Page 139 of Nemesync
He didn’t argue, merely wrapping his arms around me. A few moments later, I found myself on top of him, my curiosity piqued by the tattoos on his chest. “What about this one? And this one too?” I said touching the ink on his skin.
“They cover scars, memories... things,” he replied, his eyes focused on the movement of my fingers around his heart.
Oh...
My heart broke a little more, noticing the way his eyes were lost in the memories.
Being Pakhan at such a young age, with all the responsibilities, the killings, and the weight of the title, I can’t imagine what he had to do to earn the name ‘D’yavol’ in the industry. But I hated it.
Without a word, I leaned down, pressing gentle kisses to each tattoo, as if trying to heal the invisible wounds they concealed.
Elijah Volkov was a masterpiece, each tattoo, each scar, each story, it was art, and I was soft for art.
He watched me with a mix of gratitude and wonder, reached up, gently cupping my face.
“You don’t have to kiss away my past, Zanae. It’s over.”
That’s not why I kissed them. I kissed his scars because it made him the man he was today, and this man was becoming my home.
“I know,” I whispered, “but I want to,” my voice admitted softly, just as I placed the last kiss on the corner of his mouth, on that scar I love kissing. “You always kiss my scars, let me kiss yours. They’re beautiful.”
His green eyes talked way more than him sometimes. His fingers trailed through my hair, brushing the strands, avoiding my gaze.
“By the way, my shirt looks better on you than it does on me. You overall look good on top of me.”
I chuckled, trying not to fall harder for this man. “Is that your way of distracting me from the scars?”
“Maybe,” he admitted, his smile softening his pretty face.
But I didn’t let him divert my attention. Instead, I leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. I wanted him to understand that he was not just chaos and pain, he was so much more. “Youcan have my heart, scars and all, Elijah.” I whispered against his mouth.
Sometimes, when I look at him, I’m reminded of everything he’s endured. It makes me want to cry and hold him tight, like I could fill every void of love he’s ever experienced.
Because I was falling for Elijah, and I’ve broken the little agreement we had. I’ve failed, and I’ve failed miserably.
“You can talk to me, you know that?” I said softly.
“I know,” he responded.
I planted a gentle kiss on his cheek. “I’ll listen.”
He smiled, then lifted me into his arms. “I know,” he said before kissing me. “I don’t want you to worry about me. I want you to be happy with me, not overthink. I know you’re already overthinking everything.”
This time, I was the one smiling. “You, Elijah Volkov, are not the Devil I thought you were.”
He kissed me again, whispering against my lips, “Then what am I?”
“You’re the prettiest and most thoughtful soul I know. Even the Devil was a fallen angel before. The darkness within you is my light.”
He stopped his kiss, his gaze melting into mine. I hated that look on his face, as if he didn’t believe me, as if he didn’t see anything good about himself. “You think so?”
My heart tightened seeing his vulnerability. “Of course, and I wouldn’t change anything about you.”
He kissed me harder. His arms tightened around me, as if he was holding onto me for dear life, needing me to reassure him and chase away the shadows of doubt that lingered in his mind.
Breaking the hug, he gazed into my eyes, searching for the truth behind my words. “Thank you,” he whispered.
I smiled, my heart overflowing with his existence. “You’re welcome.”
