Page 74 of Captive Souls

“Look,” he ground out. “At you.”

He was asking permission to look at me after claiming my mouth? And after kidnapping me? After stealing my heart and soul and ruining me for all other men?

It should’ve been a complicated response to his simple question, but it wasn’t. I found myself coming to grips with the fact that I might’ve done absolutely anything he asked, without question if spoken in that tone that stroked me in places no hands could reach.

Instead of answering with my words, I untangled myself from him. It was immensely difficult because I loved being wrapped up in him, having his body so close.

The room was balmy, warm from the roaring fireplace. And my skin was hot with desire. There were tiny beads of perspiration already covering much of my naked body.

Despite this, my nipples peaked as I stepped back onto the rug, naked, for Knox to look at.

It should’ve brought forward a healthy dose of self-consciousness. It wasn’t easy, even with a familiar lover, to stand naked in front of them without moving, without the fervor of sex or even the distraction of life.

Distracted meant men saw tits, ass, pussy—not always in that order. They did not see ridges of cellulite, extra flesh around the midsection, little imperfections that seemed anything but little to women.

Knox wasn’t distracted. Not even a little.

His eyes were rapt on my skin. Every blemish, dimple, every imperfection.

He rubbed his hand over his mouth as he catalogued every inch of me. My knees trembled under the weight of his gaze. It was similar to how he’d looked at me when I’d had the towel on. He wasn’t worshiping me, not exactly. He wore the face of a man who was looking at something he wanted to plunder, wanted to brand. But there was also something else. He was a man coveting something he didn’t feel worthy of yet held a glint of knowing he was going to take it anyway.

After minutes, minutes of him looking over every crevice of my naked body, his eyes found mine.

“You are perfect,” he said, his voice nothing but a rasp.

That was a compliment that men tried to throw around because they felt that’s what we wanted to hear, but there was always an emptiness to it. Because they saw what they wanted to see in us, what they wanted us to be, considering that to be perfect. But Knox saw all of me, knew all of me and still considered me that way.

It was a dizzying weight, to be something precious to a man like Knox. I felt something lock into me. Something that told me we’d never disengage clean or without pain. That this wasn’t just sex. It was about souls too.

Knox let me walk up to him, but in a way, it felt like I was approaching a wild animal. Every one of my movements had to be slow, purposeful, or else he might’ve turned on me.

I felt it. Fear. I was afraid of Knox. Not as much as I should’ve been. Yet that was what drew me to him, that fear. It was what excited me. Made me feel alive.

My hands found the hem of his shirt, but just as I was about to peel it up, he caught my wrists in his grip.

My bones protested at how tight he was holding me, and I forced my breathing to stay steady.

Don’t betray an ounce of panic, I told myself.

Looking upward, I met his eyes. They seemed to be black pools of darkness, tendrils of it curling around my skin, sinking past layers of flesh and bone to the very core of me.

“It’s okay,” I whispered, laying one of my hands on top of his, stroking, coaxing.

He flexed his grip, and I gritted my teeth against the pain. He could’ve broken my wrist if he wanted to in that moment. Doing that would’ve shattered me. Shattered all that lay between us. Because though I reveled in the pain that he made me feel, the roughness in which he handled me, the danger I danced by being close to him … the most precious thing about him was the violence he emanated but never truly released upon me. I wanted to be the one thing that was special to him, as delirious as it was. If he hurt me like he did everyone else, he would no longer be anything better than my father.

I was walking on a knife’s edge. We were. One wrong move and we’d sever everything between us.

Knox took an audible breath, nostrils flaring, eyes strained. He was fighting against his baser nature. Or one of them, at least. One that was telling him to hurt rather than open to the chance of being hurt.

I waited.

He let go.

My heart swelled at the trust he gave me, the enormity of the gift that trust was.

Taking a deep breath, I pulled up the shirt.

“Arms up,” I ordered, my voice only shaking a little. I knew he caught it. He was watching me like a hawk. Every tell my body had that I was afraid and aroused didn’t go unnoticed by him.