What She Didn't Know (What She 1)

“I want to see your scars,” I said as I reached around to her front, hooked my fingers in the sleeves of the flannel shirt that was always tied around her waist, and pulled the knot free. I leaned back long enough that it dropped to the floor between us. Before she could move away, I pressed back against her. My lips touched the side of her neck and she hissed in a breath.

She reached up and back, cupping the back of my head in her hand. “You don’t want to see my scars, Mason. I promise you. They’re scary.” She tilted her head so I could press my lips harder against her neck. She shivered against me, and a shot of adrenaline surged through my veins.

“Stand still,” I said. I leaned back, putting my hands on her hips. I slowly slid my thumbs beneath the edge of her white tank top. The rugged texture of crisscrossed scars abraded the pads of my thumbs, and I stopped to drag my thumbs back and forth across the area where the scars met. She gasped, but she didn’t move. She spread her legs a little wider and leaned forward. I lifted the shirt, replacing my thumbs with my lips.

I lingered, feeling the puckered softness that was her past. I tasted the regret and the pain. But I also tasted the future. I tasted promises made and promises yet to be kept. I tasted hope and desire. I pushed her shirt higher, and unhooked her bra when I came to it, spreading the fabric wide as I lifted her shirt all the way to rest on her shoulders.

“They’re not very pretty,” she whispered. Her voice shook.

“They’re beautiful.” I kissed each one, licking them with my tongue, tasting the years of pain. I tasted her will to survive in each brush of my tongue. I tasted her strength. And I tasted her love for me.

She lifted her shirt over her head and lowered her arms, shifting her shoulders so that her bra fell forward.

“Are they just on your back?” I asked.

She nodded. “And my arms.”

Slowly, I swept my hands up and down her back, rubbing down her arms and back up.

“That feels so good.” She arched her back like a kitten. “No one has ever touched me like this before.”

“You’re not a virgin.” That much I knew to be true.

“I am in all the ways that matter.”

I hoped she meant she was a virgin to love. That she was a virgin to desire. “Will you let me make you come?” I asked.

“Yes, please.” She laughed. It was a deep, dark sound filled with uncertainty.

Jamie had dark stains on her soul that were as thick as the ones that were usually on her clothing. I shoved them to the side as I reached around her and unbuttoned her jeans. I lowered her pants and her panties down to her ankles, and then bent behind her to help her step out of them.

I slid back up her body, my hands skimming her curves. I cupped her breast with one hand as my other dipped down between her legs. “Is this why you came here?” I whispered against her ear.

“Yes.”

“I thought so. I can give you what you need.”

“I know you can.”

I reached into her curls and slid my finger against her wetness. Her head fell back against my shoulder and I took her weight against me.

“Don’t be easy with me. Don’t treat me like I’m broken.”

Her words shook me to my very core.

I pressed hard with my finger, making tight circles against her swollen clit. She whimpered and hung her head forward, her neck limp. I knew she was close when she turned her head to kiss me and, as her lips touched mine, she came apart. I kissed her through it, holding her up as her world tilted.

When she finally came back to earth, I tried to remember where I was. My cock was pressed tight against her ass. I shoved my track pants down to my knees and let her feel how hard I was against her lower back.

“Get a condom,” she said.

I reached into the kitchen drawer. I knew my friends had left some in the junk drawer the last time he was here. When I’d found them, I’d tossed them into the drawer. I pulled one out and rolled it quickly down my length and then I grabbed a handful of Jamie’s hair, tugging her head back as I kicked her legs open wider. Holding her hips, I tilted her bottom up, and then I surged inside. She was tight and slick, even with the condom. I pulled her hair, holding her head back as I pumped in and out.

“I don’t think you’ll break,” I whispered against her ear, trying to hold off my orgasm. I reached in front of her and cupped both her breasts in my hands. Her tit

s filled my hands perfectly, her nipples falling between my thumbs and forefingers of each hand. I tugged hard and she clenched tighter.

She liked a little pain. I should have suspected this about her. Yet, still, I didn’t know how much she could take. I felt sure that the pain pushed her past the uncertainty. It pushed past her scars and the old wounds. I tugged and yanked, elongating her nipples in long sweeps of my fingers, pinching them hard as I released. Then I did it all over again.