Page 113 of His Pretty Little Duet

"Your skin isperfect.Your body issafe." He rises to his feet, walking over to my bedside, and I roll onto my back when he hovers over me. The ends of the shirt I'm wearing—his shirt—rest in the middle of his thigh. "Withme." His eyes lock on mine, assessing me, reading me. Then he steps back and holds his hand out for me to take. "Come. I'll show you."

When I place my much smaller hand in his, I catch sight of red stains on the cuff of his shirt and the sight, meaning, implication stirs something inside me, something vengeful. My eyes dance around the dried blood. Around the crimson pattern. It's big enough to imply the blood is someone else's and that someone else is probably not alive.

He cuts into my thoughts. "I killed them, little deer. They can't hurt you."

My eyes widen at the wordthem.Not him or Lee or a someone—them.A strained whimper forces its way up my throat as my eyes stare at the blood on his cuff representing so much more than a stain.

"Don't be sad for them," he hisses through his teeth, and the noise startles me. My eyes find his, find them twitching with rage. Unleashed for the first time. A real smouldering pit of fury. Not practised. "Don't you dare give them a moment of your sorrow, Fawn."

Them.

My brothers.

I blink over and over, trying to digest the information.

Through the constructed despair, the societally learnt reaction to the news of their death, I feel something stronger, something sickening andhappy... I wince at it.

That's not a crumb.

Clay breaks my focus when he drops his hand and strides away. "Bolton will be outside. You may not leave until I come for you." He moves towards the wooden door with the kind of rigidity that should terrify me, warn me, but I leap from the mattress to chase after him.

"No.Where are you going?"

"You have pity for them!" He whirls to face me, and my brain tells me to shuffle backwards under his predatorial gaze, but my heart tells me to fall at his feet. "I know you need me right now,sweet girl. But you have pity. For.Them.I need to leave before I scare you. I'm not in control tonight."

My eyes gloss over. "I'm not?—"

He stalks towards me and grabs my face the way he does when he needs to press his point, but his fingers don't burn when they sink into my cheeks. His body's heat doesn't deter mine. It calls me. Coats me. Relieves.

Consumes me.

He glowers, but it isn't for me. "I wanted to protect you from this. And I will. From your father who gifted you this trauma, who saw to it that he broke you. That is what he does, Fawn. He did it to Cassidy. He did it to Konnor. I don't regret keeping this from you. Somethings you don't need to know. Whether you fight me on this or not. Whether you despise me for what I do. What I have done. I will still do it. I can't help the way I am. But if the choice is between your understanding, your affections for me, or protecting you—Christ. I willalwayschoose to protect you. I will?—"

Choose me?

I shove him away.

Only to then lunge at him. Cupping his tense jaw, which pulses angrily beneath my palms, I crush my mouth to his as he growls his sentiment into my lips.

His muscles relax. Clay's arms circle my body entirely, banding, then lifts me until I am on my tippy toes on his shoes. My entire being hums, and for a moment, my flesh, my thighs, and my soul aren't trapped in that room. Aren't stalling in the recall of it all. It has been interrupted by his body.

His skin soothes.

Like the water.

Like the depths of the pool did yesterday, coating me in fluid movements and comfort and protecting me from the sun and air. He does that.

Protects me.

I break our kiss and take his hand, nodding that I'm ready for what he has to show me. His eyes narrow. A strange yet potent feeling fills my body with enough strength to follow him over to the mirror.

As soon as I'm faced with my reflection I want to hurl. I lock my jaw. Tighten my lips. Squeezing my eyes shut, I concentrate on the sensation of air rushing in and out of my nose. I can’t stand the sight of her.

"I'm going to take this shirt off," he says, and I turn my head to chase the sound of his deep, husky voice. "You can keep your eyes closed if you need." His fingers glide up my side, hiking the material of the shirt up as he goes. The air touches my skin, making itcrawl.I moan from within my chest, squirming under the uncomfortable sensation. "Lift your arms." I do as he asks, and the shirt comes off completely.

Wrapped in disgust, too wrapped in it to think about much else, my eyes stay closed as I gasp his name, "Clay."I shield my body with my arms, digging my fingers into the flesh at my sides. "Talk to me. I need to hear your voice. Please."

"You're the bravest girl I have ever met." He pries my hands from around my naked body. "After everything you have been through, I thought you would shut down, but you're still here, and you still trust me. You know I lied to you. I lied about the recording. I lied about your father. You know this now. But you still trust me."

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