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He’s not muscled like Atlas or even thin like Rascal. He has a subtle, powerful frame often hidden by hoodies and hunched shoulders.
There’s so much of this man I’d kill to explore.
I settle for raising my hand to the back of his head, slow like I’m coming up on a stray kitten—one likely to dash at the slightest startle. He tips his head back, following my eyes as I watch him hold steady when I step into his space.
My fingers grip onto his mess of dark curls and tug ever so slightly.
“Give me what I want, and I’ll make sure you get what you need.”
He breathes so slowly through parted lips, neck exposed and eyes like a kaleidoscope of indecision.
“What the hell do you want?”
I smile. Ruffle his hair.
“A little obedience. That’s all.”
He swallows, and I follow the path it makes down his throat with my eyes.
“And what is it you think I want?”
There’s so much to unpack there. A wide array of desires that I want to pluck apart and delve into. But I dial it back, dropping my arm and stepping away.
“To move past what made you try to kill youself.”
“I didn’t try to kill myself.”
I sit back down at my desk, knowing his confused stare is trained on my back.
“How much do you remember before the overdose?”
A beat of silence.
“Just getting wasted.”
Wasted enough to numb out your will to survive?
“I told your brother that you picked a fight and hit your head. It was a lie. You threw yourself down that ravine.”
What I don’t tell him are the words he said before he did:
“You watched a piece of me die. Now you get to watch the rest of me go.”
Chapter 6
Corvin
I underestimated how much of a smartass Shiloh could be. Not that it deters me, but it does make the grip on my control feel a little more flimsy.
He’s got a bottle of water in his hands, sticking his tongue out in front of my face, wiggling it around to show me he hasn’t hidden his pills anywhere in his mouth. I told him that watching him take them was enough, but he’s intent on making this situation as uncomfortable as possible.
More so because my pants are getting tight, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“You done?”
He closes his mouth on a grin and takes another gulp of water. “Yup. Need to watch me stab myself with a needle, too?”
There’s a small vial of clear liquid on his desk next to an unopened syringe and needles. “Monday your hormone day?”
