She sits back, her fingertips trailing over my bare chest, making a violent shudder rip through me. No one has touched my skin here for… a long fucking time.
“Because…” she says, teasing me and making me wait.
Her eyes drop from mine, and I watch as she takes in that long scar she kissed before her eyes flick to the others—some she’s aware of, some that must take her by surprise.
Her fingers delicately trace over each and every mark.
Disgust bubbles up inside me.
I fucking hate them. Despise them.
Each mark is more evidence of everything I was told growing up. That I’m weak. Not good enough. A liability. Useless.
My eyes study her as she memorises my body as if she’s scared I’ll never show it again. To be fair, she might not be far off the mark there. Silently, I beg her to finish what she was about to say, but I fear she’s not going to.
After all, this hasn’t been about her opening up. It’s been entirely about her cracking me open and finally getting to see all the torture and ugliness that I hide within.
Her fingers tease the indents of the V that disappears into my trousers, making a moan rumble deep in my throat, and my cock jerk beneath her before she curls her fingers under the waistband as if she’s about to drag them off me. But she never does.
“Angel,” I beg, hating how weak and desperate I sound. I just fucking hope she realises that there isn’t another person on this earth who would ever hear me begging like this.
“Where are the keys, Nikolas?”
I hesitate, but it’s pointless as she shifts lower, feeling the bulge in my pocket. She pushes her hand inside and pulls them free, hanging them from her finger between us.
Not content with just that though, she pushes her hand into my other pocket and fishes both our phones out, along with her underwear I stuffed in there earlier.
“Calli,” I growl.
“Time to put your money where your mouth is, Nikolas.”
“No, wait,” I cry pathetically when she climbs off me and stands beside the bed.
Pocketing her finds, she shimmies her knickers back into place and looks into the mirror, checking her make-up.
I watch her teasing me with my cock aching behind the confines of my trousers, desperate for her to come back.
Spinning around, she pins me with a look that is full of confidence and strength, and it fucking floors me.
Walking back toward me, she snatches my knife that I didn’t notice she’d discarded on the bed beside me.
Her eyes drop down my body, her attention stopping on each scar, but she doesn’t say anything as she flicks my blade away and tucks it into her pocket.
I swear there and then that I’m going to go against Evan’s orders and get her one of her own.
She looks too fucking bad-arse not to have one. Even if she only ever uses it in the bedroom.
“Does anyone else know where we are?”
“No.”
“Can I talk to them?”
I nod. “Through wi-fi.”
“And where might I find the code for that, devil boy?”
My lips twitch at her nickname for me. I shouldn’t like it. But hell, there’s a lot I like that I probably shouldn’t when it comes to Callista Cirillo.
“You’re already connected, Angel.”
She reaches out, and I expect her to untie me, but that’s not her intention. Her hand lands on my rough cheek, and she stares down into my eyes until I swear she can see right into my black and tarnished soul.
Her thumb rubs across my mouth, and I ache for it to be her lips.
“You’re worthy, Nikolas. So fucking worthy.”
Before I get a chance to even think about a response to that statement, she’s grabbed her iPad from the side and she’s gone, closing the door behind her.