Page 72 of The Hellkeeper

My man is absolutely evil, a psycho, but he’s mine.

He lowers himself further, pressing his lips to my feet again. I twitch at the contact, the blisters tender, but he doesn’t stop. He kisses over every burn, every raw spot, and the heat of his mouth sears me more than the fire ever could.

He presses a kiss to my shin. My knee. My thigh.

My ribs, the bruises there.

My stomach, the ugly green and blue of it.

Every single inch of skin they marked, he reclaims.

I bite down on my lip, eyes stinging. “My skin won’t be smooth anymore,” I mumble. “Would you mind?”

His fingers grip my jaw, tilting my head back roughly, forcing my eyes to stay on his. His pupils are blown wide, his expression unreadable. His lips hover over mine, close enough that I feel the heat of his breath.

“Mind?” His voice is lethal, low and sharp. He thumbs over the dried blood on my cheek. “Your body is mine. Your scars are mine. Every single mark they left on you belongs to me now. You are beautiful, and you will always be beautiful.” He kisses down my neck, over the angry red skin my mother left behind. “And if you ever say something like that again, I swear I’ll make you look at yourself in every mirror until you see what I see.”

I believe him, and my insecurity dies the second it came up.

“I should’ve taken you to a hospital,” he rasps. “I should be taking you now, but I can’t. I fucking can’t.”

I feel his desperation. His self-loathing.

“I’d shoot them,” he whispers. “I’d shoot whoever even looked at you. I’m barely holding on to my sanity, little flower.”

At the mention of the hospital, something in me seizes.

“No,” I breathe. “Please.” I’m pleading instantly. “I just want it to be the two of us for a while. Just us. Please.”

I’m terrified. What if someone snatches me back up? The only person I trust right now is Damien.

“Are you okay?”

I nod, curling closer into him. “I’m okay. I just can’t trust anyone but you right now. I don’t want anyone touching me but you for a while.” I sound weak, but I don’t care.

“I won’t let anyone near you,” he vows. “Not now. Not ever.”

He leads me to the shower but hesitates. I know he’s overthinking everything he does, making sure it doesn’t hurt me. He can never hurt me. Sure, he scares the shit out of me sometimes. Sure, the way he loves is unconventional, but there is no doubt in my mind that this man loves me. So, I raise my arms in surrender, giving him permission to do anything he wants to me.

He unclasps my bra, and it slips down my arms, falling to the tile floor. My panties are off next.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” he breathes against my skin.

“It’s not your fault.”

“It is,” he snaps. “I let them—” He cuts himself off with a sharp inhale. “I should’ve locked you away so no one could hurt you. So that you would always be mine.”

“I’m still yours.”

“Damn right you are.” I hear him mutter under his breath before he starts the shower.

I want to laugh at his words, at his possessiveness, but the water stings.

A sharp burn against my raw skin, my blistered feet. I flinch, and the pressure behind my eyeballs increases. The pain makes me sway a little, but Damien is right there, supporting me completely.

“I know, little flower,” he murmurs. “I know. Just hold on.”

He’s careful, slow as he washes me, untangling the knots in my hair, soothing my aching scalp. He drags the washcloth over me with such gentleness that it’s just like a whisper.

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