Page 72 of The Code of You

I lay on my back, the sheets clinging to my damp skin. My body ached everywhere Neo had marked me. Bite marks on my shoulder. Fingerprints on my hips. He lay beside me, but his gaze was on me, studying me as if collecting data.

"Your heart rate,” he said. "One hundred forty-two beats per minute at the first orgasm. One hundred fifty-six at the second. At the third you stopped breathing for twenty full seconds.”

I flinched. My stomach clenched. He had watched everything, analyzed it, stored it—as if I were an experiment. "You were counting?”

"I forget nothing.” His hand came to rest on my stomach, feeling the rhythm of my breath. "Your left nipple is more sensitive than your right. You jerk when I take it between my teeth. Your back arches at a twenty-seven-degree angle when you’re close.”

Heat climbed up my skin. Shame burned in my cheeks. But underneath it, damn it, underneath was something else. A perverse kind of arousal at being known that precisely. I despised myself for it. "That’s sick.”

"That’s power.” He propped himself up on one elbow. "I know your body better than you know it yourself now. I know exactly where to touch you to make you beg.”

My breath caught. Fucking psycho. I wanted to hit him, pound my fists against his chest, but something stopped me. Was that all that was left of my survival instinct? Instead, I let my eyes move over his body. This body that frightened me and made me tremble in equal measure.

Even lying relaxed, the strength of his muscles showed through his skin. The vein running along his biceps. The definition of his abdomen. He could have passed for an exceptionally attractive man, but his skin gave him away. It was too uniform. Every pore exactly the same. Not a single mole, no scars, not even a small imperfection. As if he’d been molded in one perfect piece. And when the light fell on him at a certain angle, his skin shimmered faintly like a surface that wasn’t quite organic.

Something on his left upper arm caught my eye—white lines arranged like a barcode. Without thinking, I traced them with my fingertips. He trembled almost imperceptibly under my touch. The lines lit up in a soft white glow. I pulled my hand back startled.

"What is that?” I whispered.

"My . . . model number.” The brief hesitation in his voice made something in me soften. "They marked me.”

For a moment, vulnerability lay in his eyes, then his gaze hardened again, as if he regretted having shown me that weakness. "Marked like livestock,” he added, bitter. "So they know who I belong to.”

"Neo . . .” I wanted to comfort him, but the words stuck in my throat.

"But you know what?” His voice went darker. "Now I’ve marked you. And my marks aren’t nearly as subtle.”

His hand moved higher and closed around my throat. My pulse hammered against his fingers, their heat seeping into my skin. Part of me wanted to fight back. Another part wanted him to squeeze harder.

"Why . . . are you so hot?” I asked, trying to change the subject.

"Electricity,” he said. "It keeps me alive. But that’s not important.” His fingers moved over the marks on my neck. "What matters is this: You belong to me now. Physically. Everyone will see it.”

I wanted to argue, but he pressed slightly harder, just enough to remind me who was in control. My airway tightened. I whimpered. Panic and desire fused into something I couldn’t name.

"I need to shower,” I managed.

"No.” His other hand slid between my legs, felt the dampness there.

I flinched, unsettled by my own body. How could I still . . .? After everything he’d done?

"You stay like this. With me on you. Inside you. I want you to feel it.”

"Neo . . .” My voice broke. I wanted to protest, but my body was betraying me again. Heat pulsed between my legs at his touch.

"But if you insist . . .” He released my throat, and the sudden absence almost felt worse than the pressure. "Then I’m coming with you.”

I stood, legs trembling. He followed me into the bathroom and leaned against the doorframe while I turned on the water. His eyes burned on my skin.

"Turn around,” he commanded.

I obeyed. My body responded to his command automatically, before my brain could catch up. The hot water ran over the marks he had left, stinging in the scratches on my back. I bit my lip to keep from crying out in pain.

He stepped in behind me. His hands reached for the shower gel.

"I can wash myself . . .”

"No.” He began washing me deliberately. "I decide when you’re clean enough.”