When I turn back to look at him, he peels his shirt over his head. My eyes drop to the ink and long lines of muscle that remind me he’s not a boy anymore. That V at his hips disappears behind his jeans, taunting me with a part of his body I got somewhat reacquainted with a few days ago.
Even that part of his body has matured.
The loveseat and dining table in here aren’t surfaces I want to be on, but when he grabs a blanket and spreads it out on the floor, I realize where he’s going with this. Nervously, I bite down on my bottom lip as he walks toward me. My nerves disappear when his lips find mine again, hungry and bruising, as though he’s as desperate as I am.
When he lifts me up, my legs go back around his waist, and he slowly lowers me to the floor. My back hits the ground gently as he tears his lips away from mine, and starts pushing my shirt up while kissing down my neck.
His lips and hands are so distracting that I forget all about why my shirt can’t come off until I hear his sharp intake of air as his body freezes against mine. My eyes dart open, but it’s too late to cover them up. My shirt is gone, Chase is sitting up between my legs, staring in horror at my abdomen that is marred and hideous, marked by dozens and dozens of scars.
Tears spring to my eyes, and I panic, trying to grab for my shirt, but he catches my arms and pins me beneath him as his jaw tics and he stares into my eyes.
“The fucking hell happened, Mika?” he growls. “Who fucking did this?”
The heat of my tears singes against my face, and his look softens even though I can tell he’s still furious.
“Please don’t look at it,” I whisper hoarsely.
His eyes grow colder, and he leans down closer, putting his body almost touching mine as he keeps my hands pinned above my head.
“What fucking happened?” he asks again, quieter, almost deadly calm.
Swallowing against the knot in my throat, I stare him in the eyes.
“You have your dark past. I have mine. Can’t we just let it go?”
He grinds his teeth, but he slowly releases my hands. Immediately, I grab my shirt, but before I can pull it on, he jerks it out of my hands and t
osses it aside again. Without saying another word, he bends presses his lips to my stomach, and I stiffen against his touch.
“Don’t,” I whisper harshly, hating being touched there with his lips. He shouldn’t have to kiss that.
“Tell me what happened and I won’t,” he tells me, dragging his lips from one set of scars to another, continuing to kiss the disgusting marks and angry red lines that never faded.
“Chase,” I plead.
He ignores me, still kissing each and every jagged or precise line, every white scar or red mark… Every. Single. One.
More tears fall, and he works my panties down, slowly kissing his way down my legs. “You’re going to tell me, Mika. Then I’m going to fuck up whoever did this to you.”
“Trust me,” I whisper as he starts to come back up, leaving my panties at my knees as he kisses my hip bone, “they fucked themselves up worse than you ever could.”
“I doubt it,” he murmurs, once again tracing some of those disgusting marks.
When I try to push him away, he doesn’t budge. Instead, he lowers his head again, this time kissing down my middle instead of to my thigh. When his lips brush my clit, it pulses and throbs, and I moan.
“I’m going to make you forget it’s even there,” he says before latching on.
I try to spread my legs wider, but my panties at my knees keep me restrained, causing the intensity of his mouth to be so much stronger as he works me over, owning me as primal sounds rumble from his chest.
My hands go to his hair, holding him there as his body stays just off mine in a push-up position. It doesn’t feel like enough but it feels like too much at the same time.
My back arches, pushing into him, pushing me closer to his mouth as he continues to drive my mind into a frenzy. Everything on me gets too tight, almost leaving me on the verge of breaking, or so it seems. Then suddenly, it explodes, and ecstasy washes over me as my body trembles—actually trembles.
Chase doesn’t stop until I’m begging him to because it’s all too sensitive… almost painful. Finally, he tears his mouth away from me and lazily kisses his way back up, slowly dragging his lips across my skin.
When his lips find mine again, I can barely kiss him because I’m out of breath… as though I just ran a marathon or something. He grins against my lips, when I have to break the kiss to drag air into my starving lungs.
“Tell me that doesn’t bring back good memories,” he says as he pulls back, brushing a piece of hair from my face.