Page 96 of Scarred
“I want it.” There’s no hesitation in her tone now.
“Beg for it,” I demand.
She moves from where she’s lying, flipping around until she’s on all fours, that perfect ass high in the air as she crawls toward me until she’s beneath my rigid length. She looks up at me from beneath her lashes, her hands gliding up the inside of my thighs.
My abdomen clenches in pleasure, the coil winding tighter inside of me. It’s an incredible sight, her slinking toward me like an animal, her virginity smeared along my cock as she prepares to beg me for my cum.
“Tristan,” she whispers. “Please.”
My muscles tense, my shaft jerking in my hand.
“Paint it on my skin so everyone knows who I belong to.”
And that’s all it takes for me to explode, stars dotting my vision as my cock spurts shot after shot all over her face, dripping down her cheeks and splashing onto the swell of her breasts.
My chest heaves and my ears ring from the blinding pleasure.
I look down at her, my mouth parted, aftershocks vibrating through my veins.
She smirks, her tongue peeking out to lick the cum from her lips, her fingers swiping through the mess on her collarbone and rubbing it into her skin.
“Yours,” she purrs.
Reaching down, I smooth my hand over her face, my thumb pressing into the wetness on her cheek and smearing it before moving it to her mouth.
She sucks, her tongue swirling around the tip of my finger, and my cock twitches again, something I’ve never felt before bursting like fireworks in my chest.
CHAPTER40
Sara B.
By morning, he’s gone.
He has to be, of course. Nevertheless, my heart aches as though it’s been abandoned.
Holding on to my virginity was never something I did because it was expected. I don’t prescribe to the belief that it’s a gift to be given. I’ve just never found someone who I cared to experience it with. It’s vulnerable. Intimate. And while I’ve fooled around with boys in the past, there’s been no one I’ve considered my equal.
Until him.
A sharp knock raps on the door and I stretch beneath the covers, my insides twinging in pain. Before I can say a word, it swings open, all three of my ladies waltzing in as if privacy is something I don’t deserve.
Marisol heads straight to the large windows on the far side of my room and whips open the heavy curtains, allowing the dim light from the gloomy Saxum skies to pour into the space.
“Rise and shine,” Sheina singsongs as she moves past me, her eyes as bright as her blonde hair.
Frowning, I move to sit up on the bed, the sharp ache between my legs cutting through me like a sword, making me gasp from the feeling. Ophelia clears her throat and moves toward me until she’s pressed against the edge of the mattress.
“Milady,” she whispers, her eyes glancing to Marisol’s back and then to me again. “Are you alright?”
I tilt my head, assuming she means from everything that’s happened in the past twenty-four hours. The truth is, I’m not alright—the sticky fingers of grief don’t let go easily—but I won’t show it to everyone. Showing emotion is weak, and I cannot afford to lookweak, especially now.
“Of course I am, Ophelia.” I smile at her.
She leans closer, her brows drawing in. “There’s blood on your sheets.” Her voice is quiet, as though she’s trying to keep from letting the others hear. Embarrassment slams into me, and I glance down, realizing the blankets have slipped, specks of red dotting the fabric, surrounded by crumbled, hardened wax.
My cheeks flush, and my fingers grapple for the comforter, pulling it over the mess as I clear my throat. “Thank you, Ophelia.”
She grins and tips her head.
