Instinctively, she yanked her dress down between her legs, shielding herself, covering what little dignity she had left.
He inhaled sharply.
His gaze dropped fixated on her thighs.
"P-please… don't do this," she begged, her tear-filled eyes searching his face.
But he refused to look at her.
Her breath hitched sharply when his hand large, veined wrapped around her thigh.
Her eyes widened.
The moment his skin touched hers, a wild, electric sensation tore through her body sparks, heat, something overwhelming and unfamiliar spreading from where he held her.
It made her tremble.
He lifted the knife.
The sight alone made her body go rigid with fear.
His grip on her thigh tightened, his brows drawing together into a deep frown.
"Why are you doing this?" she asked, her voice breaking under the weight of confusion and pain.
His jaw clenched.
"Because I don't want to hurt you," he rasped.
He lifted his head.
Their eyes met.
