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I slip my arms around his neck and melt against his hard body, allowing him to claim my mouth the way I secretly want him to claim me.
Then his hands are on my breasts, squeezing them, his thick thumbs rolling over my nipples. His mouth moves from my lips, and he pushes me against the wall so he can nibble on my neck. From there, he nips at my skin, right down to the swells of my breasts, where he stops.
He glances up at me. “Have you allowed anyone to suck on these, printsessa?”
“No,” I pant.
The dark spark that flashes in his eyes is overflowing with heat and lust. “And I’m the only one who will.”
He leans down, running his tongue over my left nipple, and I try to grasp the wall in an effort to keep myself up.
When he curls his tongue around my nipple, I moan, mindlessly, then my mind shatters when his mouth closes over the nipple completely.
As he draws me deeper into his mouth, his tongue scrapes the taut peak, and streaks of hot pleasure flow down into my core. He sucks hard and fast, grazing my skin with his teeth.
“Oh my God,” I cry out, arching into him.
“More?” he asks, moving to my other breast.
“Yes. More, please. More.” Shit. Listen to me begging.
Lev deepens his suckle, taking more of my breast into his mouth. My fingers find their way back into his hair, holding his mouth against my breast, while I watch his lips move as he works me.
The buildup of pleasure mounts higher and higher, and I feel the first tug of an orgasm. I push my hips against him, still aching with that need for him to give me more.
His hands roam over my ass, squeezing. Then he breaks away to turn me around to face the wall.
He grips one ass cheek and bites the skin there. A startled moan tears from my throat, louder than I intend. The sting surprises me more than it hurts.
“Too much?” he asks with a smile in his voice.
I glance over my shoulder at him. “No.”
He chuckles. “I am going to thoroughly enjoy corrupting you.”
He grips my hips and places a soft kiss where he bit, then he works his way up my back slowly.
Having his lips on me feels so good I hardly notice when he stops. It’s the moment of delay and the absence of his lips that alert me.
His hand lingers at the small of my back. When a few more seconds pass and he doesn’t move, I know exactly what has caught his attention.
My scars.
The remnants of them. Sometimes I forget they’re there.
My guess is he noticed the bigger one first—the faded burn scar.
Mama said the others—the deep ones I got from being whipped by my kidnappers—had faded substantially from the laser treatment I received after I was found. You could hardly tell they were there, unless you were looking closely enough. Like Lev is.
He wouldn’t have seen them the other night. For a start, we were outside and the light was bad, and I never turned my back to him.
My back used to be a lot worse. Papa was the first to suggest the laser treatment. He wanted me as close to perfect as possible for Danillo.
It took two years, but there’s only so much treatment can accomplish. Some scars are just too deep. Others run far, far beneath the skin, physically, emotionally, and mentally.
Lev runs a finger across the burn scar. It looks like a faint, uneven patch of skin, pale against the rest of my back.
Beneath his gaze, every faded mark seems more visible than they’ve been in years. How do I explain that I still feel the fire burning right through to my soul?
