I feel the area tingling as I think about his lips against my skin, sucking, the edge of his teeth brushing my palm. A knot forms in my stomach, tightening when Cassian drops his cloak to the floor and Antony begins helping him remove the blood-soaked shirt clinging to his body. My breath catches when I see the thick, raised marks where there must have once been ugly welts. The scars crisscross over one another, leaving no trace of healthy skin. Somehow, he seems to feel my eyes traveling over every inch of his skin. He looks over his shoulder and instead of covering up or turning away, he stands taller, as if showing that the scars don’t bother or shame him—though by their appearance, they probably still hurt.
“What the hell happened to you?”
Antony follows Cassian up the stairs like a
