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"What did she use?"

"A switch." She would cut a new one every six months from the large birch tree in our backyard—a tear slides down my face. I want to wipe it away, but my arms feel too heavy. I don't think I can lift a finger.

"This wasn't your fault," he says forcefully, his eyes boring into mine.

I nod unconvincingly.

"I want you to say it, Scarlet."

"This wasn't my fault," I mumble. Because I'm a good girl, and I've learned my lessons.

"Passerotta," his voice is but a rasp, sending shivers down my spine, and I wish we could go back to a few minutes ago. I wish I had remembered to close the curtains and turn off the light. A man like him would never want something as… damaged as me. Mom was careful only to hit me where it would be hidden under clothes: my back, stomach, the inside of my thighs. Yet, all these years later, the faint lines still show, ruining my life like I had ruined hers.

You're too fat, swag.

You walk like an elephant, swag.

Sit up straight, swag.

You ruined my life, swag, swag.

Another tear falls all the way down to my interlaced fingers. I'll remember his kiss for the rest of my life; no other man will ever kiss me like this again.

His hand falls from underneath my chin, and without the support, my chin drops as well. I feel his burning gaze on me, but I don't have the courage to look up at him.

"I'm sorry," I mumble.

Gently, so incredibly gently, he pulls the sheet I use to try and shield my body from my hands.

"You have nothing to be sorry for. Sei bellissima.You are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on. Now, lie back down, let me look at you."

I bite my lip and do as he says, but I turn my head as another tear slides down my cheek. Like the brush of a feather, his lips caress my stomach; surprise and warmth rush through me at the touch. His lips are so close, I can feel his breath caressing my skin.

"You are bellissima, perfect," he says after each light kiss, tracing the lines the rods left so many years ago.

I feel the bed shifting as he readjusts himself; his lips move over the inside of my right thigh, creating a ripple running through me. His nose nudges my pussy, and my clit responds with a throbbing, sweet ache that makes me suck in a sharp breath of air.

He moves to my other thigh, as liquid pools in my pussy in anticipation.

"So incredibly beautiful." His voice is like honey.

His fingers part my folds, and I suck in another breath.

"Heavenly," he rasps, taking in a deep breath before his tongue glides over my exposed, most tender flesh. "Ambrosia," he mumbles, "sheer ambrosia."

He licks again and again, and all thoughts leave my mind. There is nothing but him, me, and these incredible emotions building inside me. No man has ever done this to me. Kissed me… there. I'm not stupid. Of course I know men do that kind of thing, just not to me.

"I want you to come on my tongue again," he demands hoarsely. "I want to lick all of you."

My hips writhe, and he places one hand on my stomach to keep me still. "Don't move."

How can I not? His tongue, oh my God, his tongue is doing things to me. Incredibly wicked things that make all thoughts of scars and my mother disappear. Things that build the ache inside of me, building and building. My breath comes out harder now, faster; sweat is running down my body. My hands ball the fine fabric of his sheets as they futilely look for some kind of purchase.

"That's it, mio bellissima, let go," he praises.

His tongue brushes over my clit, eliciting another gasp from me; a tortured sound escapes me, and the moment he sucks it between his lips and his teeth gently graze it before his tongue dances circles around it, I come undone. I cry out, and my body convulses in the most exquisite pleasure.

"Yes, come for me," he mumbles, sucking on my clit as I ride the highest pleasure wave I've ever known.