Page 85 of His Darkest Obsession
We break the kiss, and I trace my finger along the bottom of my lip as I look at her in all her glory.
Her bronzed caramel skin is contrasted against the cold white marble of the bathroom, and through the steam, she looks like a goddess walking among the clouds. My eyes are drawn to the scars crisscrossing the inside of her thighs, and I feel that angry hot surge of protectiveness flooding my body.
She’s perfect.
Utterly perfect.
And someone hurt her.
She stares at me as well, drinking in the details of my body. Her mouth is slightly agape and I realize that this is the first time that she’s ever seen all of my tattoos.
She places a hand against my chest, and trace the outline of the Orthodox church on my chest, up to the stars on my shoulders, before coming back down to feel the skulls on my right side.
She looks up at my eyes again as her hand continues to move, over the cross on my navel, until it rests against the Madonna on my left side.
For a moment, I think that she’s about to ask me for their meaning. And if she did, I would answer without hesitation even though protocol dictates that a proper thief—never mind a pakhan—should ever disclose the meanings.
But she doesn’t, instead, she keeps her eyes locked on mine as her hand easily undoes my belt and pulls my pants down to reveal the erection that’s been screaming for release since the gas station.
She gulps as she takes it in her hand, and I hiss in appreciation as her fingers—slick with precum—starts stroking the head.
I walk backwards, and she follows until we’re both standing beneath the hot spray. Then my lips find her again and my hand fists in her hair while her hand strokes me faster and faster. My other hand slides down her shoulders, careful as it savors the feel of her soft skin.
When we pull back from the kiss, panting, I notice that some of the blue dye has washed out of her hair and now runs down her shoulder in rivulets.
And for the first time, I see dark copper hair peeking out at her roots.
“Your hair,” I start as my hand rises back up to brush through them, and with every brush, I notice more and more red. “Your natural color is beautiful.”
She closes her eyes and presses her forehead against my chest, planting a soft kiss on my fevered skin without words. My hand cocoons around her slender frame and I feel our heartbeats thudding together under the water and the steam.
“When did you start dying your hair?” I ask softly as I tilt her head up.
I expect her to shy back, to hide her secrets like usual. But not this time. Not after what we’ve done.
“After my father died,” she answers, and my heart shatters for her.
Anger burns hot in my chest, and my hand moves down to brush the scars crisscrossing her inner thighs.
“And these?”
She gives her head a small shake. “Before.”
Miels is crying again tonight.
The rage brewing inside me threatens to boil over. Suddenly, the death of those two cops feels almost meaningless. I killed for her, yes. But all I did was scratch at the surface of the ocean of pain that she was subjected to.
And that pain must’ve come from Bennet. Or someone in his inner circle. I’m sure of it.
I want to press for details, and I want her to confirm to me that my suspicions are right. But I know that if I do, she’ll just close herself off again just as she’s starting to open up to me.
So, I pull her closer to me, and wrap my arms around her shoulders as I kiss her hair under the spray.
"You don't need tell me," I murmur, tilting her chin up so our eyes meet. "Not tonight. Not now. When you’re ready to tell,printsessa, I’ll be here to listen."
Indigo's eyes flicker with uncertainty, and I run my thumb along her jawline, watching water droplets cascade down her face, washing away more and more blue dye to reveal her true self.
Then she gives me a small nod, and I bend my head down to capture her lips in a kiss as the remnants of blue dye swirl at our feet.
