Stefan had told him. Instead, he looked from Vincent to me and grumbled, “It’s time for bed.” Then he pulled out his gun from the waistband of his pants, making sure Vincent got a good look at it, before placing it under his pillow in my bed.
Vincent took that as his cue to leave, scooped up his laptop, and scurried to his temporary room I had assigned him across the hall.
“Why’d you do that?” I asked. Jamie hadn't needed to intimidate the poor kid to get him to leave.
“It’s late,” he said curtly. Someone’s in a mood. He wasn’t even looking at me. He was focused on unbuttoning his shirt.
I was about to ask him what was wrong, but he took his shirt off. My attention was pulled to his naked chest and my mind seemed to short circuit because I’d forgotten what we were talking about.
My gaze roamed slowly as I took him in, inch by chiseled, tattooed inch. Man, he’s beautiful. Even with the two nasty scars that marred his velvety skin. I had noticed them in the shower yesterday while I'd washed him. As my soapy fingers had run over the jagged skin, I'd asked him, “Are they dead?” It was obvious they'd been inflicted by someone else, with the intent to kill. It had angered me—I'd felt downright murderous. I'd wanted to hunt down whoever had hurt him and make them suffer. I would take my time with them, drag it out, until their voices became so hoarse from begging for death and then, and only then, would I kill them.
The bigger of the two started on his side just below the ribs and curled around down to the top of the V shape at his hips. It was long, like someone had tried to slice him open. His other scar was smaller, maybe three inches long, and located just under his right collar bone.
As water had spilled down our bodies, he'd run his hands down my back, soothing my rage, and replied, “Yes.” Good.
He must have gotten the scars within the last six years. I’d seen him shirtless many times before I'd left to attend Trinity in Hartford, be it while swimming, working out, or playing sports, and I wasn’t ashamed to say I'd looked. It would've been impossible not to. He’d always been good looking. He'd been a lot leaner back then. Someone had definitely hit the gym while I'd been away. Maybe his scars were the reason for his drool worthy transformation.
Catching me staring, his irritation faded away and he gave me a cocky little smirk. I rolled my eyes at him because if his ego got any bigger, I’d be pushed out of the room.
I turned away and returned to my research. I felt him move through the room and come up behind me. It was crazy how in tune my body was with his. I'd never felt this with Tom. Maybe it was Jamie’s magical tongue? He'd reprogrammed me to be in sync with him while he'd been down in Lady Town. I wasn’t complaining, but it would explain why he'd driven me to madness with how many times he'd teased me, only to give me the most intense and earth-shattering orgasm I’ve ever had.
Great, now I’m turned on just remembering it.
I cleared my throat and adjusted how I was sitting, trying anything to bring down my lady boner. I was sitting on the floor with my arms resting on the coffee table with my laptop open in front of me.
He took a seat in the armchair behind me, positioning his legs at my sides, cocooning me from behind while trapping me between him and the table. His fingers brushed my hair away from my neck before his lips pressed where my neck met my shoulder, causing a shiver to rock through my body. “You look flushed,” he teased and began kissing up along my neck.
“You make me that way,” I mumbled and gasped when he bit down hard on my sensitive spot. “Are you trying to brand me?” I groaned from the mixture of pain and pleasure.
The next thing I knew, hands slid under my arms and I was being lifted. He shifted me to sit sideways across his lap, with his arm around my back for support and my legs dangling over the arm of the chair. His free hand went to my neck and his thumb rubbed over the spot he'd just marred. “I’m just marking what’s mine.”