“You want this bullshit?” I grab her thigh, squeezing it hard. Her eyes widen, shock sparks in her expression, in those pretty fucking eyes. “You want to get hurt? I’ll hurt you so fucking badly, you’ll never want to pick up a blade again.” My voice lowers to a hushed whisper, and my lips feather along hers. “The only person who’ll ever hurt you is me. And when I do, you’ll beg me for more.”
“You’re a fucking asshole.” Her words are ice, but her eyes dance with flames. “Let me—”
My mouth crashes down on hers, and I feel the tears she’d been holding back spill down her cheeks. I told her last night that this wouldn’t happen again, but I can’t stop myself.
Nesrin punches my chest as she wriggles beneath me, her body pinned between mine and the door. But the more she fights, the darker my need grows, and the harder my cock gets. My hands grip her thighs, squeezing hard until she mewls into my mouth. I lift her up, forcing her legs to wrap around my waist, as her hands continue to pummel me.
Our mouths fuse violently, my tongue darts deep in to taste her. We duel for long moments before I allow my tongue to slide out and taste her mouth. She bites down on my lower lip, tugging the flesh until she earns herself a feral growl.
I’m tempted to pull her clothes off, to inspect her body closely, to taste and lick those scars and see if they bear any resemblance to my own. But I don’t. I force back the growing desire that’s building inside me, and I break the kiss.
Her lips are swollen, her eyes glassy, and her cheeks shimmer with the tears she shed. Nesrin looks up at me as the air, that’s now thick with sexual tension, hangs over us like a cloud of forbidden yearning.
“It’s the only way I can feel. I’m so numb, so empty, and I don’t know why,” she finally tells me, in a broken whisper, and my heart shatters alongside hers.
16
Nesrin
He looks at me for a long time. His eyes flash for a moment, and I think he’s going to kiss me again, but then he sets me to my feet and looks down at the blood that came from the cut on my hand. I’ve messed up his shirt, the red staining it.
“You don’t do it anymore!” He’s not asking me; he’s commanding me. Pain laces his voice, the husky baritone sending shivers through me. Those blue eyes pierce me as if he can see my soul. The stare that he pins on me makes me believe he can feel how torn and broken I am on the inside. Damien’s hands move to the hem of his shirt, and he pulls the material over his head.
Once again, I’m assaulted by just how beautiful he is. But also, under the harsh light of the bathroom, I see what he’s showing me. Not the chiseled peaks and valleys of his body, not even the V muscles that sink beneath the waistband of his pants. And not the dusting of dark hair that sneaks from his navel down below the belt he’s wearing.
It’s what’s lacing his smooth, tanned skin. I see them. My first night here, when I first saw him shirtless, the dim lighting didn’t show them off. They weren’t as prominent, but now that the harsh white glare is on him, the scars become visible.
When he starts unzipping his jeans, my mouth falls open in shock.
“What are you doing?” I’m stunned. I want to see more of him, but I also want to turn my gaze away. I’m not sure what he’s doing, but the moment he pushes his pants down, my gaze finds the scars that were hidden behind the black material of his jeans.
Thick, angry lines of red, nothing like mine, mar his left thigh. They’re not hidden, it’s as if he’s proud of them. There are only three thick angry lines, but they’re prominent. I’ve never seen him in merely a pair of tight black boxer briefs, but now I see everything.
“Being the eldest Thorne in The Black Knights, I became something of a king for them. It’s stupid, but they saw me as their leader. Until Creed and I fell out. The six of us were always close. But the power that comes with running this town got to Creed. We fought in the forest to the cheers of the rest of the gang. Every young person who lives in this town watched us shed skin. I’ll never forget the violence of that night. It will always stay with me.”
He pulls his jeans back up, leaving them unzipped, but they still hug his hips, teasing me. Through the violence, through his scars, I see him. Broken and torn, just like me.