Page 131 of The Heart of a Villain

Clenching my fist and resisting the urge, I find the strength to ask, “Have you bought it with me in mind, princess?”

She cocks her head to the side and winks at me, the mischievous grin spreading her plump lips, which shoots arrows of need through me, intensifying the desire to fuck her on the nearest available surface. “Maybe.” She chuckles at my growl. “Probably.” A beat passes and her voice becomes huskier, the lust shimmering in her eyes while her toes curl into the floor. “Definitely.” I take a step toward her, but she wiggles her fingers, stopping me. “Nah-ah. I’m in control, remember?”

Ah, I see.

“I remember, baby.” Her cheeks heat up, letting me know she loves when I call her that and she slowly saunters toward me, goose bumps breaking on her skin while her breathing speeds up a bit, creating frenzy around us while the outside world slowly ceases to exist as nothing else matters but me and her.

Or at least I think so before she reaches me and places her hot, splayed palms on my rugged flesh, contrasting so much with her flawlessness and reminding me once again how different we are.

For my past is a horrible pool of despair and pain while she knew nothing but love.

Darkness is my salvation and how can I share it without pulling her deep into it?

My princess should never be tainted by it as her soul should only know happiness.

Her hot breath fans my skin, her fingers gently tracing over my old wounds, some of them still razor red and some faded, yet all of them showing that once upon a time they brought so much pain I always wondered how I survived them all.

The pads of her fingers trace the round burn mark from the hot blade pressed into me as Jim laughed and everyone watched. Her hand shifts to the right, toward several claw marks from one of the beasts in the arena. “I hate what they’ve done to you,” she whispers, gently rubbing her thumb over the scar before moving lower toward the faint, barely visible scar her knife left on me. “I’m sorry I hurt you.” She meets my gaze and then lifts on her tiptoes, her lips softly touching mine, asking for forgiveness while my tongue pushes inside her, refusing to take the apology.

My girl should never apologize for defending herself because her resolve is one of the things I love the most about her.

Palming her head, I tilt it a little while devouring her mouth as emotions rush through me that I’ve never felt before.

Gratitude for being able to love me despite all my flaws, flaws that should have sent her running in the opposite direction, and instead she welcomes me in her arms, giving me something I thought I’d never receive, for the likes of me are unworthy of such gifts.

Atonement.

And this time around she comes to me willingly. How can a man like me who had to fight for everything most of his life react to such gift?

We share a breath as our mouths separate, her palms resuming her journey as she skims them to the countless cigarette buds imprints and I close my eyes when the memories of all my horrors flash in my mind, an endless kaleidoscope that no one should ever experience.

Despite all our sexual encounters, I controlled her touches and made sure they rarely lingered on my scars because the wounds might have healed on the outside… but on the inside… on the inside they hurt so much I cannot stand it.

I always wore my scars proudly, showing them off because they spoke about my strength.

With her, though, they speak about my agony, agony that no one has ever heard of before because when you live among the monsters, you don’t have the privilege of being weak.

Weakness is a weapon and we learned from an early age that no one should ever have a weapon that might kill us used against us.

Tears form in her eyes and she leans forward, bestowing a kiss on my abused flesh, the touch serving as balm on the invisible open wound.

God.

I think only in this moment I finally understand why all the men chose love despite our lives.

Who would willingly give up to feel this absolution, this relief and love coming from one person who has all the weapons to hurt you… and yet will never ever do it?

“I hate what they’ve done to you,” she repeats, placing a few more kisses on my skin as her palm glides lower, reaching my belt. “But I love your scars.” I still at this and she looks at me again, her ocean eyes holding so much love I’m drowning in it. “Because they will always remind me that you survived.” Another kiss. “Survived to be with me.”

My scars will always hold cries of desperation of a small boy who was terrified, but with her close, adoring them the way she does, she almost makes me believe that someday they will be nothing but just a fleeting memory in time.

“Aileen,” My hand tangles in her hair, gripping it, while she continues to do whatever she pleases to me. Her fingers play with my belt, unhooking it before she reaches the zipper, tugging it down, the sound changing the atmosphere around us instantly.

Her breathing grows raspy and I tip her head back once again, our stares meeting while she licks her plump lips. I swallow her moan when my mouth lands on her, entwining our tongues in a deep kiss that knowns no mercy as I demand everything from her.

Love, surrender, acceptance.

For her I would always control my darkness, never letting it ruin what we have and will never cross the line that makes me unable to go back to her.

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