He watched the hook glide under her skin, and his thumb was tender as he traced the entrance point.
“A little,” he admitted to the inquiry if he was aroused. “I like pain. It makes you feel alive. I’ve inflicted plenty on myself over the years.” His own arms and hands were mottled with scars, mostly from fighting. “It doesn’t bother me. I’m sure I’m going to die a violent, bloody death,” he chuckled, looking up at her. “Probably young. Try to leave a pretty corpse.”
He released his gentle touch on her arm. “Do you do it because it turns you on? The pain? Or to prove that you can take it?”