Page 62 of Entombed In Sin

He lets go of my chin but stares hard at me. I know I’m prone to being rash and lashing out. Under different circumstances,the stunt Beatrix pulled would send me into a murderous frenzy. I’m sure that’s what Sagan’s contemplating. Or that’s what Ithinkhe’s considering until he reaches out. At first, I don’t know what he’s doing. I watch, baffled, as Sagan’s hand slowly inches toward my chest. Then it hits me. Sagan wants totouchme. He’s deliberately slow with the movement, giving me time to object if I want. His expression shifts curiously, and for a split second, I’m curious too.

Beatrix’s touch had been… otherworldly. An experience like none other. It had been like I’d stood on the sun and rather than burn to a crisp, I shone just as brightly. I could endure a lifetime of Beatrix’s touch. But if I thought she’d broken the curse that hangs over me, I’m wrong.

Panic wells up like lava in an active volcano. A choked noise slips past my lips as I scurry backward, out of reach, just before Sagan can make contact. My heart races as I stare at him, my breathing erratic. I don’t know what the difference is between Sagan and Beatrix, but what I do know is that if I let him touch me, it’ll be like before. The pain, the memories, the wild despair that sends me spiraling into the past… I can’t let him touch me. Not right now.

Immediately, Sagan’s hand drops away before he can make contact. The minute it does, I suck in a deep breath and force myself to relax.

“Sorry,” I mutter, though I don’t quite know what I’m apologizing for.

Sagan shrugs, unperturbed. “Go find Beatrix, but behave, Pretty Boy.”

“Behave? Where’s the fun in that?” I call over my shoulder as I take off down the hall with a breathless laugh.

“Beatrix!” I bellow as I throw open the front door.

Somewhere in the house, there’s a squeak of alarm. I slam the door shut behind me and call out once more.

“Beatrix Starr,where are you?” I don’t feel like combing through every room of the house for her, but I will if she doesn't answer right away.

“W-why?” she calls back.

Immediately, I zero in on the conservatory’s open door down the hallway. That’s where her voice came from, so that’s where I need to go. Rather than reply, I head in that direction. My feet are quick as my heart races. I don't even know why I’m so jittery and desperate to see her, but I just know Ihaveto lay eyes on Beatrix Starr.

When I get to the conservatory, I fling open the door wider as I enter. Beatrix yelps in terror and jumps back. Outstretched in her hand, like a makeshift shield, is a small potted plant. It shakes as her eyes widen. Her shoulders come up to her ears as she takes another step backward. A sweeping glance over her body has me noting the change in her attire. She’s forgone her dress for a flowy gray blouse and casual trousers. Her bare feet must be cold on the tile floor, but if they are, she doesn’t seem to mind. She’s just as pretty dressed down as she is in her work apparel.

“We need to talk,” I tell her through gritted teeth as I storm toward her.

She scrambles back quickly, holding out her pot—that’s full of dirt with not a sapling insight—and cringes away.

“Knox, you said I could do anything. I’m sorry if I took it too far! I didn’t mean to?—”

“Shut up,” I order, snatching the pot from her hand—ready to toss it away.

Only at the last second do I remind myself that this room and the things in it are one of the few things that really matter to this woman. My body is stiff as I carefully place the pot on the floor by our feet and then straighten. I take another step toward her, forcing her to step back. The movement causes her back to bump into the glass wall behind her. My hands come up on either side of her face, my palms coming to rest on the cold surface.

With a pounding heart, I tell her, “I don’t want to hear an apology.”

She blinks rapidly as she stares up at me. Her rich, light brown eyes try to search for answers on my face, but good luck to her trying to find them.Idon’t even know what I want in this moment. Her lips part ever so slightly as she waits for me to say or do something. My gaze drops to them. Those full lips had skimmed over my skin with a searing heat only a short while ago. They felt amazing then. Would they feel the same way now?

My cock swells swiftly at the thought.

“Knox…” I watch Beatrix’s lips move as she speaks my name.

Energy crackles around and over us. I can feel it creeping along my skin. The electricity that arches back and forth between us has me moving just a little closer. Then a little more.

“You drugged me,” I say finally as my head dips slightly.

“I’m sor?—”

“What did I say about an apology? I don’t want it,” I cut her off sharply. With a deep, shuddering breath, I push on. “Youtouchedme, Beatrix. Your hands crawled all over my skin. Do you know what it feels like when someone touches me?”

Beatrix winces before she shakes her head.

“It’s like a hot poker dragging over my skin. Or like long, sharp, jagged claws digging into me, no matter how light the touch is. Physical contacthurts, Beatrix,” I tell her through clenched teeth. I’m so amped up that I feel like I’m vibrating. It’s taking everything in me to hold still as I speak. “Ever since Greg and his friend beat me,sodomizedme with whatever they could fucking get their hands on, it’s been like this, and it just grew worse the longer I tried to avoid touch. The twins know where and how long I can take it, but even they’re careful. They know I can’t stand it. Not for long, and yet you touched me for an hour!”

I don’t mean to shout, but I end up doing so anyway. Beatrix flinches, her head turning to the side as she cringes away from me. I watch her pulse gallop frantically as a vein in her neck jumps out. I love fear. I could drown in it and I’d still want to drink more of it down. I’m an addict, and fear is my drug of choice.

Seeing Beatrix’s fear, though, makes me feel dirty and gross.

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