Page 60 of Fallen Heir
Raised. Uneven. Jagged.
All her scars.
The kind that told stories no one should have to live through. The kind that carved rage into a man’s chest and made him want blood.
My grip tightened around her thigh as the weight of what had been done to her slammed into me again—like shrapnel to the gut. But I didn’t stop. Wouldn’t let this moment become about him.
I pushed the thoughts away. She was here. With me.
And she wasn’t hiding.
I shoved the anger down, grounding myself in her—her heat, her scent, the way her body pressed into mine like she didn’t want a single inch between us. Just heat and friction andneed.
My hand slid higher, grazing the rigid texture beneath the velvet, the map of pain she wore like armor. Her stomach tensed beneath my palm, but she didn’t pull away. Didn’t flinch.She let me touch her. All of her. Again. And in that moment, I knew she trusted me.And that trust? It undid me.
I gripped her waist, my hands mapping the jagged terrain of her scars—but I didn’t give a damn about the damage. Not in the way she feared. I kissed her deeper, harder, until a primal sound ripped from my throat.
She whimpered into my mouth—raw, breathless—and it shattered something in me.
Then her head tilted back, baring her throat.
Her walls were down.
I slid my hand between her thighs, fingers brushing over soaked silk. She gasped, hips jerking, and I cursed under my breath.
She wasdrenched.
Slick. Hot.
Her arousal coating my fingers before I’d even pushed them inside.
I slid one finger into her slowly, letting her feel every inch—every deliberate curve—until I was buried to the knuckle. She was tight—so fucking tight—clenching around me like she didn’t know what it meant to be touched with care.
I gave her a moment to adjust before entering in a second finger. Easing in with deliberate patience, stretching her just enough to make her whimper again. Just like before.
“I won’t fuck you,” I growled against her ear, my voice thick, low, wrecked with need. “Not here. But I am going to make you cum.”
She shivered—every muscle in her body drawn tight like a live wire.
I began to move, slow and deep, letting her feel every stroke, every press of my fingers curling just right. My palm slid higher, circling her clit with pressure that made her legs quiver.Her body began to shake.
Her head fell back against the wall, lips parted in a silent cry, tension building like a storm under my hands.
“That’s it,” I whispered. “Let go for me.”
I thrust into her harder, fingers faster, syncing my rhythm to the way she bucked against my palm. Her breath came in sharp, desperate gasps. I could feel how close she was—tight, frantic, barely holding on.
So I pushed her over the edge.
She shattered around me, thighs trembling, body arching as a soft cry tore from her lips. She clung to me like I was the only solid thing left in her world. Like she was falling—and I was the only one who could hold her up.
But I wasn’t finished.
I dropped to my knees before she could stop me, lifting her dress again, andtastedher.
Because I had to. Because the need to claim her again had swallowed me whole.
I wanted her to forget every hand that ever hurt her—And remember only mine.
