He tensed, his stomach tightening so every ridge of him stood out with chiseled male perfection.
“Christ, you’re beautiful.”
A moan built in my chest. He’d barely whispered, only breathed the words, but it made me feel like the most powerful woman alive. He didn’t look at my scars. He didn’t see the strange mix of inked beauty and burned ugliness. He just saw me.
I’m not lacking.
“Yellow suits you.” His eyes shadowed with pain.
“Come on… let me call you it, too.”
I shook my head, planting my fists on my hips. “Nope. Only he can call me that. You call me Sagittarius. My dad calls me Buttercup—that’s how it works.”
He pounced on me, wrapping his arms around my waist and plucking me effortlessly from the floor. “But you’re my sunshine. You glow in yellow. I want to—”
I squealed as his hands tickled me and the rest of the argument of my nickname dissolved in favor of kisses.
I blinked, dispelling the memory.
“What’s another word for yellow?” I breathed, willing, hoping, praying I could trip him up. What if the grave of a girl who still had his heart was false? What if she was me?
I didn’t care I spoke differently or he said the girl in his past wasn’t scarred or inked. Things changed. Life took familiarity and often turned it foreign.
There were too many coincidences. Too many pieces slotting together inside my head.
Kill froze, his large hands pausing on his belt buckle. “What?” His nostrils flared and anger—bright and blistering—stole the erotic nature of his glare.
His hands dropped from his belt. “Explain what the fuck you meant by that.”
No! I felt him withdrawing, his soul lurching faster and faster out of reach.
I shot away from the bed, darting to his side.
His eyes tightened and every muscle in his body went rigid.
“I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m sorry—forget I said anything.”
He breathed hard, his chest rising with a heavy inhale. He didn’t say a word, searching my eyes.
“Please, Killian. I want you to kiss me again.”
Kiss me like you did. Forget the past.
The intensity between us sparked again like smoldering tinder. I flushed. I shivered. My body didn’t know if it should be hot or cold, embarrassed or confident.
He didn’t touch me.
Only watched.
Finally, never breaking eye contact, he undid his large belt and unzipped his jeans with steady hands. His pectoral muscles twitched as he pushed at his hips and discarded the denim with one shove.
My mouth went bone-dry. I couldn’t stop looking at the silver scars from past injuries, or the bright red one that gave him a reason to let me into his very private world. I was under no illusion that I’d been granted an exclusive pass and not one that I wanted to ruin.
“Take off your bra,” he whispered. His hand went to his cock, wrapping around the insane hardness visible in his grey boxer-briefs. A damp spot darkened the material from his excitement, and all I wanted was to see what he would give me.
Every inch of me was hyperaware, made worse by him not touching me. By making me strip, he forced me to give him everything I was, all while being exposed and on show.
My hands disappeared behind my back. My fingers fumbled at the clasp. The pretty lace bra unsnapped, sagging off my shoulders. Catching the cups, I held them for a moment against my flesh.
This was worse than stripping at the compound—that had been business. We’d be merchandise, stock—this… everything about this was pure sex. And dominance. And crazy anticipation.
“Drop it,” Kill murmured.
I obeyed, letting my arms fall to my sides, watching the bra flutter to the floor.
Suddenly, his fingers pressed against my chin, guiding my eyes up and up, until I drowned in his green gaze. “Never look away from me.”
I shook my head, unable to speak.
“Take my boxers off.”
My heart ceased to beat as I hesitantly placed my hands on his hips. He shuddered beneath my touch. My tummy somersaulted as he sucked in his bottom lip and bit hard.
I loved that I affected him.
Hooking my fingers into the elastic waistband, I tugged slowly.
His head fell back as the large length of his erection sprang free. I couldn’t stop looking at it. The huge size seemed to grow in thickness and length beneath my inspection—looking more swordlike than a piece of anatomy.
Oh, wow.
The mermaid’s red hair that swept up with the tide in his leg tattoo wrapped around the base of his fully shaved cock. Over the top of his erection, the cascading hair dwindled downward—the barest of strands inked on his balls.
“That must’ve hurt.”
His jaw clenched. “It did.”
“Why go so close to something so delicate?”
“Why did you seek the same pain by tattooing your nipple?”
I had no reply for that. “Stop deflecting. What was your reason?”
He opened his mouth, then snapped it closed. Something flashed over his face and he shook his head. “Because she died in agony. I wanted to own that part so she would know she wasn’t alone.”
The slow burn in my stomach turned to red-hot heat. “Kill—”
His hand shot up. “Stop talking.” His green eyes blazed with menace. “Promise me that under no circumstances you’ll touch me unless I let you.”
“What? Why?”