Page 12 of Inked Desires
With an annoyed sigh, I grab the hem of my black T-shirt and yank it off in one motion. I just want to get it over with quickly. When I lift my eyes, I see Arès staring at my chest. His jaw is clenched, his gaze glowing, making me shiver.
Embarrassed, I rub my forehead.
“Stop looking at me like I killed your firstborn,” I murmur nervously.
Arès growls in annoyance before lifting his eyes to meet mine.
“Lie down on the table,” he orders.
He tilts the backrest so I can lean on it and hold on if the pain gets too intense.
I turn my back to him, and suddenly a rumble behind me makes me jump. That’s exactly why I hide my back from others.
“What the hell is this?” he growls.
Ignoring his tone, I simply settle on the table.
“I fell,” I say.
Another lie. Nothing new.
“On an iron?” he snaps.
My eyes burn. A lump forms in my throat, choking my breath. I try to control my breathing to avoid collapsing. I need to keep my cool.
“I wasn’t paying attention,” I nod.“I tripped over the cord.”
“Let me guess: the yellow stains on your skin, they’re from that fall too?”
“Exactly.”
I feel movement just behind me. He ignores the chair next to me, and I sense his warmth spreading directly on my skin when his fingertips brush my spine. My legs tremble again under his attention.
“Why are you lying to me?” he whispers near my ear, his breath caressing me.
The trembling turns into vibrations invading my whole being. My heart, pounding heavily in my chest, seems crushed by his closeness. This sensation is new, devoid of fear or disgust, leaving only a deep, unknown desire.
I rest my forehead on the headrest. My breathing has sped up, and I don’t want him to misinterpret my body’s reaction.
“I’m not lying,” I whisper.
“I hate liars,” he mutters in a rough voice.“Nobody falls so precisely on an iron that the imprint is perfectly recognizable. Ignore my question if you want, but don’t lie to me. Ever.”
His fingers travel down further, discovering a scar on my left side just above my waist. Gently, he traces its contours. The wound healed long ago, unlike the yellow streaks on my back.
They didn’t come from the same punishment.
It was another day.
Another fault.
Jace always touched that spot as a warning. He wanted me to remember the consequences if I disobeyed.
When Arès softly strokes that scar, I perceive no malicious intent in his gesture. On the contrary, a myriad of shivers runs through my veins. The intoxicating scent of his perfume envelops me, chasing away the bad memories. All that matters now is the touch of his fingers brushing my skin tenderly.
Yet, in a way, I should hate myself for letting a man touch me again. I sold my soul to the devil once—I know what it feels like to burn my wings, again and again.
“You haven’t shown me the design,” I whisper, pulling him back to reality.
