Scarred(Never After #2)(80)

His other hand flies up, twisting my arm away until it moves from his neck, and I gasp, my stomach somersaulting, expecting him to attack.

But he drops to his knees instead, his arms splaying wide at his sides. “I am nothing, if I’m not yours.” His jaw tenses, water lining his lower lid until it spills over, a single tear tracing the raised flesh of his scar and dripping off his chin. “So do it. Kill me, Sara. Put me out of this constant purgatory of needing you without having you.”

My throat swells until I can hardly breathe, indecision weaving through me as his words leak through the cracks of my shoddy foundation and bleed into the crevices of my soul.

“I will die happily if it’s what will bring you peace,” he rasps, thick emotion bleeding into his tone.

A sob breaks free from the deepest parts of my chest, echoing around the cathedral chambers, mocking my pain as it reverberates against my ears.

Weak, Sara. Do it.

“Give me a reason,” I say instead. “One good reason, why I should let you live.”

His eyes flare. “Because I love you.”

I drop the knife.

The sound is loud as it clatters to the ground, but I barely hear the noise because the moment I let go, Tristan is reaching, his hands grabbing my body and dragging me into his lap, fisting the back of my hair as he consumes my mouth, my lips, my tongue, my soul.

I cry out against him, sinking into his hold, hating myself for being so weak, but loving the way his touch soothes the pain.





CHAPTER 45





Tristan





Her touch is the sweetest surrender.

I decided long before ending up here that if she wished for me to die, I would lie down at her feet. I have no interest in fighting her. No interest in living if she doesn’t wish for me to be.

No longer do I thirst for the throne. No more do I wish for vengeance on those who have wronged me.

It all pales in comparison to her.

Blood seeps down my neck from where her blade nicked my skin, and my cock pulses from her violence. She’s an absolute vision in her rage, and when she drops the knife and falls into my arms, my chest implodes.

“Show me your pain, little doe. Give it to me so you don’t bear it alone,” I rasp against her mouth as I suck down her cries.

My hands claw at her clothing and she gives as good as she gets until we end up bare, with her in my lap; fabrics tossed to the side, shredded and in forgotten piles. My dick slides between her pussy lips, desperate to sink inside of her.

I fist her hair, pulling until her back bows like a pretzel, the ends of her curly strands grazing against the floor until her breasts are exposed, dark pink nipples begging to be sucked. I lean down like a ravenous animal and wrap my mouth around her pebbled flesh, growling when her taste explodes on my tongue, and she grinds her hot cunt along my shaft.

“Tristan,” she pleads, her juices running down the length of me and pooling on the polished tiled floor of the cathedral. “Please, I—”

I release her nipple with a pop, sliding my tongue up her chest until I’m sucking on her neck, bringing the blood to the surface, not caring if I leave a mark; desperate to show the world that she belongs to no one else but me. To mark her skin like she’s marked my soul.

Someone could walk in at any time, but I don’t give a damn. Let them watch.

This isn’t love. This is obsession. It’s madness. It’s salvation.

“Shh.” I move my lips until they brush against hers. “I know what you need.”

I let go of her hair, moving both of my hands to grip her hips, and I raise her up, my cock angry and throbbing beneath her. And then her wet heat encases me from root to tip, her soft walls hugging every single ridge of my dick until my abs tense, and I see stars just from the feel of being surrounded by her.

Her head flies back as she moans, rotating her hips in a figure eight, every motion making me leak.

She rides me so good and this time it’s her who rips me by the hair; the sting making me groan as her lips work their way down the front of my neck, sucking when they reach the thin cut on my throat.

I throb inside of her.

“Yes,” I hiss, bucking up and collapsing on my elbows, her body following as she continues to lick at the wound she made. “You filthy girl, riding my cock and licking up my blood like you’re starved for me.”

She moans again, the sound vibrating through me, and then she’s moving until her back is straight, and her hands are cupping her breasts and tweaking the nipples until they stiffen into hard peaks. My abdomen clenches tight as I watch her throw her head back and squeeze her eyes shut, wondering how it’s possible she exists—half convinced that I’ve gone mad and she’s nothing more than a figment of my imagination.

Suddenly, the feeling is too much, and I shoot forward until our chests brush, her hips faltering in their rhythm. My fingers grip her cheeks. “Look at me.”

Her perfect dark eyes spring open, and Christ, it makes me feel like the luckiest man to have her in my lap, and on my cock, and in my goddamn veins. “Did you really think I would ever harm you?”

I punctuate my question with a sharp thrust into her slick heat, keeping myself pressed against her as she rotates her swollen core against my groin, her body shaking as her walls flutter around my dick.

A tear escapes the corner of her eye and trails down her cheek, and I lean in without thought, my tongue swiping out and licking it away.