Page 72 of Dirty Game
Great, gasping sobs that I can't control, tears streaming down my face.
He immediately gathers me into his arms, pulling me against his chest.
"Too much?" he asks, concern clear in his voice. "Did I hurt you?"
"No," I manage between sobs. "No, it's not that. I just... I didn't know. I didn't know it could be like that. That you would... that anyone would..."
"Would what?"
"Care about my pleasure. Make it about me instead of them." I bury my face in his chest, breathing in his scent, feeling the solid warmth of him.
His arms tighten around me. "That's what you deserve. Worship. Reverence. Pleasure given freely, not taken forcefully."
"I want to give you pleasure too." I pull back, wiping my eyes, and reach for his belt. "Show me how to?—"
He catches my hands gently, but I see the war in his eyes.
"I want all of you," I whisper. "Please. I want to be yours completely."
"Rosalynn—"
"I'm choosing this. Choosing you." I pull my hands free, reach for him again. "Please don't make me beg anymore."
Something shifts in his expression, and he’s going to give in. I can feel it. "You're sure?"
"I've never been more sure of anything."
He sits up, pulls his shirt over his head, and I lose my breath at the sight of him.
The lamplight plays across his chest, highlighting every scar, every mark that tells the story of his life.
I sit up too, reaching out to trace a knife wound across his ribs, a bullet graze on his shoulder.
"So many scars," I murmur.
"Does it bother you?"
"No. They're part of you. Part of what made you strong enough to protect me."
When my fingers find the S.C. carved into his hip, he tenses.
I lean forward, press my lips to the scarred initials, and he groans.
"She hurt you," I say against his skin.
"She's the past. You're my present. My future." His hands tangle in my hair, pull me up to kiss him—deep and desperate and full of promise.
He lays me back gently, his weight settling over me, and I feel the difference immediately.
"This might hurt," he warns, positioning himself. "I'll go slow."
"I trust you."
He enters me gradually, watching my face for any sign of pain.
There's pressure, stretching, a sharp sting that makes me gasp.
He freezes.
