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It’s like I’m staring at another facet of Knox, a part that he doesn’t like to show often.
Or ever.
The intricate design swirls around his shoulder and over his chest, and it’s like there are wires wrapped around him and the warrior.
I wonder if that has a meaning or if he just did it for the aesthetics. For some reason, I don’t believe he’d get that tattoo just because it looks good.
“When did you get your tattoos?” I ask, laying my head on my propped hand.
He continues unbuttoning his shirt. “Some in secondary school, but the bigger ones were after I left London or I would’ve risked being murdered by my dad.”
I smile a little at his tone. He always sounds so different and carefree whenever he speaks about his family—which can’t be said about me. “Is there a reason you chose a samurai?”
“I wanted something that represents strength, and from the sketches the artist made, I liked this the most. Probably because of the black eyes, though. They hinted at hidden darkness.”
“How about the wires?”
“No matter how strong one is, there’s always something that holds them back.” A distant look covers his eyes—pain, or memories sprinkled with pain.
I want to ask more, to learn about what possibly could hold someone like him back, but I don’t have the chance before he throws the shirt my way.
“Does this mean I can go to sleep?” I tease.
“Fuck no. I’ll be with you in a minute.”
“I thought I had to be naked for that.”
“You do, but I don’t want you cold either, so you can wear that.”
I smile, putting on the shirt that swallows me and falls to the middle of my thighs. I have to roll the sleeves up to reveal my hands.
When I look up again, Knox’s eyes have darkened as they watch me with intense focus. His fingers still hover over the keyboard without typing and his jaw is clenched tight.
I sit up in case I’ve done something wrong, and that makes more cum coat my thighs because he totally didn’t let me wash up. “W-what?”
“From now on, you’ll either be naked or wear my shirt. No in-between.” There’s a raw possessiveness in his tone, a non-negotiable quality that robs me of breath.
“I can’t just wear your shirt all day.”
“No, but you can be naked.”
“Indoors.”
“For now.”
“For now?”
“I’ll find an outdoor place where you can be naked for me and only me.”
“Pervert.”
He stands up, and even though it’s not too abrupt, my heart lunges to my throat and I can’t help rubbing my thighs together.
It’s so rare to see him in his half-naked glory. His tattoos aren’t for show like they are for many people. Even the leaders of theBratvaconsider it an honor to showcase their tattoos and explain what each one means, especially if it’s related to the brotherhood.
That’s not the case for Knox.
They seem to exist only for him.
