Page 56 of Beautiful Scar

But okay, fine, another day off for my poor virgin vagina to heal from his big dick’s brutality. Or whatever the hell he’s thinking. I spent today cleaning up, building some furniture that came in the mail, hanging new pictures and paintings, and basically just putting on the finishing touches. I ate lunch with Vito at my table, and then I sat my ass on the couch and waited.

And waited. And waited. Nervously sweating, thinking about Tigran dragging me into my bed. Is he going to be gentle this time? Do I even want him to be? I feel like I only got a glimpse of what he’s really like in bed.

Does he really like handcuffs?

And when can I wear them?

That’s all I keep obsessing about all night long. Except it starts to get late, and he still hasn’t shown up. I even work up the courage to poke my head into the hall, but there are only a couple of guards lurking nearby. When one notices me and gives a curious frown, I duck back into my room and lock the door, my heart skittering.

No Tigran. No nighttime visit. No weird steamy sex.

Like I said, a disappointment.

I’m not even sure why I feel this way. A week ago, I would’ve been insanely relieved that he’s not visiting. Except things have changed between us.

We had that intimate dinner, him sitting across from me on the floor. It was so odd but also so normal. Tigran’s not the kind of man I can picture doing something like that. It was sweet and gentle, and it made me want him even more. Then there was the way he acted all protective of me when his aunt and his brother visited, like he wanted to make sure my feelings were spared.

The man talks like he’s a heartless monster, and maybe he is.

But I’ve seen another side of him.

“Ah, screw it.” I start getting ready for bed. I wash off my makeup, running my fingers down my scar. Images flash through my head. The bars of my cage. A Celtic cross on the wall. A sneering young man and a long, thin knife.

Someone pounds on my door and I nearly scream.

Sweat cools on my skin as I hurry to answer. I haven’t let myself get anxious about what happened in a long while, and I’m annoyed that I’m doing it now. There’s more pounding,insistent this time, and I yank it open, afraid that something bad’s happening.

It’s Tigran. He looks at me with odd, unrestrained anger and a hint of fear in his eyes.

“Are you okay?” he says and storms into my room without asking.

Normally, with anyone else, that would bother me. But for some reason, it doesn’t even faze me. “I’m fine, I was just getting ready for bed. What’s going on?”

He grunts at me and starts looking around. He checks windows, looks under the couch, kicks open the bathroom door, and rips open the shower curtain. “What are you doing?” I ask, following him around as he searches my place. He’s acting like a murderous ghost is hiding in the closet or something.

After he goes through every little inch of my suite, he finally wears himself out and pours himself a big drink at the bar cart.

“Tigran,” I say, going to him, confused and more than a little afraid, but not that he’s going to hurt me. I have the sudden and intense urge to comfort him like he’s been comforting me. “Talk to me.” I touch his chest with both hands.

He takes a long drink of whiskey. His eyes flash to mine. Pure, intense, knee-shaking desire burns in that gaze. My stomach does an excited flip and my mouth opens, my heart racing into my throat.

He takes my hips and pulls me into him roughly, then he smothers my mouth with a wet, needy kiss.

It’s hungry and possessive. He tastes like sweet alcohol. There’s an edge to the way his tongue dominates me, and he holdsme closer, his hands moving up to grasp my braid, the other gripping the nape of my neck. A growl escapes him, and it’s like every kiss before this one has been a pale imitation, and now he’s finally releasing himself, dropping his guard, giving me everything he’s been hiding away.

And it’s so freaking good.

The glass tips from his hand. It hits the floor, shatters, and spills. I yelp, trying to pull away, but he doesn’t release me. “I should clean—” I start to say, but he smothers my words with another needy, hungry kiss.

It’s too much. My head’s spinning like crazy. He roughly drags me to the couch and pulls me into his lap, cupping my ass with one hand as the other grabs my hair and pins my mouth to his.

I grind myself into him. He hasn’t said a word since coming into my room like a freaking creep, and the way he searches the place scares me, but all that gets forgotten in the frenzy. Ever since the first time we did this, I’ve been thinking about it constantly. His mouth, his hands. His growls of pleasure.

He bites my lower lip and pulls my top off. I gasp with ecstasy as he licks and sucks a nipple, going hard, lapping his tongue around.

It hurts, but I arch into him anyway, wanting more. I’m greedy, desperate for him, grinding against his lap. He’s stiff between my legs, and his breath comes fast.

He wants this as badly as I do, and that turns me on like crazy.

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