Page 82 of Painted Scars
The air sharpens with heavy intent. He lands a warning slap on my ass, and I whimper at the heat blooming between my legs.
I press my palm over my eyes, pretending I won’t peek. My body electrifies with anticipation at him potentially showing himself to me. I tremble at the snap of his chin strap release. I’m vibrating at the soft rasp of padding sliding over his jaw. I’m practically giddy at his hush of breath as he takes in fresh air. The temperature spikes ten degrees when his mouth claims mine. The kiss is rough, possessive, and desperate. A man who lives on borrowed time, making the most of it. I moan into him, lean into his strength when my knees fail me.
Grumpy Daddy pulls back to whisper against my cheek. “Stay like that for me. Don’t look or you won’t get your reward.”
I grin like the troublemaker I am. “I don’t want good. And I don’t want to be good. I’m orange all the way now.”
“Brat.” His thumb drags across my bottom lip, and he ends on a nip. His tongue replaces his teeth and licks the seam of my mouth, and it’s game over.
“I’ll agree to bury a body if you do that again,” I breathe.
He chuckles, backing away, and I hear the click of a bike compartment opening.
Brat energy is fully activated, and I wait four whole seconds before spreading my fingers and looking. Jet-black hair, tanned skin, a jaw that can slice diamonds. Darkness carved into flesh. Something about him feels familiar… the line of his back and the way his shoulders shift. The controlled efficiency in his movements. My heart tugs with memory of someone I knew who moved like that.
This guy’s different. Bulked with gym and grit, his jacket straining across his back. Ink crawling past his collar, screaming rules don’t apply to him. Clothes dark and functional, not neat and respectable. Rough around the edges, like something colder replaced the softness within him. Hair longer and curlier, plenty to tug.
No. It’s not him. Another ghost of my past.
“I know you’re peeking,” he growls. “That’s five extra minutes until you get to come.”
My thighs rub together, desperate for friction.
“Boo, Green Daddy.” I close the slit in my fingers.
His boots crunch on the ground behind me. Arms lift over my shoulders, and he sheathes my eyes with my silk robe tie. The familiar scent of home, heat, and his cologne hits me.
He leans in, mouth hot on my throat. “Ready to beg, Glitter Bomb?”
Oh, God. I nearly come from his promise.
He backs me up until the gas tank presses into the back of my thighs. Then he slowly spins me and guides my chest down over his seat.
“I’m going to punish you for wearing such a distracting dress.” His growl is lethal in my ear. “Tease that pink pussy.”
Sweet hell. If he keeps talking like that, all the praise and gravel in his voice, I’ll combust on the spot.
Grumpy Daddy plants himself on his knees behind me, hands worshipping the swell of my ass through the cotton of my sundress with enough pressure to make me feel claimed. “All these curves begging for my tongue.”
Warm fingers coast up my calves and inner thighs, each inch of skin tingling and marked by him. He lifts the hem of my dress, folds it over once, twice, a third time. Precise and controlled. Tucked like a battle plan. I love that about him. Order tricks my brain into thinking I’m safe.
His burning tongue draws a wet line up the back of my thigh, followed by a possessive bite at the back of my knee. I whine, and my knee jerks reflexively.
“You want more, Glitter Bomb?” he taunts me, and I squirm, needing more. “Be a good girl first and take your punishment.”
Fuck. Grumpy Daddy has all the moves. Dirty mouth. Strict hands. Daddy energy for days. A bike and helmet. A criminal record waiting to happen. He’s practically laminated into my dark romance checklist as a twenty out of ten.
“Hold the seat.” He drags his knuckles up the back of my legs. “Don’t move unless I tell you to. Let me take care of you.” His voice dips lower, dripping with dangerous heat. “Or I won’t let you come.”
Threats have never sounded so damn tempting.
“I’ll be a good girl,” I say.
He delivers a punishing crack to my ass. “This is for being a brat.” I hear the quiet rustle of fabric. Cool silk brushes my wrists as he binds them behind my back in a knot that’s snug, not painful. “That too tight, baby?”
I shake my head, my pulse thudding in my ears. I can get out if I want to, but I don’t. I’m safe with him.
He’s even slower and more methodical as he peels my panties down my thighs, pausing to kiss, lick, and bite every inch of skin, leaving red marks for sure. By the time he removes them completely, my knees sting deliciously.
