Page 161 of Tell Me Pucking Lies

I smirk, trying to hide it, but he sounds so sweet, even with all his darkness, he can still somehow manage to be sweet. My thumb brushes something rough just under his ribs. His skin is hot, swollen, and when I press gently he hisses through his teeth. I flick on my phone flashlight with my free hand and gasp at what I see.

Road rash. Purple and black bruises blooming across his torso like storm clouds. His chest looks like he went to war and lost half of it.

“Jesus, Koa,” I whisper, my fingers hovering over the worst of it. “Are you okay?”

He shakes his head, then reaches up and cups my face. “Are you?”

The question lands heavier than it should. I don’t answer right away because I don’t know how. My chest aches with something that isn’t fear—just exhaustion, heavy and wet, like water pooling in my lungs. I haven’t cried in years. I forgot how the pressure builds, how it sits behind your eyes demanding release.

“I will be,” I finally say, and my voice cracks on the words. “Because you’re here. The last few days—”

He kisses me before I can finish. Gentle at first, almost careful, like he’s afraid I might break. Then deeper, more insistent. His face feels rough under my palms.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” I breathe against his mouth.

He brushes his lips along my jaw. “I was just trying to protect what’s mine.”

“What’s yours?”

He pulls me closer until my breath catches, until I can feel every bruise and cut pressed against me. “This.”

My smile is small, half a challenge despite everything. “Really?”

He nods, his eyes dark and possessive. “Only mine.”

I shake my head, trying to hold onto some piece of myself in this moment. “Actually, it’s mine.”

“Actually—” He flips me beneath him in one smooth motion, his body caging mine, his voice dropping to a dark rumble that vibrates through my chest. “It’s mine.”

His mouth finds mine again and this kiss burns. I feel every bruise on his chest against my ribs, the scrape of his damaged knuckles at my hip. He reaches his fingers between my legs and kisses me deeper.

“Someone’s being gentle,” I joke.

He bites my ear, pressing his fingers firmly against me and says, “Don’t test me, Tiger.”

My hips buck, begging for more. I roll my head back as he kisses my neck. With his open hand, he pulls his pants down and presses into me.

I moan and slap my hand over my mouth quickly. I don’t want to wake up Scarlett. She’s already freaked out enough.

He smirks as he keeps pushing himself in. He pushes his cock so deep, I dig my fingers into his open wounds by accident.

“This is only mine,” he breathes.

I move my hips, helping myself to the pleasure of his dick.

“What?” I gasp. “What did you say?”

He nods. “You heard me, Tiger.”

He moves slow, deliberate, like he’s reminding me of every inch he claims, like he’s writing his ownership into my skin.

“See?” he murmurs, dragging his mouth down my neck, teeth grazing my pulse point. Slowly fucking me. “I take care of what’s mine.”

“Yours?” I exhale, dizzy.

“Mine.”

When we’re done, the room smells like sweat and salt and relief. My body feels heavy, satisfied, the tension finally released. Koa props himself up on one elbow, tracing patterns on my shoulder with his fingertips.