My hands wriggle under the panties resting against her hip bones. Grasping the lace, I stretch the material and chafe her soft skin and pussy. My forearms flex as I rip it apart with my hands.
She releases a scream, the skin quickly reddening where the cloth had agitated her skin. It’s like I’m marking my canvas—the first stroke of many. Once I’m done with her, she’ll be a work of art, all sated and glowing from the high.
“You can’t keep ripping my clothes, Colten!”
But I can.
I plaster a hand over her mouth to silence her, her hot breath between my fingers making my dick twitch.
“You gave me full control, Little Ghost.” Her glassy eyes unwaveringly fixate on mine. “In that house, you may be theirs, but in this house, you belong to me. Your tight cunt, your ass, this fucking mouth,” I growl, slipping my middle and ring fingers between her lips. “I even own the breath in your lungs.” My tongue darts out, wetting my bottom lip. “Answer. The. Question.”
I withdraw my fingers to let her respond, though I would find immense amusement watching her reply through them.
She shakes her head. “They didn’t have a face,” she utters nervously.
Interesting.
I don’t push further. There’s no time to waste diving into the faceless phantom in her fantasies.
From now on, my face is going to be the one that haunts her pretty mind and owns her orgasms. Pondering if my brothers have touched her in any way or form simmers my blood. When it happens again, I’ll ensure her body recollects everything I’ve done to her—like conditioning a dog to salivate at the mere ring of a bell.
She may come for them, but I will possess a piece of that, too.
“Get on your knees for me,” I command.
She scrambles off the bed, and I release her from the confinements of her lace bra, tossing it on the floor.
Holy fuck, she is breathtaking.
Taryn’s hair drapes over her shoulders like a dark waterfall, her strands ending just above her nipples. Her tits aren’t huge by any means, just large enough to fit perfectly in the palms of my hands. I want to think they were designed only for me, but it’s thoughts like those that will increase the weight tied around my legs and drag me deeper into an abyss I’ll never be able to escape.
She peers up at me, her long lashes casting a shadow that fans against her flushed cheekbones. My taut muscles throb, craving the caress of her fingertips. They’re hungry for the feel of her nails scraping against my skin.
I’ve never wanted to destroy something so badly but simultaneously guard it with my life.
Yep. I’m losing my goddamn mind. I usually despise it when women touch me, and here I am, aching for this woman.
Reaching for the hem of my T-shirt, I tug it over my head, disposing of it in the pile I’m creating of our mingling clothes.I remove my sweatpants next, feeling her gaze anxiously study every inch of me. I stand in front of her, completely exposed, releasing a weighted breath. Taryn kneels in front of me, flawless and motionless, looking like perfection in the subtle glow from the lights as they paint her skin.
My gut twists, feeling her eyes locked on the visible part of my vulnerability. The part of me where there’s ink embedded below the surface on the left side of my body.
My tattoos.
Shit. I really should’ve thought this through—kept my shirt on because I already know she’s perceptive as hell.
Her focus isn’t eagerly fastened on my rod-straight cock like all the other women I’ve been with. Instead, she analyzes the black design like a complex book she’s struggling to understand. The look that crosses her features starts with fascination and slowly morphs into curiosity. I can see the questions she’s forming dancing in her eyes.
Each second she spends dissecting the artwork, she claws deeper into my soul, seeing the pieces that nobody bothered to notice or acknowledge before her.
Unable to keep herself from touching me, she extends an arm, her soft fingers traveling over the tattoo, tracing the branches and healthy leaves of an apple tree drifting over my pecs. The ink covers my left shoulder and back, the leaves decaying and turning into the feathers of crows floating down my arm the farther they get from the single apple inked over my heart.
“I got it for my mom on the first anniversary of her disappearance.”
She looks up at me with empathetic eyes.
Shit.
I said that out loud instead of in my head.
