Page 123 of Merciless Daddy

Even then.

Even breaking.

He remembered not to trap me.

The knowledge made me pull him closer.

“Bedroom,” he said against my lips. “Now.”

His mouth returned to mine.

He carried me there.

Sal set me on my feet beside the bed, and I pushed his open shirt from his shoulders before he could start being careful again. The fabric dropped to the floor.

His body was heavier than I had imagined. Broad chest. Thick shoulders. Muscle built by work. Scars interrupted the warm olive skin.

The line along his forearm. A pale mark near his ribs. A small round scar high on one shoulder. I touched each one.

His breathing slowed, became ragged. He watched my fingers travel over him.

“This one?” I asked, touching his ribs.

“Knife.”

“This?”

“Bullet.”

“And this?”

His gaze dropped to the scar along his arm.

“My father’s last night.”

I lifted his forearm and kissed it. Sal went completely still. I kissed the scar from wrist to elbow. Not because it was beautiful. It was not. It was raised and uneven and old.

It was part of him.

His hand entered my hair. Not pulling. Holding.

“You don’t need to do that,” he said.

“I want to.”

I sank to my knees.

His hand tightened.

“Yelena.”

“I want this too.”

I pulled his trousers and underwear down together.

His cock sprang free.

Thick. Heavy. Long. Flushed dark at the head. A bead of moisture already shone at the tip.