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“Yes.”No. Oh, man. I swallow hard. I’m dying to see it—his piercing, his cock. I’m dying of curiosity. And excitement.
My God, I think my panties are wet with my arousal.
“You haven’t answered my questions,” I attempt to turn the conversation back to the original topic. “About your childhood.”
“Why would you want to know?”
“Why not?”
He shrugs. “Nobody has ever asked me about my childhood. I… Fuck, I don’t wanna talk about it.”
“Was it so bad?”
“Bad?” He snorts. “Bad doesn’t begin to cover it. Wanna take a look?”
“A look at what?” Are we talking about his cock again?
“At evidence from the hellish courts. Check it out for yourself.”
“What do you mean?”
He beckons for me to approach and against my better judgment, I get up and go to him. His mouth is a flat line, the arrogant smirk gone.
“What do you want to show me, Rys?”
“Are you sure you wanna see this? Girls sometimes ask me questions but don’t really want answers. They’d rather look at the surface, explain me away as a demon, as if all demons are the same, as if all guys…” He huffs. “Fuck.”
“Screw them if they don’t really want to know,” I say softly. “Show me.”
“My Jacob’s Ladder?”
“No, the evidence. What did they do to you?”
He swallows hard. “Now that is a question you don’t want the answer to, Mia.”
“But I—”
“Just look.” He reaches behind his head and drags his sleeveless top off. His chest muscles ripple as he lowers his arms and good God, these boys are unreal, they’re so strong. Ink swirls over his whole chest and arms forming a formidable dragon, only interrupted where the wound he got from the arrow is. It’s smack in the dragon’s head, more or less where the dragon’s eye would be.
Wait…His nipples are pierced, too, I realize. Thin silver hoops go through them. My own ache at the sight.
It’s terribly distracting. “What am I looking for?” I whisper, struggling not to reach up and run my hands all over him.
But he takes the decision out of my hands, literally, when he grabs my fingers and before I can pull away, he places my palm to his flat belly. The inked dragon’s fanged mouth is on his chest, the tail disappearing over one shoulder, one of the claws splayed over his stomach is black and red.
And then I feel them.
Scars.
The ink is covering scars.
“Rys…” I breathe, shocked.
He moves my hand up, over his pecs, over more raised scars, over his shoulders, down his arms. It’s as if every inch of him has been hurt and then concealed with cleverly placed ink.
Much like the concealer on my face hides my bruises.
But his body is a whole map of savagery.
