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My heart trembles. And so does my entire body. I arch my back, my fingers reaching for his shirt, but he’s already taken it off. It’s somewhere on the floor now, and all I can focus on are the hard lines of his muscles. The proportionate cut planes of his chest and stomach, the dark ink that slips from his side to his abs, the snake’s head at his collarbone, the scars crisscrossing his chest. He’s a sight to behold. An enigma caught between morbid ruthlessness and authoritative composure. I place a trembling hand on a scar as if I can erase it, as if I can cast a spell and make all the pain disappear. A sharp inhale expands his chest, inflating it against my hand. But he doesn’t remove it. Doesn’t scold me for daring to touch the sun. It still burns, but that’s okay. I can handle him. Kane undoes the belt of my robe in one ruthless movement, and it slips open, exposing my nakedness. My nipples are hard and perky; my breasts feel swollen. All because of his gaze. “Take it out on you,” h