Page 47 of Scarred Souls

I stared at the lock screen of my phone, more than a little pissed with all the women biting my head off today. Was I dead and in some kind of purgatory for being a douchebag?

I turned on the shower, then peeled off my jeans and underwear. While steam filled the small room, I stared at the rusty vanity mirror and the tattoos covering my scars. What a goddamn fraud, hiding behind all that ink.

Hope didn’t have the same choice. It wasn’t like a half-face tattoo would draw less attention. Her injuries were front and center for everyone to judge. No wonder my staring made her uncomfortable. I wished I’d had the balls to tell her those scars only made me admire how she’d survived a nightmare and come out the other side far more mentally stable than me.

And it was sexy as hell that she wasn’t intimidated by me. Maybe if she knew all the depraved things I wanted to do to that luscious little body of hers, she wouldn’t taunt me so much. Then again, maybe she would.

I needed to do something about this hard-on.

After stepping under the spray, I made fast work of rinsing off salt and sand. On a chest-high ledge, there was a ceramic pump bottle of bodywash, so I used it to lather myself up. At the first stroke of my cock, I groaned. This wouldn’t take long. All I had to do was picture Hope pinned to this tiled wall, ass in my palms and those perfect tits pressed against my chest while I slammed into her.

Wait. No.

That wasn’t right. I didn’t fuck that way. It was always face down, ass up, hands secured where they couldn’t touch me.

Except I couldn’t get Hope’s amber eyes out of my mind, and the way I imagined she’d hold my gaze and gasp when I thrust inside her to the hilt. I could almost feel her fingers digging into my scalp, urging me to take her harder, and I…I fucking liked the idea of it.

What was wrong with me? This wasn’t my usual spank fantasy. There was never touching or a particular face associated with the imaginary woman I fucked. Just a willing body. My dick disagreed. It wanted Hope. That inconvenient truth was bolstered by the fact that I was seconds from finishing and I’d only just started.

Head hanging low, I braced my free hand on the ledge but bumped the bodywash. It fell to the floor and shattered. Shit. I’d clean it up later. I was too close to coming to stop now.

“Fuck,” I hissed, and worked myself faster.

A low growl made its way up my throat when my balls tightened. Christ. This felt so real I almost swore I could hear her saying my name.

Hold up. Hope was calling my name.

A moment later, she did it again.

What the hell was she doing in the casita?

I should call out for her to leave. That would be the sensible thing. But…what if I didn’t? The bathroom door was ajar. Would she stealthily peek inside? The deviant in me really wanted Hope to stumble across me clenching my cock in my fist, and the thought of her staying to watch me finish only made me harder.

I doubted she’d move beyond the doorway or make her presence known once she realized I was jacking off, so she wouldn’t be close enough to see my scars.

I smiled and continued working myself.

Time to find out how brave my feisty kitten really was.

16

HOPE

When I’d entered the house in a prickly mood, Daphne had asked if I was okay. Truthfully, deep diving into my rescue had been traumatic, but Vaughn helping me with my cramp and the highly charged situation after had overshadowed that.

One minute, the man was tender, and the next, he was a complete jerk. It was almost as if he doubled down on being a dick because he couldn’t stand the thought of any kindness ruining his reputation.

I was also…confused. Not only due to Grim’s hot-and-cold attitude but also about how I could be attracted to someone like him at all.

“Here.” Dee handed me a stack of towels. “Give a couple to Vaughn, would you?”

I tried to think of a reason why I shouldn’t, then decided it was probably rude to expect Vaughn to air-dry after showering.

“Fine.” I rolled my eyes and snatched the towels, wrapping one around my waist.

Turning on my heel, I headed for the casita. I knocked, but Vaughn didn’t answer. The shower was running, so he was probably in the bathroom and couldn’t hear me. I opened the door a fraction, intending to leave the towels on the bed, then a crash like shattering tiles sounded from the shower.

What if he’d slipped and was hurt?

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