Page 32 of Scarred Angel

And now she’s sitting on my sofa, wiping tears from her eyes because of me. Because she feels something for the fucked-up parts of my past.

Her empathy is a strange kind of torture. It’s warmth where I don’t deserve it and light breaking through places I thought were dead. I should look away, take her home. Remind myself that she’s better off without the darkness that comes with me.

But instead, I watch her. The way her hands tremble as she drags them across her cheeks. The way her lips part like she’s about to speak, but can’t find the right words.

She’s too close.

Or maybe not close enough.

I pour myself a drink to take the edge off.

“Truth or Dare, Valentina,” I say, causing her head to whip toward me.

“It’s okay…we don’t have to?—.”

“Pick one, before I choose for you.” My voice leaves no room for softness, no trace of the man who comforted her, who remembered the little girl beaming after her first kip.

Still, she answers, her expression serious, even as her eyes betray the act, revealing everything she’s trying so damn hard to hide.

“Dare,” she says, harshly wiping the last streak of moisture from her cheek.

Good. We’ve shared enough for one night.

“Show me something,” I tell her. “A trick you can still do, even after all these years.”

She smirks. “What makes you think I can’t still do all of them? Are you calling me old, old man?”

I bark out a laugh. “Ouch.”

“But…I think you’re forgetting one tiny detail,” she says, gesturing toward her cast.

“Oh, fuck. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

Valentina rises, standing in front of the coffee table. “How sturdy is this wood? Think it’ll hold me?”

“Yeah—why?”

She shrugs off her jacket, eyes glinting as she turns. “Making sure I win.”

My gaze drops before I can stop it, drawn to her ass in those black leggings as she bends and spreads her stance. Blood surges to my cock.

Fuuuuck.

Bracing her hands on the table, she leans forward, shifting her weight until her feet lift from the floor, body perfectly aligned, her muscles taut. She holds there, suspended, her sweet little cunt just inches away, testing every shred of my restraint.

This is Valentina.

I remind myself like a warning.

Then, with deliberate grace, she lifts her legs until they meet, her body perfectly inverted in front of me. Her head tips just enough for her eyes to catch mine between her arms. And a wicked, knowing grin curves her lips.

It’s the single sexiest goddamn thing I’ve seen in a long time.

“Looks like I still got it,” she says, lowering herself with the same fluidity, “broken leg and all.”

“That was—impressive.”

She smirks, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “Party trick.”