down her back. There were these thick, puckered ridges on the expanse of her flesh. From the tips of her shoulders, down to her ass, she is scarred.
She won’t let me see them. Not once did I flip her over to her stomach and fuck her from behind. Not once did she reverse cowgirl, not once did we move to our sides, and it wasn’t a problem, not for me. We can have sex missionary for the rest of our lives, and it will be enough for me and with her on top. She looks fucking amazing on top, but I want her to trust me.
I want her to know that I’ll love her no matter what, regardless of her scars. I don’t care about them, not in the shallow kind of sense. I care how she got them and why. I want to know what her life was like with Kendrick. She hasn’t talked about him at all, and if we have any chance at finding him, I need to understand everything he did and why. How does Kendrick think? If he didn’t want her for himself, what did he want her for?
If it wasn’t sexually, I can’t figure it the fuck out. She is a bombshell, beautiful, the prettiest woman on the fucking planet, and sexy, my god, she is sexy. And she feels so good. She is wild card, a surprise that gives me a thrill every day. What more could a guy want if it isn’t that?
I glance down to try to see her back, but her hair covers most of it. Reaching up, I gather the thick, brown strands and start to move them away, but she startles and stretches awake.
Of course, she did.
I can't push it. If she wants me to see them, she’ll show me. Maybe that’s when I’ll know she fully trusted me.
“Hi,” she says sleepily, rubbing her chin against my chest as she stretches.
Her hand wacks me in the face, and she gasps. “Oh my god! Are you okay?” She is wide awake now, straddling my chest as she cups my face, stroking my cheek.
It doesn’t hurt at all, but she doesn’t need to know that.
“It stings a little,” I hiss, milking the pain so she continues to touch me.
“Aw, Sebastian, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do it. Can you forgive me?” She bends down and brushes her lips over the spot she hit.
“I don’t know. Keep doing that, and I’ll let you know.” I tilt my head back to give her more room.
She sit ups and smacks my chest. “Does it even really hurt?”
“So bad. I … I think it might bruise.”
“Oh, you’re so full of it,” she says and yelps when I roll her to her back and kiss her senseless.
My cock rubs between her folds. “You’re about to be full of it.”
“You did not just say that.” She laughs against my mouth, then her head hits the pillow as she busts out with loud laughter. “That was terrible. I can’t believe you said that.”
“What?” I nudge her entrance again and slide in slowly until I’m to the hilt. She gasps and stares at me with those chocolate eyes that reminded me of Hershey kisses. I suddenly have a deep craving for chocolate, but then I appreciate her golden skin, and I want caramel.
On her body.
Licking the stickiness off with my tongue.
“Are you not full of it? Cause it feels like you are.” I slide out, then in, and she tries to smile through the pleasure, but she can’t.
“Sebastian.”
I love how she says my name, all breathless with a slight whine.
“What?” I ask, keeping a slow, steady rhythm instead of one frantic and needy. It’s lazy morning sex, the kind someone has still half asleep. It feels so good, like a quick shot of tequila, unexpected but wakes up the right senses to make me more alert for the time being. “What is it, baby? Are you tender?”
“No.” She slowly rocks her head back and forth and meets me thrust for thrust.
“I must not have done something right, then,” I growl, thrusting a bit harder than I intend.
“I just want you that much,” she says, scratching those nails of hers down my back to add to the wounds she put there last night. I have about a dozen or so bite marks all over my chest and shoulders and by the feel of my skin, I have scratches from my neck to my ass.
She is ferocious in