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He’s broken. Damaged. Life has thrown shit at him at every turn. Yet here he stands larger than whatever created him. More lethal than all that has damned his soul. He’s some dark hero and possibly a killer.
God. I hope he’s not a killer.
I’m so confused.
Whatever he is, he’s real. And he’s standing before me.
Lost to the complex challenge in his eyes, the refrigerator hums, cueing me to reality. I can’t look away just as I set my sight on him the first time. There’s a whole world around us, but all I see is him.
I step forward, grab the sides of his T-shirt, and pull it over his head.
The gold chain around his neck falls back, leashing him like an animal in captivity.
Like at the bar when I kissed him, I’m not sure why I did it or where I’m going with it, but telling him the truth, or discovering it, feels more dangerous than touching him.
His left eye twitches. He takes a step back.
Is he denying me him?
His chest rises. His head tilts. His eyes lay on me. With me.
He’s not running. He’s giving me what I want—displaying himself for me and allowing me to see all of him.
Letting me examine him.
I’ve never had a man be so bold or restrained simultaneously.
I took off his shirt.
Most men would take that as a green light and start ripping my clothes off and taking advantage of the opportunity.
Not Lix Daxon.
His hands come out at his sides. “Is this what you want?”
I press my lips together, scanning his naked muscular chest and noting its scars.
“You’re not sure?” He places his hands behind his back.
I bite my bottom lip, tempted to caress every inch of his scarred, bare flesh.
“Ask me to leave, then,” he says, drawing me in with the gatekeepers of his dark soul.
“I-I already did.”
“Ask me again,” he says with a hint of challenge.
I search his eyes, unsure of what he’s trying to accomplish. Is he giving me an out? Setting me free from this intense cosmic hold he has over me? Granting me the opportunity to save my soul from drowning in his?
“Have you changed your mind?” He stands perfectly calm with his hands behind his back. Exposed. Patient. Formidable.
Tempting me to clear the space between us.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“You started out wanting answers. Now you want something else?”
I look at the floor, ashamed of myself. It’s the truth.
