“I do.” Her eyelashes flutter at my soft touch.
“I’m not done with you for tonight.”
“I know.”
Swiping two fingers through my cum, I bring them to her nipples and paint them in it. “Are you going to let me fuck your ass next?”
“Yes.”
“Ask me nicely.”
“I want you to fuck my ass please,” she begs, blushing furiously.
“So sweet, my girl.” I bend, grazing my lips against hers. “I’m going to ready you first. Don’t move.”
Sitting up, I twist toward the nightstand.
“Oh, my god, Nathan,” gasps Arya in a horrified and pained voice. “What happened to you?”
My back tenses and I shut my eyes dreadfully.
Shit!
This isn’t how I wanted her to find out.
Chapter Forty-Five
Arya
Nathan’s entire back is decorated in gruesome old scars. The kind you see in movies where someone is brutally tortured by the enemy.
Countless faded white lines in crisscross pattern map from his shoulder blades to his waist. Some are slim, while others are two inches wide.
Who would hit him so brutally? How old are these bruises?
He must’ve been a child from the color of his wounds.
The thought of him enduring the pain while someone injured him so cruelly that he has permanent marks rips me apart in agony.
How come I never saw them? Felt them?
He didn’t let me.
My mind rifles through all the memories of us. Except for our first night in his apartment, he’s always been clothed. The one time he wasn’t, he took me from behind and avoided giving me his back.
Is this why he was afraid to let me in? Does he think I’ll judge him? Or that I can’t handle it? Does he think I’ll be repulsed by them?
Emotions clog my throat.
He sits silently, so still that I’m not even sure if he’s breathing. Every muscle in his chiseled body is rigid like stone.
“Nathan,” I cautiously whisper. He shudders, his hand curling into fists by his sides. “Look at me.”
He shivers again, breaking my heart.
Inching closer to him, I kneel behind him and curl my palm over his left hand. I refrain from touching his spine despite aching to hug him badly. I’m scared he’ll pull away like he always has in the past about his personal life.
I’m overwhelmed with gratitude when he turns his hand to interlink his fingers with mine. “You can touch me, Ari. They don’t hurt anymore.”
