"Stop talking"
When they'd first met, Robby was absolutely unwavering, stubbornly refusing to open up about anything concerning his life, professional or personal. He resented Lucy's desire to reach him, to see inside, and all the tactics she used in her attempt to do so.
But now? Well, now he doesn't know how he can live without her. In his darkest hour she was at his side, peering at the innermost parts of him without recoiling in disgust the way he fully expected her to.
On the inside, he's twisted up like an old, gnarled, rotting oak tree. Ugly in every sense of the word, and yet here she remains, unflinching with arms wide open. She's too good for him, too pure. He's afraid he'll ruin her with his touch.
And yet, ever inherently selfish, Robby clings to her, hands pulling her in by her waist, digging so harshly into her soft curves to the point of bruising as he nudges his forehead against hers. Her breath is hot and sweet against his face and he closes his eyes, emitting a shuddering sigh of fatigue mixed with pleasure. He likes that she's so close.
"Normally you're trying to get me to utter a goddam syllable," he replies with a throaty chuckle, "Now you want me to shut the fuck up? Make up your mind, Knight."
Without waiting for a response, his mouth moves to brush along her own as he dares to lightly nip at her full lower lip.
"Lucy." Her name is like a prayer. "Tell me what else you want..."
