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He’s wrapped my arms around his neck and I drape my hands over his back.
The whole time I am speaking his mouth lingers over my pulse point. The one right below my ear and has me raking my nails over his shoulders and back.
Beneath my fingers, I feel the signs of his own history. A past as scared and ugly as my own. Where mine are mental and emotional his are way worse.
“Tell me what these are.”
He’s silent long enough I feel he won’t answer. “My father whipped me for protecting my mother from his wrath. His cane lashed into my back. I gladly took it.”
We lock eyes and he doesn’t move to stop me from fisting the ends of his shirt and pulling it over his head. Sitting shirtless in front of me I rub the palms of my hands over his flat abdomen, and heaven help me I can finally focus on appreciating his firm pecs without him tearing my attention away with an orgasm or kiss.
His skin is warm beneath my curious fingertips. His shoulders are made to spread a woman’s thighs and I am tempted to lean forward, sink my teeth into all this delicious man meat.
But later.
Right now, I need to know the man Ares hides from everyone.
I peer over his shoulder. I’ve only gotten a glance of the scars when he briefly changed shirts in front of me. Up close I can see the ugly jagged edges where his skin tore and ripped under the punishing cane lashes.
“He did all this to you?” I fear his answer.
“Him. And my half-brothers. As the oldest, if I died, they inherited everything. They learned his cruelty from an early age.”
“How old were you?”
“Dvenadtsat.Twelve.And spent the next five years plotting my escape from under his rule.” Odd choice of words, but everyone is the king of their own domain, right. For a young boy and man, it must have felt like his world was ruled by a cruel dictator.
Any second he’ll lockdown. I can already see the wall he keeps between him and his past erecting once again. Brick by brick he’ll shut me off.
“Where is she now?” I ask quietly.
“Dead.”
My stomach twists. His one word is void of warmth but cracked, shattered emotions knife through and break his voice.
“He killed her for loving me more than him.”
I tighten my arms around him. “She was lucky to have such a wonderful son for the time you had each other. Did they catch him? Is he in prison?”
And just like that, the wall snaps in place. His expression zeroes to a blank mask with not even a fraction of emotions cracking through.
“Your sister.” He shrugs on his shirt, covering those scars and effectively cutting the conversation.
“What about her?”
“You’ve been caring for her alone all this time?”
I nod. “Who else is there? Eight years. She’s in college, a roof and food with decent clothing. I can’t complain.”
Wordlessly he lifts his head. I stare into his eyes. He’s pissed. I can see it in the creases along his forehead and the flat line of his mouth. “And who is taking care of you?”
“I don’t need anyone.”
A peculiar look in his eyes shoves aside the anger I saw there a second ago. Now he looks amused by my way of thinking.
“Is that why you have that tattoo?” His thumb is back in my pants. Only instead of seeking to torture me into another orgasm so strong, I forget my own wellbeing he strokes the callused pad over my tattoo.
I place a hand over my lower abdomen. “Something like that.”
