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So fucking beautiful.

So fucking mine.

My heart pounded in my ears as the pressure increased. No woman had looked so perfect and glorious sucking my cock. She changed up the pace from slow to fast to slow again. She drove me crazy. I was clinging to the precipice, trying my best to hold it together. I didn’t want to come in her mouth this first time.

She released me with a pop and licked her lips. “Is that what you needed?”

I released a guttural roar. “Fuck yes. But I need more of you.” I gripped her sweater, yanking it off, followed by the yellow bra that matched her underwear.

Adorable and sexy all rolled into one.

My hands possessed her breasts, squeezed them gently, and teased her pointy brown nipples. I claimed a delicious nipple, suckling it while my hand massaged the other breast. She tasted like something I couldn’t define, but I knew it was mine. Her flavor. Her scent. Her softness. They all belonged to me. Somehow, I knew it.

Like I knew I had to go after her the moment we met. It was a mere feeling. A powerful intuition that pushed me forward.

Her moans became a song to my heart. I could listen to it all day and night.

She melted into my touch, surrendering to my mouth. I wanted to touch her everywhere. When my hands roamed to her back, she tensed.

I drew back and looked at her face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said, looking away.

I clasped her face with two hands, making her look at me. “I don’t believe you. Did I hurt you somewhere?”

“No.” Embarrassment flushed on her cheeks, and I knew.

I pulled her into an embrace, and my fingers caressed her back. “If it’s your scars, I’m not bothered by them. I have scars too.”

She released a repressed sigh and relaxed in my arms.

She drew back, and worried eyes stared at me. “You’re not turned off by the imperfections?”

“No. Why would I be?”

She didn’t reply.

“Did someone tell you that?”

I didn’t know anything about her history, and I wanted to kill the bastard who had hurt her.

She chewed on her bottom lip, and I wanted to erase any insecurity she had about being with me.

I tapped her forehead. “Listen to me. I’m not bothered by your scars. Your wounds don’t make you imperfect. They define you as my wounds define me. It took me a long time to understand that.” I kissed her forehead. “Think of your scars as trophies you’ve earned to survive this cruel world. You’re a survivor, and that makes you perfect for me.”

Tears brimmed in her eyes, but she held them back.

“May I see them?”

I’d already seen them when she was drunk. But this was different. I wanted her to share her wounds with me willingly and openly.

She considered me for a moment and nodded. She’d given me permission to see her wounds, and that was sacred to me.

I turned her back to face me and examined her scars more carefully this time. I’d been too shocked the first time to study them.

Vivian flinched when I ran my fingers along the scars desecrating her back. Parts of her skin appeared like they’d melted. She’d been burned. Was it a fire? Two raised flesh sections in her lower back caught my eyes. They had a circular shape with an abstract design in it. My stomach knotted, recognizing what kind of tool had caused it. Someone had branded her. Who was the fucker?

Rage pulsed in me, but I didn’t want it to ruin this moment. I’d ask her more details later. Right now, I wanted to soothe her.