen when I say so. In two weeks, we’ll have our freedom.

“Fine.” Her eyebrows shoot down after I stare at her for too long. “We don’t have to get out of here tonight. Just come over here.”

That’s better. I love that my woman wants me. She’s going to get me too.

My virgin cock, my rugged hands, my feral hunger.

All. Of. Me.

“No strings attached?” My fingers in her hair are rough, pulling on the strands.

“None.” Now that I’m all up in her space, she’s trembling so hard that her arms drop. “None.”

“Okay then.” Every muscle in my body flexes. Teeth ready to take a bite. “You’ve offered yourself, and I’m taking it. Taking you. However I fucking want that.”

I tug harder on her hair, kissing the impatient little moans off her lips.

The hunger’s painfully mutual.

“And you don’t get to tell me no.” I lower her to her knees. “Not now. Not ever.”