Page 37 of Drenched

He didn’t speak for a moment. Instead, his fingers brushed over my wrist again, his touch reverent. “You think these marks make you weak.” He said it like a fact, not a judgment. “They don’t. They show what you survived.”

“No one else would see it that way,” I muttered. “They’d see them and think I’m broken.”

“They are fools,” he said, his tone unwavering. “They do not see what I see.”

Before I could argue, his lips pressed against one of the scars on my wrist. The kiss was soft, deliberate, and it sent a shiver racing through me. I wanted to pull my hand away, but Icouldn’t. His mouth moved slowly up my arm, tracing every line with care. “You are not broken,” he murmured. “You are whole.”

My breath hitched as Rynar’s lips moved higher, brushing over the faint scars on my forearm before pausing at the bend of my elbow. The way he kissed me, it wasn’t hunger or pity. It was reverence. Like he wasn’t just accepting these parts of me, but cherishing them. It sent a strange heat spiraling through me, leaving me unsteady.

“Stop,” I murmured, though the word came out weak and trembling. My body wasn’t pulling away, and I hated it.

His lips paused against my skin, but he didn’t let go. “Why?” he asked softly. “Why do you want me to stop?”

“Because…” I tried to find the words, but they stuck in my throat. My voice cracked as I finally managed, “Because no one’s supposed to touch them. No one’s supposed to see them.”

His gaze lifted, locking onto mine. “Why not?”

“Because they’re ugly,” I snapped, anger bubbling up to mask the shame. “Because they’re reminders of every time I wasn’t strong enough.”

His head tilted slightly, his expression calm but firm. “Do you think I see ugliness when I look at you?”

I opened my mouth to argue, but his hands moved, brushing my wrists again with a gentleness that made my chest ache. His touch lingered, warm and steady. “I see fire, Pearl,” he murmured. “I see strength. I see survival.”

Tears pricked at my eyes, unbidden, and I hated myself for it. I wasn’t supposed to cry. I wasn’t supposed to let anyone see melike this. But he didn’t look away. He stayed there, steady and unyielding, his black eyes holding mine with an intensity that left me breathless.

“You hate being vulnerable,” he said quietly. “You hate feeling out of control.”

“Yes,” I whispered, the admission clawing its way out of me. “I hate it. I hate it so much.”

“Then take control.” His hands hovered at my waist, just out of reach, but the force of his words struck deep. “Take what you need.”

The words sent a jolt through me, sharp and undeniable. My breath hitched as I stared at him, searching his face for any trace of mockery or malice. There was none. Only that same unshakable certainty, as if he’d been waiting for me to realize it all along.

“Take it,” he breathed. His tone was steady but pleading. “Take whatever you need from me.”

My stomach twisted, the memory of the dream crashing into me like a wave. I could still feel his mouth on me, the way his tongue worked me until I was trembling and undone. But it wasn’t just about the pleasure. It was about control. The image burned in my mind: me above him, taking what I needed, holding the power, for once.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said. The quiet broke with his words. “Do it. Please, Pearl.”

The word ‘please’shattered the last of my restraint. My knees trembled as I climbed onto him, straddling his chest. His hands steadied me, sliding up my thighs, his touch firm but reverent.I hovered there, every inch of me on fire, my breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts.

His mouth opened slightly, his tongue flicking out to taste me, and I couldn’t hold back. I lowered myself onto him, my thighs quivering as his tongue found my clit. The first stroke sent a jolt through me, sharp and overwhelming. A gasp tore from my lips as my hands clutched his shoulders, my hips bucking instinctively against him.

He worked me slowly at first, teasing my clit with soft, lazy circles that made me squirm. His hands gripped my thighs, holding me steady as his tongue moved lower, tasting me deeply before returning to my clit. The pleasure built steadily, each stroke pushing me closer to the edge.

My hips moved on their own, grinding against his mouth as my breath came in broken gasps. “Fuck,” I whispered, my voice shaky, as his tongue pressed harder, swirling around my clit with devastating precision. My thighs trembled uncontrollably, the pressure inside me building faster than I could keep up with. His tongue was unstoppable, sliding lower to dip into me, then back up to flick my clit in quick, teasing motions that made my hips jerk against him.

“Please,” I whimpered, the word escaping before I could stop it. My hands fisted against his shoulders, desperate for something to hold onto as he kept going, his tongue working me like he knew exactly how to unravel me.

He groaned against me, the sound vibrating through my core, and I moaned in response, louder this time. My body moved on instinct, grinding against his face while he held me steady, his hands spreading me wider as if he wanted to devour every inchof me. His tongue was hot, wet, and unstoppable, sliding over me with perfect pressure, coaxing every nerve in my body to life.

“You taste like a storm,” he murmured between strokes. “Like the ocean’s rage.”

I didn’t fully understand his words, but they sent a fresh surge of heat through me, sharp, consuming, overwhelming. My hips rocked harder, chasing the building pressure, the heat, the impossible pleasure that seemed to spiral higher with every flick of his tongue. His lips closed over my clit, sucking gently, and I cried out, my thighs shaking violently as the orgasm tore through me.

The release was blinding, ripping me apart from the inside out. My body convulsed as wave after wave of pleasure rolled over me, my hands gripping his shoulders so tightly my nails dug into his skin. He didn’t stop, his tongue continuing to move, drawing out every pulse of pleasure until I was trembling and gasping for air.

I tried to pull back, oversensitive, but his hands held me in place. His mouth softened against me, his tongue teasing me with slower, lighter strokes that made my legs quiver all over again. My body responded before I could think, the ache returning just as quickly as it had faded.

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