Page 42 of Beautiful Scars

He straddles me, grabs the hem of my dress, and slowly pulls it up my legs. That should have terrified me, but instead I kiss him even harder than before.

Cillian lets out a surprised sound and rears back from me.

When I try to follow, my restraints jerk me back with a soft clink.

Fuck. I forgot about them.

We stare at each, both breathing hard. Before I can make a sound, he grabs the front of my dress and tugs it down to my ribs, baring my breasts. He ducks down, working hungry kisses down my breastbone until he reaches one of my nipples.

They’re already tight little buds, but when he draws one into his mouth and sucks, they harden even more. I gasp as my back arches from the bed, urging more of my breast into his mouth.

I’m dimly aware that this is not even close to what I’d intended, but I can’t even remember what my plan had been. To kiss him? To make him think I might open my legs for him?

Oh my God, my legs arealreadyopen. He’s gone and wedged himself between my thighs and I didn’t even realize.

Also, I would like to draw your attention to the fact that you haven’t had an anxiety attack yet. Do you feel you’re making some progress working with your PTSD, Meisie?

Well slap my ass and call me Sally. I think you’re onto something, Trish!

But as soon as Cillian’s hand slides behind my back and he touches my zipper, my body goes stiff.

No. No! I told him—

As if he doesn’t realize anything’s changed, he slides his other hand between my legs and strokes me through my underwear.

I don’t know who realizes it first—him or me—but when he discovers how wet I am, he lets out a low growl.

Maybe the little bunny rabbit in me suddenly comes alive, I don’t know. But one second all I want is for him to yank off those wet panties and do what he’s been threatening since he coerced me onto his lap at club Asylum, the next a panicked, “Peaches!” bursts out of me.

He sits up in a rush, blinking at me like he’s just woken up.

And fuck, I don’t blame him. My mind’s still reeling from the feel of his lips, his hands, his mouth.

“Peaches,” he replies slowly.

I squirm under him, dropping my eyes when I realize my tits are still out. “I’m sorry,” I murmur. “It’s just—”

But he doesn’t seem to want to hear me out. I cut off when he yanks open my restraints. He climbs off the bed without a backward glance as I try and urge the dress back up my chest.

Shit, I’ve really pissed him off now. What the hell was I thinking?

Gig’s up, Meisie. He’ll never fall for your tricks again. You’ll be lucky if he even—

“Hungry?” he asks.

I hurriedly snap my mouth closed when he looks up at me from behind the camera.

Then he ducks down and takes another picture.

This time my mouth is still wide open when he straightens.

“Don’t worry, princess. That last one was just for me.”