Rexton’s eyes light up. He’s holding back laughter, and he makes a pointed gesture of looking me up and down before answering.
“Your thighs,” he eventually says. “They look…strong.”
“Theyarestrong.”
I scrub my skin raw, desperate to remove the evidence of war. Seeing the water run clear doesn’t remove the heavy weight in my chest, and I frown as I begin working on my hair. I had it in a braid, but it came loose hours ago. My hair is matted, and suspicious chunks are woven within the knotted strands. I might have to cut it.
“What else do you like?” I ask.
“You’re sure not bashful.”
I shrug. “Should I be?”
Rexton shakes his head. “No. I like all of you, Cassia.”
I clear my throat. “Can I see your back?”
I’m nervous to ask. The topic of Rexton’s abuse makes me uncomfortable, mainly because I’ve never encountered anything like it. I had a privileged upbringing, and I don’t know what’s appropriate.
“No.”
Rexton’s answer is curt, and I’m honestly not expecting it. I thought he’d let me look. I’ve already seen his back, so I don’t understand why he wants to hide it. I need to make sure he’s healing properly. I have to.
I frown, locking eyes with him.
“Let me see it.”
“No.”
I grind my teeth. “Show me. Now.”
Rexton seems just as irritated as I feel. He drags his hands through his hair, his chest expanding with breath. “No, Cassia. Stop asking.”
Chapter Forty-One
CASSIA
NO? MY BLOOD boils. Rexton can’t tell me what parts of him I can and can’t see. He’smymate. He doesn’t get to hide from me. He doesn’t get to keep secrets from me. I own him.
Rexton steps closer. “Breathe, Cassia.”
“Stop saying that to me!”
“Then fucking listen.” Rexton smacks his palm against the shower door, clearly frustrated. “Why do you want to see my back? What do you get out of that? Are you trying to prove to yourself that you have the power to make me uncomfortable?”
Despite my anger, my bottom lip wobbles. Is that how little he thinks of me? I hate Rexton.
“I just need to see that it’s healing.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Knowing you’re injured is making me anxious. It has nothing to do with your scars. I don’t…” I groan, gesturing between the two of us. “I don’t know how to do this. I’m not asking because I want to make you uncomfortable.”
Rexton frowns. “Why were you upset at the infirmary? What did I do?”
“Why does it matter?”
“Humor me, Cassia.”
I don’t want to talk about that, and I avoid making eye contact with Rexton as I debate how truthful I want to be. He was using our bond to pry into my emotions, so I can’t lie and tell him I wasn’t upset. He felt it firsthand.
“I—”
