Page 21

Her mouth crashes against mine, silencing the offer that might have been the death of me.

Truie kisses me, all traces of shyness gone. She rocks her hips, undulating against my cock, and if I’m not careful, I’m going to blow in my pants. It’s been ages since I’ve done that.

I think of horrible things, the heinous things I’ve done, to ward off my release, and let her have free rein.

“Christ, you’re mesmerizing,” I murmur as she swivels and bears down.

Frustration pinches her features, and her movements turn jerky, frantic.

I slide my hands down over the curve of her ass, palms firmly planted on the warm skin beneath the fucking leggings that taunt me on a regular basis. I push at them, exposing her backside, shove at them until they’re banded around her upper thighs.

The world stops.

Everything stops.

Truie fucking stops.

I pull back but don’t let her go. Not that I wouldn’t, that she can’t get away from me if she needs to… But right now, it feels like if I let go, I’ll lose her forever.

Her hands push between us and drop to the exposed skin on her thighs. She’s covering up, hiding herself from me.

“What?” I ask, probably more harshly than necessary.

Truie shakes her head, her kiss-swollen lips pressed into a tight line.

I soften my voice, dropping it low and ask again, “What is it, hummingbird? What did I do?”

I don’t want to lose her eyes, that connection is far too important right now, but the urge to see what she’s trying to cover is really fucking strong.

I stroke her thigh with my thumb, brushing against where her hands press frantically to her skin.

I steal a glance and trace the raised ridges of dozens, maybe hundreds of tiny scars lined up like soldiers or tally marks decorating her perfect skin. I saw them when I pulled her from where she was held captive. Saw the fresh marks, the stain of blood, but how they were carved into her skin is still a mystery.

“Truie, tell me the story of this.” With gentle prodding I nudge her hand to expose the marks more clearly. She shakes her head, looking on the verge of tears. “Safe, remember? You’re safe with me.”

“They’re gross. It’s…”

“Nothing about you is gross, love. Did you do this? Was it a way to control when you couldn’t?” Conversation now is a challenge. Back then it was impossible.

Her eyes close, and her shoulders rise, tension lodging where it’d previously been gone.

“You can tell me anything. I will never judge. Nothing you say can change the way I see you.”

This pause is longer than the others and that makes perfect sense. She’s either shutting down or gearing up to tell me something wildly personal and painful.

Minutes pass, and I don’t break contact through any of it, instead stroking the tiny scars that stripe her pale, creamy skin. Feeling the sharp lines of them against the pad of my thumb and cataloguing them as best I can.

“Th-th-that was what he used to d-d-do.” Her stutter blooms, catching her words and threatening to hold them hostage. But Truie is far too strong to allow that to dim her.

Pause.

Count.

Breathe.

“When he came to see me, he-he would bring a blade. A razor. He like the blood. He ruined me.”

She crumbles into my chest and hides her face as tears pool then run down my pecs between us.