Page 42 of Brutal Vows

My eyes wander to his chest and shoulders. The mix of scars, tattoos, bruises, and red patches from our sparring session fill me with longing.

He shovels another bite into my mouth before rolling my other sleeve.

I chew, swallow, and slip off the stool before he can offer me another bite.

He gives me a warning look.

“Just give me a minute. I’ll be right back,” I promise.

My love for him grows when he stays on the barstool as I walk away. Despite his need for control, he gives me the space I need, even though he doesn’t know where I’m going or why.

I grab the first aid kit from the bathroom and set it on the counter beside my plate.

He moves faster than I can process, weaving his hand into my hair and pulling me against him with his powerful arm.

“Where are you hurt?” he growls.

I shake my head. He pulls my hair, exposing my throat, and growls as he crowds me against the counter. I grab his wrist when he curls his fingers into my collar.

“I’m not hurt! It’s not for me. It’s for you,” I say.

He stills and meets my eyes.

“Let me treat your injuries,” I demand.

After an intense study of my face, he shakes his head.

“These are old scars. They’re beyond help,” he says.

I scoff and pinch the reddened flesh of his pectoral where my knuckles left clear marks. His eyes darken and he hisses as he pulls my neckline aside to expose my collarbone.

“Not your scars,” I say as I pinch harder. “Theseare the areas I need to soothe. I hurt you.”

He twists his hand in my hair and asks, “You don’t care about my scars?”

I shrug.

“I have my own, remember?” I quip.

“That’s not the same. I earned mine through violence,” he says.

“I know. It’s okay.”

By the wonder creeping into his slate-grey eyes, he understands the hidden meaning behind my words.

I don’t care. I love you.

I take the biggest risk I’ve ever taken in my life, wrap my hands around his nape, and pull his lips down to mine.

Relief spears through me when he leans down and devours my mouth like a starving man at a feast.

Just once. Even if it’s just once, I want to know what it feels like to be adored and worshipped. Even if it’s rough, raw, and terrifying, I want it. I want him as lost and desperate as I am.

His tongue explores every inch of my mouth, stroking and flicking until each sensation spears down my spine and echoes in every erogenous zone in my body. When he pulls back, I sink my nails into his nape and dive into his mouth with all the fervor he used to invade mine. His low groan vibrates deep into my soul and melts my bones. Magma bubbles in my core. I lick his teeth and nip his bottom lip before rising onto my tiptoes, wrapping my arms more firmly around his nape, and demanding deeper access into his mouth.

He obliges with a low, throaty moan. I rub my breasts on his chest, curl my tongue along the roof of his mouth, and hook my leg around his hip. He grabs my ass and twists his hand in my hair.

I whimper when he pulls his lips away from mine and forces my head back.

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