Page 4 of Savagely Scarred

He won’t talk to me about his dreams either. He brushes them off like he doesn’t even remember having them. I can only assume they are twisted creations from his memories of the videos he was sent. I wish he had never watched them. Then I would be the only one who was scarred.

After removing my tank top, I trail my fingertips down my left side along my ribs. Nestled under my breast resides a black, abstract lotus flower tattoo. Along one of the petals I can still feel a slight ridge of scar tissue from the stab wound.

I never wanted to hide my scars until this one. The one Sage’s eyes drifted to every time it was uncovered. His gaze would linger—the pain in his eyes evident. He would never say it out loud, but I could feel the weight of his guilt.

For a while things had gotten better for both of us. Therapy was a huge help, as much as I hate to admit it. The medications to ward off the sleep demons are also working for me. I’m just not sure what caused the shift in him—to revert back to his nightmares.

Once I’m dressed in the purple top and jeans, I pull my hair out of my messy bun and shake out the curls before running my fingers through it. I check my make-up in the mirror to make sure Sage hadn’t smudged any of it downstairs.

“Hier,” I command in German. I tap my index and middle fingers against my thigh signaling Sadie to follow. She leaps off the bed and immediately attaches herself back to my side.

The German Shepard is still under a year old, but already so advanced in her training. This venture started out as an extra protective measure for me, but I quickly fell in love with the entire process. Watching her learn new commands is the equivalent to a mother’s adoration of her child taking their first steps or speaking their first word. It is so enrapturing.

“PEACHES!!” Sage roars from the kitchen as we descend the last few steps.

Turning the corner, I see him snatch up the orange tabby whose face was buried in a bowl of white frosting. Laughing, I take her from him and wipe her mouth off with a towel. Sage takes it from me and flings it over his shoulder.

“There has to be a way to keep her off the counters.”

“I fear we have tried everything. The foil didn’t even work.” I smile and put Peaches down onto the white marbled floor.

“She’s stubborn like you.” His grin fades when he tilts the bowl of frosting, inspecting it. “Do you think they will notice? I don’t have enough time to make more.”

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” I reply in a sing-song voice and wink at him.

He chuckles and starts icing Ava’s cake. My attention fixates on the movement, the way his arms flex under the rolled-up sleeves of his lavender button-down shirt. The veins in his forearms shift every time he stops to stir the icing. Visions of all the things those strong arms can do have me wondering whether we do have enough time to play.

I move to stand behind him and reach around to grab the hem of his shirt, untucking it from his pants. Slowly and torturously, I run my fingernails across his abdomen. His muscles tighten under my touch and a deep hum forms in his chest.

“You’re playing with fire,” he warns.

“Oh?” I say coyly, reaching under his waistband and I grab his cock. He hisses through his teeth while his length thickens in my hand. “Guess I better stop before I get burned.”

I inhale his scent through the back of his shirt—tar and pine, before sliding my hand back out and stepping away from him. He drops the spatula in the bowl, spins and snatches my wrist.

“You are such a fucking tease.”

The doorbell rings and both of our heads whip in the direction of the front door. Sadie barks and sprints to it from the kitchen.

“Saved by the bell.” I smile playfully up at him.

“For now,” he grunts and drops my wrist. He leans in and brushes the hair away from my ear and murmurs, “As soon as they’re gone…you’re mine."

Not a threat—a promise. One I will happily collect my punishment for later. He goes back to decorating the cake and I retreat to answer the door.

“Sitz. Bleib,” I command and Sadie sits next to the door, still as a statue except for her tail swishing excitedly against the floor.

I open the door and am greeted by a wall of purple. Ava is in a stunning lilac sun dress with her usual gold jewelry adorning her fingers and wrists. Her black curls frame her face. Standing next to her is Enzo in an eggplant polo with khakis. And then there’s Dorian… in jeans. And wearing a white t-shirt that says ‘This is my purple shirt’ written in purple marker.

I bark out a laugh, and he smiles in response while Ava rolls her eyes.

“Do you know how hard it is to find a purple shirt after Easter?” He throws his hands up.

“Michael James Dorian! We literally live in New York City!” She pokes him in the chest. “and I work at Saks!”

Dorian leans towards her while he removes her finger. Enzo’s eyes snap to his hand around her wrist and they narrow. I hear Sage chuckle from behind me and turn to see him leaning against the doorframe with a huge smile plastered to his face.

“Well maybe if you’re going to have a dress code requirement for a birthday party you should provide the clothes, your majesty!”