KNOX
Whoever thought locking me up in a manor with the woman of my dreams was a good idea deserved to be shot or tortured, slowly.
It had been several days of this madness. Several days of cold showers and self-control I didn’t know I possessed. Every day, I woke up to temptation. She’d walk around with her hair messy from sleep and a faint citrus scent that clung to her skin, and I told myself not to touch her. Every night, I watched her walk past me in one of those silk sleep shirts she clearly wore just to torture me, and I told myself not to lose it. It was a special kind of hell.
The worst part was that I didn’t even know if she was aware of what she was doing to me. Celeste was a contradiction. Her voice was soft; her eyes and every movement she made were cautious and calculated.
