Page 59 of Born into Blood

I smile and lean into his touch before turning so I can straddle him, and he immediately grabs onto my hips, holding me gently in place.

“Everything about you is perfect, kisa,” he reminds me, “and nothing will ever change that.”

“I’m not perfect, Luka. I’m far from it.”

“Not to me.” He digs his fingers into my hips, nudging me closer so our lips are almost touching. “To me, you’re perfect.”

I run my hands through his dark hair and close the distance between us. His lips are warm against mine and so damn familiar. I love knowing how this man kisses. I love that I’m the only woman who knows what it feels like to be kissed by him, the way he likes to nip and lick at my lips, coaxing my mouth open before delving inside, the way he groans when I run my tongue along his, and the way he likes to put his hands on my throat, pressing his thumb to my pulse point so he can feel the rapid beat of my heart as he kisses me senseless.

I’ve spent my whole life trying to be invisible, but now all I want is to be seen by him. It’s terrifying to take the first step, and when I bring my hands to the bottom of my shirt, I’m feeling way more fear than gutsy, badass exhilaration. I’m taking a gamble that the brave, badass feeling will catch up and come out to play, because when the shirt isn’t even halfway up my body, my hands are shaking so badly that Luka stops me.

“Are you sure you want to do this? You can keep it on, kisa. I promise I don’t mind.”

I nod and whisper, “I’m sure. I need to do this.”

Before I lose my courage, I pull my shirt off and toss it aside. I’m in nothing but my bra and skirt, and there’s nothing covering my scarred arms. No one’s ever seen them but me, and my breaths are fast and quick when the weight of what I’ve just done hits me. Without thinking, I go to reach for my shirt, wondering what in the fuck just came over me when Luka grabs my wrists, gently stopping me.

“Baby,” he whispers, running his eyes over the mess I’ve made of my skin, and when he slowly runs his fingers over my arm, a tear slips out, even though I’m trying my damndest to hold it back. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to help you, kisa,” he whispers. “I’m sorry that you felt this was the only option you had, and I’m sorry you’ve had to carry this secret around for so many years.”

He brings my arm to his mouth and slowly kisses over my scars, his soft lips pressing against each and every cut I’ve ever made, and when he’s done, he picks up my other arm and starts again. By the time he’s kissed every silvery line that I’ve marked myself with, I’m crying, even though I swore I wasn’t going to.

He kisses my wrist and then cups my face. “You’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and you’re still the only woman I’ll ever love and the only one I’ll ever want to touch. Your scars don’t make you ugly, kisa. If anything, they make you even more beautiful to me. It’s a part of yourself that you keep hidden that you’ve chosen to share with me. That’s a gift, baby, and not one I take lightly.”

I hear the truth in his voice, and for the first time in my life, I feel seen, truly seen, and it’s not the horrifying experience I thought it’d be. It’s beautiful, even if my scarred skin isn’t. He makes me feel whole. It’s not that I no longer feel damaged, I know I am, my skin isn’t going to magically fix itself, but I feel accepted just the way I am, scars and all, and it’s liberating in a way that I hadn’t been expecting.

Bringing his mouth back to mine, he kisses me slowly, reminding me with every touch of how loved I am, and when I open wider, sucking his tongue in further, he groans and deepens the kiss. He’s hard beneath me, and when I start to rock my hips, he brings one hand to my ass, cupping me tightly in a possessive grip that has me pulling on his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against mine.

He breaks our kiss just long enough for me to get his shirt off, and then his lips crash against mine in a hungry, bruising kiss that I never want to end. When his hands run up my back, I moan, encouraging him to do away with the last piece of clothing between our chests. Unhooking my bra, he slides the straps down my shoulders, never breaking our kiss, until I toss it aside and press my breasts to his bare chest.

“Jesus,” he groans, holding me tighter against him while I wrap my arms around his neck, completely drunk on the sensations running through my body as my nipples scrape along his muscled chest and his arms cocoon my body against his.

With an ease that will never cease to surprise me, he stands up from the couch, taking me with him and walks us down the hall I’ve yet to go down. I pull back with a smile.

“You haven’t given me a tour of your place yet.”

He laughs and nods his chin at the doorway we’re passing. “Spare room.”

I look in, unable to see anything except the outline of a bed and dresser.

“Bathroom,” he says as we pass another dark room.

“You know I can’t actually see any of this, right?”

“I’ll give you a proper tour later, kisa. Plus, we’ll need to christen every room, as well as the hallway and the terrace and the elevator. It won’t feel like home until we do.”

“Well, we can’t have that, now can we?”

“No, we cannot,” he agrees with a smile and carries me into the next room.

“Wow,” I whisper, looking around at the large bedroom. It’s bigger than the living room in my mom’s apartment, and the curtains are open, so there’s plenty of light from the city right below us coming in through the large windows. There’s not a strip of foil to be found, and I fucking love it.

“I’m glad you like it.” He carries me to the window, letting me see the view beyond. There’s another set of French doors in here, so we have our own private entrance to the rooftop. I hadn’t realized it was L-shaped. None of this is visible from the hammock.

“You’ve been holding out,” I say, eyeing the large hot tub.

“Never, kisa. I was just saving it as a surprise for later.”

I turn back to look at him, cupping the back of his neck while the fingers of my other hand run along his stubbled cheek. “For later?”

---