I should be cold, sitting half-naked in my kitchen chair, but heat floods through me. His fingers trace the outline of a bruise on my ribs that wasn't there before, a mirror image of his own injury.
"See?" he says, voice thick. "You need fixing too."
He drops to his knees in front of me, his hands sliding up my thighs. I watch, breath caught in my throat, as he examines me like I'm one of his fighters. No, like I'm something more precious.
"What are you doing?" I manage to ask.
"You hide pain so well, Lyra," he says. "But I see it."
His fingers find the scalpel tattoo on my wrist, the mark of my captivity. I try to pull away, I always hide it, but I can't. Then he does something no one has ever done before. He brings my wrist to his lips and kisses the tattoo, eyes never leaving mine.
My stomach tightens as his lips then travel up my arm, across my shoulder, to the hollow of my throat where I feel like I'm on fire. His hand cups my breast, thumb brushing over my nipple, and I gasp.
"Who takes care of you, beautiful?"
"I don't need?—"
"Liar." His tongue licks my neck. "Everyone needs something."
He then takes both my wrists in his and reaches behind me, grabbing a roll of gauze.
The white fabric unspools between his fingers as he wraps it around my wrists once, twice, tight.
"What are you doing?" I breathe.
"Fixing you." His voice is darker now, his jaw set.
I don't stop him. I just look at him as he binds my hands together.
He finishes binding my wrists, then lifts them to his mouth and kisses the gauze.
Then he spreads my thighs.
I gasp as he kisses along the inside of my leg. He presses hot, open-mouthed kisses all the way up until his nose brushes the hem of my shorts.
"Let me see," he says, hooking his fingers into the waistband.
My breath catches. "You've seen enough."
"No," he growls. "Not even close."
I lift my hips without thinking and he drags my shorts down my legs, leaving me in nothing but soaked cotton underwear. Declan stares at the wet fabric and I know I should be embarrassed. I should push him away. Instead, I start to look at him the same way he's been looking at me.
"Stand up," he commands.
I do, and he slowly pulls my panties down. Instantly, I step out of them and he tosses them to the side.
"Fucking perfect," he says under his breath.
"Spread your legs," he says, and I obey.
He leans in and drags his tongue from my entrance up to my clit in one long, slow stroke.
"Do you know how long I've wanted to do this?" he asks. "To taste you?"
Before I can answer, his mouth is on my clit again. Kissing, licking, sucking, everything so fucking perfectly.
My knees feel weak and I take my bound hands and grab his hair, pulling his face against me.
