No. Not my breast.
My scar.
He leans over and nibbles on the flesh then sucks it into his mouth.
Shock reverberates through my entire body.
Stop it.
He flicks his tongue over the skin, licking before he bites down ever so gently.
Stop.
His assault goes on and on until I’m whimpering.
Although soft, his touch hurts.
It cuts me open like a sharp object.
I’m bleeding out.
It hurts.
Somewhere in my mind, it fucking hurts.
His teeth and stubble graze my scar as he speaks against it. “This scar is a sign of your weakness. Just like my scar. And guess what, sweetheart? We’re not allowed to be fucking weak.”
I’m breathing harshly as I stare at him. He finally lifts his head and meets my gaze with his dark one and that twitchy left eye.
He’s pissed off.
No. He’s enraged.
But it doesn’t appear directed at me.
At least, I hope not.
Because right now, I feel closer to Aiden than I’ve ever felt before.
His scar and my scar.
His heartbeat and mine.
“Are our scars connected?” I ask in a small voice, afraid that a higher one will ruin the moment.
Silence.
I wrap my hand around his and slowly peel it from around my throat. I’m surprised that he lets me. He doesn’t even stop me when I sit up, forcing him to sit, too.
My fingers tremble as I undo the buttons of his wet shirt. I can feel his eyes watching me, nearly drawing a hole at the top of my head, but he doesn’t stop me.
I peel the shirt off his shoulders and let it drop to the floor. I try to make him turn, but he shakes his head.
So I do the one thing I can.
I flatten my breasts against his hard chest and wrap my arms around his back. My fingertips glide along the slash marks.
He stiffens.