Page 277 of Merciless Daddy

“You were sixteen.”

“Yes.”

Her mouth touched the scar.

Not a kiss meant to make me hard. Not at first. A kiss meant to honor the boy who had bled and lived and decided he would carry everyone if that was what love required.

My breath broke.

Yelena looked up.

“You all right?”

“No,” I said honestly. “Not at all. I barely feel as though I’m real.”

That made her smile.

“Good.”

She kissed my throat. My jaw. The hollow beneath my ear. Her mouth moved down my chest while her fingers worked at my belt.

I wanted to take over. It lived in my bones, that instinct. To guide. To ask. To make sure she was comfortable, protected, cared for.

But she had told me to stay. So I stayed.

Her palm slid over me through my trousers. I shut my eyes.

“Sal.”

I opened them.

“Look at me.”

I did.

Her expression had gone soft. Not teasing now. Not exactly.

“I want you to trust me too,” she said.

The words landed in the deepest place.

I had trusted men with weapons. I had trusted cousins with my life. I had trusted my own judgment through violence and betrayal.

Trusting someone with pleasure was different.

It required surrender.

“Yes,” I said.

She opened my belt. My trousers. Her hand slid inside, warm and sure.

My head dropped back.

“Beautiful,” she murmured.

“Lena.”

She kissed the corner of my mouth. Then she moved lower.