I no longer think he got the body he has from lifting weights in the state pen, or whatever prison he came from—not that I know any ex-cons.
Desmier’s body looks more like an athlete’s. His muscles are too defined to belong to someone who only loves working out.
His tattoos are just as captivating. On his left arm is a swirl of roses, perfect for a wedding bouquet. His pec on the same side has the tattoo of the Volkova family crest. It’s a Viking-style sea dragon with the sword of Myrridin going down the center. Myrridin was their Viking ancestor and one of the twelve founding Knights who formed the Brotherhood.
The crest is well known. I’ve seen the tattoo on the other brothers before, and I’ve seen it on the company design logo. It’s just strange seeing it on Desmier and thinking that he makes it look good.
And shit, I’m just staring at him. Gawking at the wrong Volkova brother. The man who’s not my fiancé, or anything to me but the devil.
My cheeks burn with embarrassment. and he grins, seeing my debacle.
I look away from him and focus instead on the swirling patterns of the plaster cornices.
“Baby girl, if it pleases you to look, then look.” His voice is deeper.
Showing him I don’t care, I return my gaze to him and give him my best poker face. “I take no pleasure in looking at you.”
He responds by undoing his belt buckle then shoving his pants and boxers down his legs, freeing his enormous cock.
At the sight of his length and thickness, my mind checks out and not even I can lie to myself, or pretend he has no effect on me.
He steps out of his clothes and pushes them, along with his shoes, to the side, his cock bobbing and growing with every move he makes.
My mouth falls open, my eyes widen, and there’s a thickness in my throat I can’t work past. What worries me, though, is the pool of saliva gathering in my mouth as I stare at him.
I feel like I should say something, but I wouldn’t know what. And I wouldn’t want whatever I say to push me deeper into this hellhole I’ve fallen into.
So, I yield to my body and stare, my gaze taking in the line of Viking-style tattoos going down his strong, strong legs.
Desmier doesn’t say anything else. He turns, and when I see his back, more shock flies through me.
For the most part, the skin is as smooth as the rest of him with a huge tattoo of a compass spreading across the center.
But at the base of his spine and a good four inches of the surrounding area is a burn scar. One that could have only come from having a third-degree burn.
The scar doesn’t diminish anything from his beauty, but its presence alludes to another story. Another bad story that couldn’t have ended well.
What the hell happened to him?
Desmier doesn’t look back at me as he makes his way into the bathroom while all I do is stare at his body, looking from the scar to the solid definition of his ass. I watch until I can’t see him anymore.
The sound of water breaks my stupor, and I guess he must be in the shower.
Earlier, when I tried to ask where he’d been all this time, he shut me down, but I’m curious.
I listen to the water flowing for at least ten minutes. When it stops and he walks back out, my previous worries return.
With his cock swinging between his legs, he moves closer to me, and my nerves spike.
“Give me your hand,” he orders.
“My hand?” I’m not following on why he wants my hand.
“Give it. Now!”
I give him my right hand, but he shakes his head. So, I give him my left, and my heart breaks just a little more when he pulls off the engagement ring Viktor gave me.
The oval-cut diamond belonged to his grandmother on his mother’s side. Mira was only too happy for me to have it. She felt I deserved it.