42
Luke
She’s so beautiful. So innocent. Oh, her body has been used in the worst way, but still she’s innocent. Innocent in my eyes, and I don’t want to taint her with the darkness that will always be with me. Not until I’ve redeemed myself. And for the first time, I believe that I may be able to. I believe that because she sees the good in me. She sees what I can be.
And I want to believe her. I so want to believe her.
I walk around her and regard the scars on her beautiful back. I have a few scars myself. One from a bullet, two from knives. None like this. I was never tortured. Never abused in the most heinous way. And although I did dole out my share of abuse, I never left a mark. Does that make me better than the men who abused Katelyn? Are there degrees of evil? Am I any different than those men on that treacherous island?
I sigh. Does it even matter? I did terrible things. Not just to women I thought I loved, but to friends, family. To my mother. My lovely mother who never stopped believing in me no matter what.
I trail my finger over one of Katelyn’s scars. “Does it hurt?”
“Not anymore.”
“I hate whoever did this to you. I wish I could kill them with my bare hands.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“That man from the restaurant. Did he do this to you?”
She shakes her head.
“Who did, then? Who?”
“I couldn’t tell you. They didn’t use their real names. Most of them are in prison now. I’m not sure how Pollack isn’t.”
“He probably turned state’s evidence.” The thought makes me nauseous. I called Tony DeCarlo a canary when I saw him today.
The biggest canary is the one I see when I look in the mirror each morning.
But here stands Katelyn, knowing nothing about me and willing to let me take her. Ravage her. Do what I want with her. All because she loves me.
If only I were worthy…
I may never be, but I have to try.
I meant to leave. I meant to leave, to try to fix myself, and then come back to her.
But I know the truth.
And that truth is, once I go back, I may not get out of this alive.
Perhaps I will be worthy of her in the end, but it may be on my deathbed.
I am only a man. I’m not made of steel. Before me stands the woman I love—this beautiful scarred woman. I press my lips against one of her scars, and then I rain kisses across each one of them. “I love you, Katelyn. I love you. Scars and all.”
She turns then, to face me, lifting her head to meet my gaze. “And I love you too, Luke. Scars and all.”
I turn her around again and unclasp her bra, quickly removing it and tossing it to the floor.
Then I turn her to face me again. We’re both naked from the waist up. She comes with her scars, I with mine.
I caress her shoulders, her upper arms, the tops of her breasts. Her nipples are pink and hard, and I bend down to take one between my lips.
“Oh…” A soft sigh escapes her throat.
My cock is hard. Hell, it’s been hard since she came up here. I tried. I tried to get her to leave. I tried to get her to tell me no.
And now?
Now I’m going to take her. I’m going to fuck her, use her, ravage the hell out of her.
Love her.
Love her with everything I am, with everything I have and with everything inside my heart and inside my soul. As if it’s the last time.
Because it very well may be.
I grab both of her breasts, palm them, squeeze them, and then I take her nipples between my thumbs and forefingers, twist them, pinch them softly.
A soft gasp leaves her throat.
“You like that?”
“My God, yes.”
“These are mine. Mine, Katelyn. Your breasts are mine. Your body is mine. Your heart is mine.”
“It’s yours. All of it. And especially my heart.”
I pinch her nipples harder, causing her to gasp again, and I meet her gaze. Wait for her to tell me to stop.
She doesn’t.
I pinch them harder, harder, harder.
She groans, moving her hips, squeezing her legs together.
“Do you feel that emptiness in your soul?” I ask.
“Always. Always, except when I’m with you.”
“I feel it too. Always, except when I’m with you. I want to take you. Fill you up. Stuff my cock into your pussy, make us one body, one heart, one soul.”
Her cheeks grow pink at my graphic words, but she moans. A soft moan of contentment. She’s eager. As eager as I am.
“I want to fuck you for hours,” I say. “I want to make you come and come and come and come and come and come some more.”