Page 140 of Thorns of Silence

My lips brushed against hers just before I kissed her deeply. She felt so fucking amazing against me, her small body fitting against my large frame perfectly. I thrust my hips into her and she moaned into my mouth. Her back arched off the bed and she hooked her leg around my hip.

I groaned when her small hand pushed against my chest, pulling away slightly to look at her.

She tipped her chin toward my shirt, instructing me to take it off. Fuck, I’d hoped she’d be distracted enough to forget about my shirt. Maybe I should turn her over on her hands and knees and fuck her into oblivion.

I knew it wouldn’t work. I knew it by the jut of her chin and the gleam in her eyes. Besides, it felt wrong to keep my deepest secret from her.

She was my wife now and she deserved to know. Truthfully, she should have heard about it before I’d tied her to me for the rest of our lives.

She pushed me off, and my cock tented in my pants. I ran a trembling hand through my hair. Fuck, I wanted her to like me. Love me. And this—

I swallowed hard, meeting her wide-eyed gaze.

“You might not like what you see.” She shook her head, confusion clear on her face. “Ah, fuck it.”

Her eyes grew wider with each inch of exposed skin until I discarded the shirt. Her soft gasp might as well have been as loud as the church bells.

“What happened to you?” Her hands trembled so badly she could barely sign. She shifted onto her knees and crawled to the edge of the bed. I groaned inwardly, my cock stiffening painfully at the images of her soft, plump lips taking my dick between them. Still on her knees, she lifted her fingers and hovered them over the scars—ugly, shining stripes marring my torso—as if she couldn’t bring herself to touch them.

“They’re ugly, I know,” I mouthed. “You don’t have to touch them.”

“They are not ugly,” she protested, mouthing the words while her fingers connected with my skin and she started tracing them one by one. “Who did this to you?”

I shook my head. “I don’t remember.” When she gave me a questioning look, I continued, “Five years ago, I was kidnapped. Ended up losing my memory. Some of it came back. Some of it didn’t.” Her face went pale and she covered her mouth. I let out a low laugh, hoping she wouldn’t see how much her reaction affected me. “Sorry I can’t be perfect for you.”

Her delicate neck bobbed as she swallowed and her eyes glistened, her bottom lip trembling. Something changed at that moment. I couldn’t pinpoint what, but her expression softened and she wrapped her arms around me. Her warm lips touched my torso, and then to my shock, I realized she was kissing my scars.

I tried my hardest to calm my raging cock so I could think clearly. Was this pity?

I cupped her face and tugged her back so she’d look at me. “Don’t pity me.”

She reached for my hand, entwining our fingers. “I don’t. I just want to… love you.”

My fucking heart stopped before it jump-started into turbo mode.

FIFTY-FIVE

PHOENIX

Finally, I understood. I’d fucked up majorly, but I didn’t want to ruin this night with confessions. They’d come, and my sixth sense was telling me it’d be sooner versus later.

Dante didn’t ignore me for all those years. He was kidnapped, tortured, and then suffered amnesia, and all I had done since he’d come back into my life was fight him at every turn.

My fingers drifted over his torso lightly, feeling every scar as if it were my own. I thought he’d betrayed me, when all along, he was battling his own hidden demons. My hand hovered over the scar I gave him, and my heart froze. A tattoo covered the flesh there, and I stared at it with my mouth hanging open.

Fuck, I hurt him.The knowledge settled over me. His darkness had always been there, hidden behind his playfulness.

I met his gaze, pools of insecurity swirling in his eyes as he readied for rejection, and I felt my chest tear apart.

I straightened up on my knees and kissed him. I rubbed myself against his warmth, my hands roaming his flesh greedily.

A rumble resounded as our tongues tangled, and then I pulled away, delirious from the taste of him. He pushed my hair to one side, pressing his face into my neck, and a shudder rippled through me.

The press of his lips against the hollow of my neck stole my every thought. He traced the sting with a lick, his touch possessive, but for once, it didn’t terrify me.

I touched his neck, trailing my fingers across to his collarbone, and hovered over his mouth, teasing the breath between us. I caressed him with my nose, forehead, and hands, my tongue dying to reach beyond my lips and taste him. I pressed my chest into his, and he gripped my waist harder.

Then, without a warning, he pushed me back against the mattress, settling between my legs and hooking my thighs around his shoulders, his lips seconds from my pussy.