Page 75 of Captive Souls

Despite his predatory gaze, he complied with my request.

I let out a breath as I exposed his torso. Muscled, chiseled, as I’d expected. The skin was porcelain, flawless.

On his torso, at least.

When I exposed his arms, I saw it.

Scars. Ribbons of them. From his wrists all the way up to his shoulder. There must’ve beenhundreds.

Though I knew I needed to be mindful, I couldn’t restrain the gasp that came out of my mouth upon seeing them. Without even thinking, I reached out to touch the skin to ensure it was real. It couldn’t have been. He couldn’t have been sleeping next to me, been curled up with my soul while I’d been ignorant to what was obviously a huge part of him.

Knox stiffened as my hand reached forward.

My fingers hovered a hair's breadth away from the ruined skin when I looked up at him once more. His jaw was as rigid as iron; I could see him clenching it. His chest moved up and down heavily.

No one had seen these scars. I knew this inexplicably. Knox didn’t let anyone see what was vulnerable, human about him. He was ashamed. That’s why he’d been so intent on ensuring I didn’t see this, even when he was bleeding from a bullet wound. This was his secret, his shame, the most vulnerable part of him.

And he was showing me.

“What… Who did this?” I asked him in a strangled whisper. Fury simmered low in my gut toward the beast that was capable of inflicting such pain upon someone.

“I did,” he replied without dropping his gaze from mine. His tone was cold. Inhuman. I knew it was because he was protecting himself. He was waiting for me to shrink back in disgust or be scared off.

I looked from him to the scars, taking stock. Some of them looked older, others were puckered and raised. And there werea handful, I was horrified to see, that were red and angry, barely healed.

Recent.

He’d done it while here.

I’d been there, sleeping maybe, and he was cutting through his skin to create more scars.

“It’s the only way I can cleanse it,” he murmured, watching me. “My blood. Otherwise, the filth builds up.”

I nodded, even though I didn’t understand what he meant by that. I understood it was related to the abuse in his past, the way the trauma had manifested in making him feel unclean. The result of the assault on such a pure, defenseless body. On an innocent, vulnerable mind. My blood boiled at the visible evidence of what he’d been through, corroboration that barely scratched the surface of how far reaching the talons of his abuse had scraped.

My fingers traveled the small distance I’d put between us. Knox flinched as I made contact with the skin, but he didn’t push my hand away. I felt the ridges of the scars, the hardness and softness of the healing skin. I went over them, tracing the shapes with the pads of my fingers, thinking of Knox doing this to himself. Over and over again. For years.

I ached to tell him that he didn’t need to do this. Didn’t need to punish himself for the sin of being a victim since that was not a sin at all. I wanted to take him into my arms and protect him.

But this was not the time.

He had not revealed this in order for me to take care of him. He needed to see that I saw this and stillwantedhim. That was the thing he was holding on to so tightly, thinking that he was too ruined to be wanted, to be desired.

Once I found my way to his shoulders, I slid my hand to his flawless neck and pulled him toward me.

He resisted for a millisecond, but then he understood my request. His mouth was on mine in an instant. I reveled in the warmth of the kiss. It was edged with desperation, a palpable relief from Knox. It was as if he’d expected to never kiss me again after exposing himself. It was the wall I’d been feeling with him this week, since he revealed himself in the woods. He had been bracing for the impact.

I might not have fully understood this man—I got the sense it would take a lifetime to do that—but I was comprehending that this was the first time, maybe ever, that he’d opened himself up for any kind of pain, and he was expecting to be rejected.

It seemed impossible that a man like him could be hurt, even when he showed me the parts of him that were soft. Because even his soft parts were covered in scar tissue.

There was nothing hotter to me, it turned out, than a monster who needed some humanity.

We made quick work of his pants and underwear, though there was nothing quick about the way I regarded his cock. My eyes went wide as I took in the length, the girth, the perfection of it, standing at attention. For me. I’d never been much enchanted by the male member, finding it … ugly, for lack of a better word. But this was not ugly. I might’ve even described it as majestic. With great effort, I ripped my gaze from the member between his legs, forcing it up his chiseled torso to his eyes. They were hooded with a hunger that I felt in my core. My hands landed on his defined pecs, warm, skin impossibly soft. I reveled in the ability to touch him.

“I would like,” I breathed against his mouth, “very much if you would fuck me.”

His eyes flared, and he let out a hiss. He didn’t linger in the shock of my request for long, snatching me up roughly. I wrapped my legs around his hips, gasping as my soaking-wet, bare core ground up against his hard shaft.