Page 93 of Scarred

Our lips meet again, and my desire ratchets higher, heat making my insides throb. I press my hips into his, wrapping my legs around his waist to pull him in deeper. He groans, the sound vibrating through my mouth and sinking into my bones, and I shudder from the feeling. It’s intoxicating; seeing someone like him get lost in passion and knowing I’m the cause.

His fingers tighten around mine, and he presses our hands deeper into the pillows as he pulls back to gaze into my eyes. “You’re mine.”

It isn’t a question.

I nod anyway, lifting so I can speak it into his lips. “Yours.”

Maybe I should feel embarrassed—weak—as if I need a man to claim me. But when he lets go of my hand and brings his down to the neckline of my gown, pulling until it tears, all I feel is power.

And I’m desperate for him to fill me with it until I scream.

Just like he promised.

CHAPTER39

Tristan

One word and I’m feral.

My hands grip and grope and grab, needing to feel with my fingertips that her perfect skin is unmarred. I’m enraged somebody thought to take matters into their own hands, after I explicitly stated not to touch her. When Edward told me, a blinding fury overwhelmed me, but it was also mixed with a new emotion.

Fear.

There’s only been one thing I’ve longed for in this world, and it’s at my fingertips, the crown so close I can almost reach out and place it on my head.

But now there’s her.

And everything else pales in comparison. There is nothing I wouldn’t do to keep her by my side. She iseverything. And if she’s hurting, I will torture the people who caused it until they beg me to let them die.

I cup one of her breasts in the palm of my hand, feeling her soft skin mold beneath my grip. Her nipples are hard, pebbling beneath the thin material of her torn nightgown, and my mouth waters, demanding that I lean down and have a taste for myself. So I do.

“Tristan,” she moans, her fingers tugging at the strands of my hair until the root stings.

My teeth sink into her skin and she yelps, her hips lifting until she’s pressed against my groin, making my cock jerk from the friction. I release her nipple with a pop and move off of her, smirking.

“Where are you going?” she complains. “Come back.”

I ignore her pleas and walk to the nightstand, grabbing a thick candle off its base and heading back toward the bed. She’s watching me, her forehead scrunched, and her cheeks flushed red, as she sprawls out against cream silk sheets, her black hair splayed wildly around her.

My footsteps falter as I take her in, nude and aroused, her body high and sensitive from the roller coaster of emotions she’s no doubt already gone through today. A lesser woman would have broken. Yet here she is, acknowledging her pain and letting it mold her instead.

She’sbreathtaking. I want to fuck her until she breaks; breed her until my cum oozes from her pores and every person knows who it is she belongs to.

I reach for her ankle, dragging her down to the edge of the bed, placing the candle on the ground next to my side.

She shrieks, her long legs kicking at my chest, and I smirk, delight filling my veins that my smart-mouthed witch is still alive and well. My grasp tightens and I tsk at her, fingers dancing along the front of her shin, over the top of her knee, and to the inside of her thigh.

And then I pinch.

Her eyes flutter and her mouth parts.

“I think you like pain with your pleasure, don’t you, little doe?” I tilt my head, trying to keep myself from pouncing on top of her and burying my face in her pussy.

“You don’t know what I like,” she bites back, her eyes flashing.

I let out a soft laugh, my hand smoothing over the reddened area from where I smarted her skin. “We both know you’ll take whatever I give you,ma petite menteuse.”

Grabbing the hem of my shirt, I lift it over my head, the air hitting my skin and causing a slight chill. Or maybe that’s her eyes soaking up my body like its water, flicking from the artwork detailed along my upper arms, to where they cover the front of my chest.