Page 69 of Under Your Scars

“I have scars,” he offers vaguely. I pull one of his arms out from under the water and run my fingers along his forearm, mangled with years of self-harm and hatred. I kiss his wrist.

“If it’s because you’re afraid it will run me off, you’re wrong. I won’t judge you if that’s how you chose to cope with what happened to you.”

“It’s not that,” he answers, moving to rest against the other side of the bath, making no effort to take off any of his clothes. He runs a finger across his lips in thought. “I have to tell you something.”

My heart sinks as my shoulders fold forward. Those words never mean anything good. “Oh.”

“It’s two things, actually,” he adds, “but…I don’t know which one to tell you first.”

“Bad thing first,” I suggest, assuming there is one.

“If I tell you the bad thing first, it will ruin the good thing.”

“Good thing first?”

“If I tell you the good thing first, you won’t believe me after I tell you the bad thing.”

I think about it for a long time, and then I cross the space between us to sit in his lap. I lean in closer until our lips tingle with the anticipation of a kiss. “How about a compromise?” He nods, running his hands along the length of my bare back. “Tell me the good thing first, and then tell me the bad thing when we’re not in a foreign country. That way, I can run away if it’sreallyreallybad.”

He laughs with a smirk against my lips. “If you run, I’ll catch you.”

I hum and then close the gap between our lips, moving my hips in time with our mouths until he’s rock solid beneath me. I pull away just enough to whisper, “Tag, you’re it.”

I poke him in the chest, hop out of the tub and grab a towel on the way out, squealing as I wrap it around myself and run through the yacht. I’m sure I’m leaving a trail of water wherever I go, but it doesn’t matter. I see Christian for a brief second through a window, traveling in the opposite direction as me, so I make a big loop around the deck back to the bedroom.

“Boo.”

I scream so loud I think I ruptured my own ear drum when Christian pops out from behind the door and grabs me by the waist, still soaking wet from the bath. He tosses me onto the bed and rips my towel away from me before spreading my legs. He eye-fucks my bare pussy and I think I could orgasm just from the sight of him so hungry for me.

“Can this be my reward for catching you?” he asks, running a finger along my slit and laughing when he finds I’m already soaked. “You like being hunted, baby?”

“Byyou.”

My mouth falls open in silent pleasure when he lightly kisses my clit and then licks a broad stripe up my cunt. My fingers tug on his hair and I can’t help myself—I laugh.

“What’s so funny?” he asks in between licks.

I sigh as his tongue continues to explore me. “I can’t believe a billionaire flew me all the way to Mykonos on his private jet and is currently—fuck!”

“Finish your sentence, Elena. What am I currently doing?” He shoves two thick fingers inside me and curls them to seek out my g-spot. When he finds it, I arch off the bed.

“Making me feel good.Fuck, it feels so good.”

He kisses up my body, latching his teeth onto my neck and clumsily unbuttoning his pants before pulling them down. The wet fabric makes it difficult for him, but he finally removes the offending material and rubs the tip of his cock along my folds. He slowly pushes into me, making sure I feel every single inch of him buried in my center. I grind against him, urging him to move, but he doesn’t. “Fuck me. Please.”

“Elena.”

He cradles my head between his forearms and rests his forehead against mine. The way he said my name, so tender and soft, makes my eyes glassy.

My hands reach up between us to caress his cheeks with the same tenderness with which he cradles my face. “Tell me the good thing.”

Time freezes as we stare at each other, and my heart flutters when the corners of his mouth quirk into a smile, before his face hardens with nerves.

“I am painfully, catastrophically in love with you.”

My throat aches with raw emotion and tears escape my eyes, falling to the comforter below us. I open my mouth to say something back, but no words come out.

“I love you,” he whispers against my lips. It doesn’t feel like a declaration this time, but rather, a desperate attempt to get me to say it back. Because that’s what you do when someone says they love you. You say it back.But I can’t. I can’t, and I think he and I both realize it in horror at the same time, because something in his face changes.