This woman wasn’t going to leave my head when the assignment was over.
She was going to linger.
Fuck, she’d linger. But I needed to leave this bedroom
Stepping back, I tipped my chin and gave her the goddamn truth. “Right decision.”
“Shade—”
“Stick with it, princess,” I warned, reaching for my boxers. Because God knew I wasn’t the one with any self-control here.
“I wanted to touch you.”
Boxers in hand, I froze.
Her breath coming faster, she got up from the bed and her tits swayed. “You touched me.” Her hand landed on my chest and her voice quieted. “I wanted to touch you.”
I fucking stood there. Mute.
Women didn’t touch my ink or my scars. I didn’t even fucking acknowledge my scars. The ink across my stomach was testament to that. I may have been wounded downrange, but I wasn’t scarred. I wasn’t fucking broken. I was a Marine.
I was still standing on my own legs.
Fuck the scars on my neck and shoulders.
Unscarred.
But I still didn’t let women touch me.
Not with anything other than their mouths or cunts. But here I stood, on a fucking ledge, all because of a dark haired, blue-eyed vixen of a teenager.
I forced words out. “You want to touch me, woman?”
“Yes.” The heat of her hand burned into my chest and spread.
I fucking let go. “Do your worst.”
HIS ARMS AT HIS SIDES, his voice barely more than a low growl, he issued an order. “Do your worst.”
Instinct telling me I was treading on thin ice, I flattened my palm over his heart. I didn’t want to do my worst. I wanted to make him feel good. I wanted to make him feel something as powerful as the orgasm he gave me.
But he was impenetrable.
His expression, his authority, his dominance. He was a warrior. And I was… me.
I didn’t know what I could do for him, but I felt desperate to try.
Coasting my hand up, taking in all of his ink, but not seeing the details, there was only one tattoo I could read without the lights on. Just above his hips, across his lower abs, nine bold letters.
UNSCARRED.
In all caps, the ink slightly curved down on either end, the word itself mocked all the ink he had covering his chest and arms. He was completely scarred. But I suspected the word meant more than its surface and I’d wager every cent in my trust fund it had to do with his time in the Military.
I wanted to ask him about it. I wanted to ask him about every single tattoo covering his body, but I didn’t want him to change his mind about giving me free range, so as I ran one hand up his chest and over his shoulder, I reached for his hard length that jutted out proudly from his impossibly perfect, sculpted body.
One hand wrapped around his shaft and the piercings I’d felt in my mouth as my other coasted over his shoulder, but then I stilled.
Rough, raised flesh jutted out under my fingers and the ink on his stomach suddenly took on a whole new meaning.
My heart stuttering at the thought of what kind of wound had caused the jagged scar, I moved even farther over his shoulder. Like dragging my hand over asphalt, more scarred flesh pebbled under my fingers and I needed to know. “What happened?”
His shoulders stiff, he watched me with a locked expression. “IED.”
I splayed my hand, but the scar didn’t end. “Does it hurt?”
“No.”
I dared to ask. “Is this why you aren’t in the Marines anymore?”
His nostrils flared but he didn’t respond.
Feeling like I crossed a line, I dropped my gaze. “Sorry.”
His chest rose with an inhale and when he spoke, his voice was tight and controlled. “I was medically retired after they surgically fused vertebrae in my neck.”
Oh dear God. I looked up at him. “The IED injured your neck?” He was lucky he was walking.
The side of his jaw twitched. “Shrapnel did.”
“I’m sorry.” But I was thankful he was alive.
Not verbally replying, he tipped his chin.
I let my other hand drift over his abs. “This says—”
“I know what it says.” Anger darkening his voice, his words cut through the night.
“But you are scarred,” I whispered.
One second his arms were at his sides, the next they were gripping the sides of my face without mercy. “You said you wanted to touch me, not rehash the past. Which is it?”
I did want to touch him. Badly. But I also wanted to feel him and understand him and taste every reason why my