Lochlan

"Excuse me?"

"You're repeating yourself."

"I just don't understand the purpose of this," Millie said, her velvet brown eyes darkening as my knuckles grazed her exposed abdomen. My groin tightened as I realized precisely what purpose her mind was considering.

"I want to see how many bruises you have. That one on your shoulder isn't the only one, and don't lie to me because whether or not you like it, I'm going to see them."

"This is dumb," she muttered, twisting her arms to lift her shirt herself, only to gasp and pale. "I—I can't lift my arms over my head."

I let loose a litany of swear words, each growling syllable growing louder as I set about peeling her top off her. I started by tugging each sleeve off her arm, my grip gentle on her elbow as I stretched and pulled until her arms were free. Every wince elicited a fresh wave of fury—at the man who hurt her, at myself for missing the signs, and at her for lying about her discomfort.

"You okay?" I asked, unable to not glide my hands up the curves of her waist before I lifted the rest of the material over her head. She nodded, closing her eyes as the last inch of sweater came over her head.

"Fuck," I hissed, turning her so I could see her right side better, and to make it so her lush lace covered breasts weren't directly in my line of vision.

The bruise on her shoulder was the worst, and it ran all the way to her elbow; however, it didn't make my vision spotty like the ones all along her forearm and wrists did. Small and round and evenly spaced—exactly how it would look if someone had dragged her into the street.

Twisting her arm, I followed the path of painful discolorations back toward her armpit, then moved downward again, spying a few faint speckles in the dip of her waist. Her smooth skin turned pebbly beneath the pads of my fingers.

"They'll heal."

I stopped just above a larger bruise protruding over the band of her leggings. Dropping to my knees, I hooked my pointer fingers into the elastic and worked it over her hips. Millie dug her hands into my hair and gripped tight—to stop me or keep herself upright, I wasn't sure, and I didn't care. I was too intent on maintaining control as the bruise continued to grow in size with every inch of skin I revealed. Her leggings were around her knees by the time her flesh transitioned from sickly green to gold.

"Why didn't you tell anyone?" I demanded through gritted teeth, holding her in place before me with one hand on either thigh. She didn't release her grasp on my hair as I looked up. She stared back, a flicker of something bright and burning in her eyes. It was a relief to see something fill them; I'd been worried when she sat at the island, her expression hollow.

"Because I'm fine. The bruises will fade."

Millie's voice hitched, and it wasn't the damage to her vocal cords that made her words husky. It was my wandering hands developing a mind of their own and migrating to the back of her leg and up and up until the generous swell of her cheeks filled each palm. The edges of her underwear lifted, and it would be so easy to drag them down like her leggings... to lean forward and taste her. To work my tongue over her clit until she had no room in her brain for pain or memories—only present pleasure.

My nose brushed against the satin material covering her pussy, and I felt the moisture gathering in the material. She whimpered, and I thought about how after she came the first time, I might put her legs over my shoulder and stand, pinning her back against the wall as I feasted until she came again.

"L-Lochlan," she panted. "P-please."

I stood slowly, forcing myself to put distance between me and temptation, but unable to not enjoy the view before me, eyes raking over her breasts, noting the hardening of her nipples through her bra. As much as I wanted her, this would not happen this way. Not while she refused to tell me the truth.

"Please, what?"

She blinked at me in confusion, some of the spell lifting a bit. Her arms went over her breasts. "Can I put my clothes back on?"

"You can."

I handed her the sweater I'd tossed on the counter even as I wanted to say the opposite. To take everything else off. This time I didn't touch her as she pulled the sweater over her head, but I watched carefully for any signs of pain. When she was covered, I took a step back.

"Why did you lie?"

"Why do you keep insisting I lied?" She pushed her hair behind her ears and refused to meet my eyes. "I told you. I wasn't paying attention and stepped into the street."

"And the street just gave you bruises shaped like fingerprints."

"You're seeing things. I probably landed on some gravel."

"In New York City?" Outraged, I stepped toward her, drawn to her again and again despite my better judgment. "Millie, tell me now. This is your one chance to admit everything. About what happened yesterday. About why you're here pretending to be Marianna. If you're in some kind of trouble, I can help you, but you have to be honest with me."

A heartbeat passed. Two. I held my breath, thinking she might actually take me up on the offer, but she stepped backward and shook her head. "I'm not in trouble. I'm exactly who I said I was, but I think you might be right about me being here being a bad thing. It's time for me to go."

And she turned and walked out of the room before I could say another word.