Scout’s POV
"Hold still."
Nixon’s voice rasped against the back of my neck. The bathroom air tasted like damp stone and stale copper. He stood too close. His body heat hit my bare shoulders like a physical weight, pressing me toward the sink. The white marble walls felt tight, closing in until the space between us didn’t exist.
His rough fingertips grazed my skin.
I locked my jaw. My shoulders went rigid, the muscles bunching up like rusted iron hinges.
"I said relax," he muttered.
A sharp metal pop echoed in the small room. The zipper gave way. He pulled it down, slow and deliberate, the tracks grinding together as the heavy fabric parted. The cool air hit my bare back, but his knuckles followed right behind, tracking the line of my spine.
My skin prickled. A sudden shock surged th
