Scarred (Never After #2)(71)

Her eyes flare, mouth parting on a silent scream.

“Does it hurt?”

“Yes,” she whispers.

“Good.” I rise up, my hands gripping beneath her legs as I lift them, spreading them apart so I can watch her swollen and abused center take my cock. The sight is incredibly erotic, and a sense of rightness spreads through my chest. Nothing has ever felt like this.

Her walls flutter, and I drop her, chasing the high that only she can provide. My fingers slip to where she needs me most, rubbing until her head thrashes back and forth.

She’s close. I can feel it in the way her muscles tense, arousal dripping from her and making a mess of me. Lifting my hand, I bring it down on her swollen nerves, a sharp smack resounding through the air.

She gasps, crying out as her legs tremble at my sides.

My muscles tighten as pleasure threatens to consume me. “Such a filthy girl, drenching my dick like you’re my whore.”

I do it again, sharp slaps that make her skin puffy and red, her inner walls milking me until my vision blurs.

And then she explodes, the top half of her body flying from the bed, her arms and legs wrapping around me, her chest pressing against mine. My hands move to her hips, holding her to me as I thrust up into her, chasing my high as she shatters around me.

“Tristan!” she cries.

She bites the juncture of my neck, whimpering as she holds on.

My balls tense and for just a moment, I consider coming inside of her. Everything in me screams to do it. To coat her walls; ensure that no one else can claim her as theirs. But a bit of logic floats in, knowing if she were to become pregnant before I ascend the throne, there would be nothing but death in her future.

So at the last second, I push her back down onto the bed, slipping out of her with a pop, and I pull at my length, her wetness making my hand glide along the shaft effortlessly. Groaning, I throw my head back, my muscles seizing tight. “Tell me you want it.”

“I want it.” There’s no hesitation in her tone now.

“Beg for it,” I demand.

She moves from where she’s lying, flipping around until she’s on all fours, that perfect ass high in the air as she crawls toward me until she’s beneath my rigid length. She looks up at me from beneath her lashes, her hands gliding up the inside of my thighs.

My abdomen clenches in pleasure, the coil winding tighter inside of me. It’s an incredible sight, her slinking toward me like an animal, her virginity smeared along my cock as she prepares to beg me for my cum.

“Tristan,” she whispers. “Please.”

My muscles tense, my shaft jerking in my hand.

“Paint it on my skin so everyone knows who I belong to.”

And that’s all it takes for me to explode, stars dotting my vision as my cock spurts shot after shot all over her face, dripping down her cheeks and splashing onto the swell of her breasts.

My chest heaves and my ears ring from the blinding pleasure.

I look down at her, my mouth parted, aftershocks vibrating through my veins.

She smirks, her tongue peeking out to lick the cum from her lips, her fingers swiping through the mess on her collarbone and rubbing it into her skin.

“Yours,” she purrs.

Reaching down, I smooth my hand over her face, my thumb pressing into the wetness on her cheek and smearing it before moving it to her mouth.

She sucks, her tongue swirling around the tip of my finger, and my cock twitches again, something I’ve never felt before bursting like fireworks in my chest.





CHAPTER 40





Sara B.





By morning, he’s gone.

He has to be, of course. Nevertheless, my heart aches as though it’s been abandoned.

Holding on to my virginity was never something I did because it was expected. I don’t prescribe to the belief that it’s a gift to be given. I’ve just never found someone who I cared to experience it with. It’s vulnerable. Intimate. And while I’ve fooled around with boys in the past, there’s been no one I’ve considered my equal.

Until him.

A sharp knock raps on the door and I stretch beneath the covers, my insides twinging in pain. Before I can say a word, it swings open, all three of my ladies waltzing in as if privacy is something I don’t deserve.

Marisol heads straight to the large windows on the far side of my room and whips open the heavy curtains, allowing the dim light from the gloomy Saxum skies to pour into the space.

“Rise and shine,” Sheina singsongs as she moves past me, her eyes as bright as her blonde hair.

Frowning, I move to sit up on the bed, the sharp ache between my legs cutting through me like a sword, making me gasp from the feeling. Ophelia clears her throat and moves toward me until she’s pressed against the edge of the mattress.

“Milady,” she whispers, her eyes glancing to Marisol’s back and then to me again. “Are you alright?”

I tilt my head, assuming she means from everything that’s happened in the past twenty-four hours. The truth is, I’m not alright—the sticky fingers of grief don’t let go easily—but I won’t show it to everyone. Showing emotion is weak, and I cannot afford to look weak, especially now.

“Of course I am, Ophelia.” I smile at her.

She leans closer, her brows drawing in. “There’s blood on your sheets.” Her voice is quiet, as though she’s trying to keep from letting the others hear. Embarrassment slams into me, and I glance down, realizing the blankets have slipped, specks of red dotting the fabric, surrounded by crumbled, hardened wax.