Page 44 of Daman

My scars. All of my imperfections that would look so wrong against his beautiful skin.

“I…” A lump wedged in my throat. “I’ve fought in many battles. My body is that of a seasoned warrior.”

Understanding shone in his soft green eyes. “You have scars?”

Unable to speak, I gave a sharp nod.

“Let me see you, Warrin.” Daman’s words were spoken so softly, gently, like a warm caress over my battered soul.

Tentatively, I released his wrists. His eyes didn’t leave mine as he lifted my shirt, the contact only breaking when he pulled it over my head. My heart raced as his gaze finally fell to my chest.

I felt so bare under his scrutiny. Vulnerable. He traced the mark left behind from the arrow that had nearly killed me before moving on to others—the scar from being stabbed in the gut, the one on my side from being slashed open, and the various bullet holes.

The concentrated furrow of his brow worried me. Did he find me unattractive?

“Don’t ever be ashamed of these,” Daman finally said, gliding his fingertips along the jagged scar on my abdomen. “You got them while protecting your home. They’re marks of honor. And they’re fucking beautiful.” He slid his hand to my neck and stared deep into my eyes. “You’rebeautiful.”

No one had ever used that word to describe me before.

“Touch me more,” I said, resting my forehead against his as a pang went through my heart. “Please.”

Our mouths melded back together as he smoothed his palms up my chest, his touches light and his kisses deep. Something broke inside me at the tenderness of the moment. But it wasn’t the kind of break that destroyed. It derived from a barrier cracking, the pieces crumbling down, bit by bit, exposing me.

“You’re trembling,” he whispered against my mouth.

He was right. My body quaked. From desire. From the wall around my heart that was ever so slowly coming down.

I slipped my hands under his shirt and pulled it up his slender torso, the tips of my fingertips grazing his silky skin. Once I tossed the shirt aside, my breath caught.

He had a scar over his heart.

I traced the outline of it, stunned.

“I was stabbed with a celestial blade,” Daman said, answering my unspoken question. “It’s the only weapon that can kill us. Scar us too. We quickly heal from other injuries, but one made with that kind of blade leaves behind a permanent mark.” He held my hand over the scar. “Do you think it detracts from my beauty?”

I shook my head. It made me want him more.

Was that how he’d felt about seeing mine?

Daman nibbled the base of my throat and dipped his fingers below the waistband of my pants. Sparks shot through me, and I hardened even more. Nerves tangled with the anticipation. He was the only one who had ever seen me like this.

“Goddamn,” he murmured as he freed my cock. “You’re bigger than I thought.”

“Is that okay?”

“Uh, yeah. It’s definitely okay.” He slid his hand around my base and smirked when I sucked in a sharp breath. “I love how you respond to my touch.”

He sat back a little and spit on my cock. I was… shocked. But also insanely aroused. Lubricant was in the bowl beside us, but he was too impatient. I was too.

Daman’s eyes met mine again as he spread the moisture around my tip and stroked down my shaft. The spit made the glide of his hand easier, and more strangled sounds escaped my throat. I had touched myself many times, but it was different when someone else did it.

No. Not someone. Daman.

The man who had claimed me the first moment we met.

“Not gonna come already, are you?” he asked, desire darkening his eyes. He nipped at my bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth. “Because I’m so not done with you yet.”

I grabbed his hips as he released my cock and stood on his knees over me. The toned muscles of his belly had my mouth watering, and I leaned forward, kissing below his navel and licking over to his pelvic bone, softly groaning at the little dip of his hip.