Page 95 of Shattered & Returned

He shuddered, his body locking tight.“Fuck, Bloom.”

“Is that what you want?”I released his throat to purr in his ear.“To fuck me here, against your precious books?”

He exhaled, his eyes bright and dark at the same time. “I want you.”His voice was rough and seductive.“I want to worship you and ruin you. I want to give you pleasure sosharp it cuts and pain so sweet it addicts.”

My body hummed. My skin tingled. Liquid fire surged between my thighs, a primal need blazing through me.

My defenses splintered.

My heartstrings tugged and ached. I’d always felt this way with him, even when I hated him.

I fisted his hair and yanked his head back, crushing my mouth to his. This kiss wasn’t like the others. It was a battle, a claiming, punishment and reward in one. I bit. I sucked. I devoured, pouring every ounce of confusion, pain, hunger, and desire into him.

He matched me, his shadows coiling around us like silk ribbons, caressing and possessive. Every brush of them sent sparks through my nerves, pleasure and pain so intertwined I couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

When he finally broke the kiss, hunger seared his eyes.“Still think you hate me, little flower?”

I couldn’t answer, couldn’t think, as attraction coiled tighter between us. His mouth found mine again, deeper this time, his hands sliding down to grip the neckline of my dress.

The rip of fabric tore through the air.

“No! Don’t do this.”I twisted, but it was too late.

Cool air hit my exposed skin, and then his breath stilled.

His fingers traced the lattice of scars beneath my breasts, over a hundred fine lines like cracks in porcelain. Shame flooded me. This was my most guarded secret, one even Mom never knew.

Most of the scars were old. From a time when the pain inside me had become unbearable. Puberty hadn’t just brought changes to my body; it had awakened this hollow, insistentgnawing pain and untraceable hunger that had no name. Like my soul remembered wounds this lifetime had never inflicted. Like I wasn’t just carrying the burden of this life but the echoes of countless others.

Cutting had been the only relief. The sharp, clean pain grounded me, made the weight of that endless yearning survivable.

Nero stared at my scars, his face turning bleak, his eyes shadowed with agony and guilt, as if he blamed himself for my suffering. Then, in a blink, his expression shuttered closed.

Tears glistened in his icy green eyes, but they vanished so fast I wondered if I’d imagined them.

He bent to kiss my scars, gentler than I’d ever thought him capable of.

“One day, you won’t need to cut,” he promised.

His lips traced each mark, not with disgust but reverence.

I was grateful he didn’t ask questions.

He wasn’t meant to see these scars.

No one was meant to see them. Others would call me sick, a mental case.

Mom had said it wasn’t good to feel so much. But how do you turn off emotions? I wasn’t a corpse.

I had always been meticulous and careful. I never left scars where they could be seen. Yet he’d found them. Cherished them.

A riot of emotions stormed through me, my pulse quickening under his touch. My body hummed with every kiss, my scars searing hot.

He lifted his head, his gaze piercing, one hand cradling the back of my skull.

“I won’t lie and say everything’s okay,” he said. “I won’t pretend this is simple. But your pain is mine now—my burden and my privilege. Without darkness, there’s no light. Withoutpain, there’s no true joy.” His thumb brushed my jaw. “Now, allow me to show you both.”

His fingers slid between my thighs, and I nearly came undone at the first contact. My hips bucked involuntarily, chasing the pressure, the friction—anything to ease the desperate ache he’d brought out.

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