Page 162 of Under Your Scars

I crawl up his body, minding his wound and straddle his face. He immediately sucks on my clit, making me throw my head back and cry out loudly in pleasure. Christian’s hands snake under my thighs to roughly squeeze my ass, dragging me even closer to his mouth. I feel his tongue taste every inch of me.

“I couldn’t die without tasting this delicious pussy. I couldn’t die without feeling my cock inside you again. God, I’ve been dreaming about it.” He moans at my taste, like it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever feasted on. The vibrations send a new wave of pleasure through me, and I grind down on his face. “That’s it, angel. Ride my face. Make yourself cum.”

I moan loudly, using both of my hands to tug his hair and pull him impossibly closer. He suckles on my clit and traces a finger over the tight rosebud behind me. He shoves his finger inside without warning, up to the first knuckle, and I tremble against his face, cumming hard all over his mouth and chin.

After a long moment, I sigh in relief and climb off, lying on my side in the space next to him. I place a kiss to his cheek. Our bodies buzz with the sweet bliss that follows the kind of high only we can give each other.

“What’s your pain now?” I ask, tracing my fingers along his collarbone.

“Always zero when I’m with you.”

I giggle. “Now that we’ve had our fun, you know what time it is.”

Christian groans. “No.”

“Yes,” I say quietly, tapping his nose and sitting up. “I’ll get the water ready.”

I stand up and go to the bathroom, running the water until it’s warm and then wait for the tub to fill up, just enough to cover his legs and hips because he can’t get his stitches wet.

He hates baths. Not just because I have to bathe him, though he hates that too because it’s just another thing that makes him feel worthless. He just hates baths in general. He finds them distasteful, which is a bit hypocritical of him considering he has the largest bathtub on the East Coast.

I help Christian out of bed, staying close by his side in case he needs help walking, though he’d rather fall on his face than admit it. We slowly make our way to the bathroom, and he sits on the edge of the tub while I undress him, and then carefully remove his gauze.

We both stare at his wound and then meet each other’s eyes at the same time. He looks so ashamed, like getting shot has made him less of a man.

I give him a strained look and instruct him to get in the tub. He lowers himself slowly into the warm water and then I remove my shirt. I lower myself into the tub too, straddle his lap, and pour a dollop of unscented soap onto a sponge. I begin to slowly wash his body with deliberate caution.

“How are you doing? Mentally, I mean.”

Christian huffs. “Angel, can wepleasetalk about something other than the bullet hole in my torso?”

“Like what?”

He shrugs. “Like…have you spoken to your father?”

Trading out one touchy subject for another I see.I shake my head and bite the inside of my cheek.

It’s true. My father and I haven’t spoken in months. I called him to tell him that Christian and I were getting married by the court in January. I invited him, along with my mother and Travis and Justin, to be witnesses with Edwin.

My father was the only one who didn’t show up.

It broke my heart so badly I almost couldn’t go through with it. My mother was the one who got me to appear for my own ceremony.

Don’t cry over something he will grow to regret.You’re getting married for you,not him.

She was right of course, but it still hurt. He didn’t show up for the ceremony, or the small dinner we held afterward in the penthouse suite ofTheBlack Palace, the largest and grandest of the hotel chains Christian owns across the world.

He didn’t even call to offer his congratulations.

It almost feels like I’m dead to him.

When Christian and I shared the news that we had adopted Caroline, he was the only one in my family who didn’t come to meet her.

Christian takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry, angel.”

I nod. “I know. It’s not your fault. I made my choice. I chose to love you. He chose to disown me.”

“He didn’t,” Christian says as I carefully clean around the entrance wound. “His issue is with me. Helovesyou.” He taps his fingers along the edge of the tub. “Maybe you should call him.”