Page 34 of Haunted Nights & Savage Sins
“Don’t do that. I don’t want your pity.”
Now I force myself to get serious. I raise my hand, but before I have a chance to touch him he jerks away. I keep my gaze focused on his, letting him know without words that I don’t mean him any harm. Lowering my hand even more, I press my fingertips on his scar and gently caress him there.
“Cormac, you give this scar a life of its own. A life it doesn’t deserve. This scar doesn’t make you the man that you are. It’s a part of you. You as a whole. Only a small piece of you. There isno reason someone wouldn’t be able to see past it to see who you are.”
His eyes darken, and he lowers his hand until it’s lying on my thigh. “Can you see past it?”
“I barely remember it’s there until you bring it up. I don’t see the scar when I look at your face. I only see you, Cormac. Just you.”
“That’s unbelievable,” he whispers as he looks up at me.
“Really? Now what can I do to make that believable for you?” I whisper back before I lean forward. The cinnamon of my breath mixing with his. There is a subtle undertone in the air between us. Something that smells of fire and smoke but not enough to alarm. Just enough to make me feel soothed. This is him, all of him.
Instead of pressing my lips to his, which I’m guessing he is expecting, I move my lips upward and press the gentlest of kisses on the very edge of the scar that he’s so ashamed of.
His body shudders and his grip on my thigh tightens. He doesn’t say anything in return, just holds his breath waiting for me to react to what I’ve just done.
I scoot closer in his lap and press another kiss to the scar, this one more fully on the area. I do this over and over until I hear him moan. I wonder if anyone has ever shown this part of his body any love before. I’m assuming no if he’s telling me he’s never had a girlfriend.
He didn’t ask, so I didn’t have to tell him that I’ve never had a boyfriend either. It’s not because of what I looked like but more so because of who I am. Most of the men in my town were too afraid of my father to ever even try their luck with me. And themen that I was able to be around never looked at me like a conquest or a prize thanks to my smart mouth and the fact that they knew if they even smiled in my direction my father was liable to slit their throats.
That’s not to say I’ve never had the company of a man. There were a few one-night stands that I managed to get away with. None of them ever left me satisfied, and I often found myself questioning what the big deal about sex was.
I raise my other hand to the other side of his face before slowly letting my fingers slide up into his newly trimmed hair. I tug on the strands slightly as I kiss my way across his face and press my lips on the other side.
The space between my legs is moist with desire and arousal. I can feel his cock getting hard beneath me. He wants me. I want him to want me. The most surprising part of this whole night is the fact that I want him too.
I don’t know if it’s because of the drink I’ve had tonight or the fact that I feel closer to him today than I have since I’ve met him, but I don’t want this night to end without knowing what it feels like to have his hands on my body.
“What are you doing?” he questions when I pull back a little.
“What I want to… unless you want me to stop, then I will.” I make a move like I’m ready to get off his lap, but he holds me still. I’m playing like I’m in control. But the reality of it all is I don’t want to stop. I shouldn’t want him like I do. I’m his prisoner. Maybe this is some sort of Stockholm syndrome I’m experiencing, but the more I learn about him the more I feel for him.
“No, don’t stop. Please don’t fucking stop.”
That’s it for me. If I thought I had any willpower left, hearing him so vulnerable ripped the last shreds away.
I gasp and press my lips to his. He groans deep and wraps his arms around my body, pressing me tighter against him.
Our lips move against each other’s as if they were made to be tangled in this dance. Our tongues dart out and caress each other.
We breathe each other in until I’m dizzy from the experience and I have to break away. He doesn’t let up. Instead, he moves his mouth to the side of my face and does a much better job of what I’d done earlier. I know he told me that his sexual experience was limited, but right now it feels like I’m being worked over by a master of the craft. I don’t question it. Instead, I close my eyes and let him have his way with me.
He kisses at the sides of my face and then down to my neck. When he sucks and nips at the pressure points there, I can’t help the moan that pops out of my mouth. I grab hold of him tightly and readjust my body, trying to get more comfortable in the seated position that I’m in. I’m so close to him, but it’s not enough. I want more. I want to feel all of him.
He must be having the same thoughts I am because without so much as a grunt of exertion, he stands, lifting me like I weigh nothing. The sudden movement causes me to squeal. I wrap my legs around his waist, and he holds one hand under my ass to keep me steady. My need already dampening my panties and the hem of the sundress pushed all the way up to my waist.
Seconds later, as our mouths continue in this dance, I feel the wind at my back and realize that we are moving. The excitement bubbling inside of me threatens to spill out. This is reallyhappening. My heart booms in my chest over and over, keeping in steady synchronization with his.
At first I expect him to be bringing me to my bedroom, but instead he takes a quick turn and we end up in what I’m assuming is his personal space. Out of all the places I’ve explored in the mansion, his bedroom isn’t one of them.
As we cross the threshold, I pull away from him only slightly just so I can take in my surroundings. It’s dark.
Just like he likes it.
The walls are all covered in dark drapery. No art, no mirrors. Only candles of different shapes and sizes all lit up. A large bed in the middle of the room that looks like it could sleep three grown men comfortably. A sitting chair in the corner and a bookshelf in the other one. The simplicity of the room matches Cormac’s personality, but it also makes me sad for him.
What would’ve happened if his father didn’t make him marry me? Would he have condemned himself to live out his days in this room? Alone and in the dark?
