Page 93 of Painted Scars
He holds my hand as I throw my leg over the side and sink into the water, heat and essential oils soaking into my tired muscles. The blindfold is back as he wraps it around my face. The only way I get all of him. For now, at least.
The shush sound signals his helmet is gone. He steps in behind me and settles me between his legs. The water climbs to my breasts, the heat of him melts into my back, his arms circle my waist, and face nuzzles my neck.
I let my fingers glide along his wet forearm, tracing the light layer of veins hidden under tattoos. “Enjoy being my reward, Daddy?”
His hands find my shoulder and begin my massage. Slow at first, relaxing my muscles, then working deeper to release their tension. He kisses my hot, slick flesh every so often, until I’m dizzy with heat and power.
“Good with your hands too?” I tease. “You’re checking a lot of boxes there, Daddy.” I count with my fingers. “Big dick and knows how to use it. Sinful body that I can’t keep my hands off. Wicked mouth with bonus dirty talk. Orange flags galore. One hundred percent book boyfriend material.”
“Shut the fuck up and take my massage like a good girl,” he snarks back, and I whimper, resting into him harder.
Longing to feel his face, I reach back and explore it. A strong jaw meets my touch first, rough with a hint of stubble. The sharp slope of cheekbones. Soft lips I’ve kissed blind. Pictures of his face form. Black hair curling damp against the tan skin I got a glimpse of on the mountain. Dark lashes frame eyes the color of a midnight ocean. Exactly my type. My traitorous imagination builds a fantasy of devastating smiles and eyes that pin me in place. Maybe it’s real, or maybe it’s a fantasy. I’ll never know until he lets me. My heart fills in the blanks anyway.
When I trace his mouth again, he nips and licks me, then sucks my fingers into his mouth. I want to say something, but instead just run with it. What is it he says? Sensation. No words.
Countless time passes while Grumpy Daddy’s lethal hands render my neck, shoulders, and spine liquid, chasing away the pressure from my exhausting weekend. Every languorous stroke reinforces that I’m safe with him. The perfect aftercare. When he finishes, he lifts each hand, pressing soft kisses to my palm, and I sigh with pleasure.
Eventually, I summon the strength to turn and straddle him again, finding him hard. He hisses through his teeth as I press into him. Free of all my knots, I take my time to explore him now that I have time. I leave no place untouched on his torso, memorizing every cut and line of his muscled body. Drops of water, steam, and the divine scent of lavender amplify every sensation. I trail my lips along his shoulder, down the side of his neck, while he tends to mine. I love the way his body tenses when I hit sensitive spots, like behind his ear and right below his Adam’s apple.
I give back to him a little of what he gave me, digging into his muscles with my fingers, enjoying the grunts of his tension spilling out. He hardens as I move over him.
“Careful,” he warns, voice tight, fingers dimpling my hips even harder. “You’re gonna start a fire in here.”
“Then burn with me,” I whisper, rolling my hips, happy for Round Two.
The water sloshes as he pulls me down over him, and the world outside my ensuite ceases to exist. All I feel is the slick glide of skin, the hot mouth claiming mine, the reverent brush of my cheeks, his muscles contracting beneath my palms as he drives up into me.
“You drive me insane, Glitter Bomb,” he growls into my mouth. “I’ll tear down the world and rebuild it for you.”
I tremble at the heat and weight of his words. Again, when we detonate together with mutually timed orgasms. We stay in each other’s arms for a while before he lifts me out of the tub, pats me down with a towel, and lets me do the same, best as I can blindfolded.
“Define how insane?” A girl really must know the answer.
I brace for impact. For him to erect another wall between us.
Charlie’s words come back to haunt me.“Don’t run from the past or his walls. Trust him until he gives you a reason not to. He’s showing you who he is in ways that counts.”
Daddy’s showing me in little ways how he shows up for me.
“You know I care for you, Glitter Bomb.” My heart pounds in my ears as I listen to every word. “You stopped being a mission the day you made me feel like a man again. I don’t cook for just anyone, spoil their dog, shape ornaments for them, and tolerate questionable playlists.”
I splutter a laugh at that one. “No Celine shaming in this household.”
“That’s a lot for a man like me.” He dusts my neck with soft kisses. “Don’t let it go to your glittery head.”
Fire ignites in my chest like I’ve swallowed a star. This quiet truth hidden in his grumpy jokes scares me as much as they soothe me. A man like him doesn’t say “I love you” easily. Daddy’s admitting things that ruin his morally orange reputation. Each act is a breadcrumb leading me to somewhere I swore never to go again. And, fuck, is that my bruised heart beating again? Whispering maybe I can believe this. That maybe this won’t end in heartbreak? I finally let myself lean into tenderness more dangerous than any Roman out to suppress or silence me.
I crush him to me and fumble for a reply. “Oh, it’s already gone to my head. That comment’s going in the obsessive devotion column.”
He spanks my backside, then carries me to my bed and unravels me all over again. By the time I fall asleep spent from his tongue, hands, mouth, and cock, I realize I’ve given him more than my body tonight. I’ve handed him the last unguarded piece of myself. All that remains is to tell him how I really feel. God help me, I don’t know if he’ll treasure it or break it.
CHAPTER 26 - KATE
Ican tell by the taunting smell of garlic and butter hitting me the second I open my front door that Grumpy Daddy is in my kitchen again. I move into the kitchen, and, yep, it’s him alright. Sleeves rolled, pan sizzling, bookish apron hugging his body, hips shaking, singing what I think is a Celine tune under his breath. The man owns my place, judging by the way my nights have started to taste like comfort and danger served on a plate.
The way his hands stir the spoon makes warmth curl low in my stomach. That kind of warmth is dangerous if I let it spread. Wanting someone is one thing. Letting them take up space in my life is something I swore never to entertain. I’ve spent years keeping my kitchen as empty as my bed. Now I wonder if I’ll smell cinnamon and cedar the second I open the door.
“Another reward, Daddy?” I greet him with a hug, squeezing him tightly, pressing my nose into his shirt, breathing in his cinnamon and wood scent. My personal cologne of sin and salvation.
