Bone Deep(32)

“Pain. Her punishments were pain.”

Dmitry growled. “Goddamn him.” He began to look at her skin then, his gaze taking in every scar, every blemish on her. She had many he’d never paid attention to though her face remained unmarked. “Turn around,” he ordered and wonder of wonders she did.

He very gently raised her T-shirt and what met his gaze brought him to his knees. There were marks over marks, some snaking along her back to disappear beneath her pants, others raised and puckered as if made with a brand or a hot poker. There were circular raised areas, obviously cigarette burns, and his fist clenched in her shirt and bra, ripping the material. There was not an inch of the skin of her back unmarked.

“Are your legs the same way?” he asked.

She nodded.

“How did you hide these in St. Petersburg?”

“There is makeup that covers everything,” she answered.

“I will kill him,” he whispered over a scar.

“I never broke,” she said firmly. “I never cried because only a child’s tears reach Heaven and I was no longer a child.”

“I will kill him,” Dmitry vowed again.

“He is ours,” she reminded him.

“And you are mine,” he said out loud. “You are mine, Etzem. And nobody hurts what is mine.” She had taken the punishments meant for his sister—it was staggering, unbelievable.

She shrugged. “They are old injuries, Asinimov. They made me who I am today.”

His hands roved over her hips and he could not stop his next move. He gave in and let his mouth touch her flesh, skimming over the scars that told the story of who she was and the undeniable core of her strength. I am the strongest, she said. Dmitry believed it. These were more than marks on her skin—they were reminders.

At the first touch of his lips, she hissed in a breath. At the second she sighed.

Her sighs undid him. “Za kazhdij tvoj vzdoh ja otdam tebe chastichku serdtza,” he promised with reverence against her skin.

Her breath broke and stuttered out. “Your heart is not mine to hold.”

“It will be,” he said, voicing his greatest fear as he licked across a raised scar.

She shivered and he dropped his hands to her hips, squeezing the lush flesh of her ass as he lowered his head to rest on her back.

“We tried to save her but in the end she was the tool that formed us.” Another long pause and she straightened and stepped away from him. “I have never told another the things I tell you. Why do I do that?”

“Because from the moment I stared into your eyes, you became a part of me. Your body, heart, and soul recognize it even if your mind fights the truth. Turn around, kostolomochka moja,” he urged. “I want your mouth.”

He did not expect her to turn so when she did he gave her no time to back away. He pulled her into him as he was still on his knees. This put him on the same level as her breasts. The shredded material of her tank clung to the top of her rounded breasts.

He pulled it down her arms and threw it to the side. She was marked there as well and he inhaled deeply trying to control the rage. Her skin under the scars was the color of honey and so supple it called to him. Her nipples were hard, a shade darker than her skin and they too, beckoned.

He stared up at her, measuring her readiness for this next step. If she’d been shut down he would have stopped, but her eyes, those magnificent jade splintered orbs told a different story.

She was warm and the apricot-scented perfume of her need told him all he needed to know. She wanted this. She was with him. Whether either of them was ready remained unknown, but his body beat at him to mark her in his own way, with his flesh all over hers and her sighs and moans in his ear.

He kept his gaze trained on hers as he lifted his mouth to nuzzle her breast. Her pupils went wide and it was delicious seeing them round in pleasure instead of pain or fear.

Dmitry licked the underside of her breast and then made his way to her nipple, flicking it with the tip of his tongue before he drew it deep and suckled.

Bone’s head fell back. The thought of the name she called herself stopped him cold.

“I will not call you Bone. Not when pleasure is between us. I know your given name, but give it to me so that I have your permission to use it,” he demanded.

She stilled, every muscle going loose in that way she had. He held her hips tighter in his grasp, unwilling to let go.

She sighed, he smiled and she looked at him. “Togarmah.”

“Literally translated as 'Bone Breaker.’ It is a lovely name. Perfect, I think.”

“You know too much,” she admonished.

He inclined his head. “I know some. But not nearly everything I want to.”

Her eyes widened again and he knew then she would give him everything she was right here and right now. She lowered her head, skimming her lips over his brow until he raised his mouth and she settled her lips on his.

They stayed that way for long moments, sharing breath and want and need—letting it flow between them in a luxurious tide.

Then, when the desire coiled too tight for him to deny any longer, he stood, took her head in his big hands, cradling her, and Dmitry kissed her. Her taste exploded over his tongue and the heat built inside him. He felt nothing but her—knew nothing but her.

The world could have ended and he would have been fine as long as her mouth was under his and he could taste her. She reached for him, her fingers pressing into the muscles of his chest and she took as she gave, wholly, completely.