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But he could tell she was getting restless. She wanted more.
“Eli, I want to touch you,” she said, before putting another spoonful in her mouth.
He frowned a little at her. He sat still, watching her, but he knew this had been coming. It was inevitable.
“I want to touch your stomach,” she expanded upon her request. “I want to see your body. I want to appreciate it, admire it-”
“Hmm,” he snorted and looked down. She’d think it was rude if she didn’t know him. It was the only way he could express his incredulity. The impossibility of what she had asked of him. She had seen the other night but hadn’t touched. Hadn’t explored, or lingered. Now, she wanted to. If she lingered over his body she’d think he was an ugly monster. She’d hate him, her pretty face would twist with disgust and he’d be right back in that pit of hell again. He didn’t want her to see, not properly anyway. She’d glimpsed it, earlier, but now she wanted to touch, to taste, to hear those screams, and Phantom wasn’t sure he could share that with her, but he wasn’t sure he had much of a choice anymore.
“Please. Let me. Whatever I find, it won’t change anything,” she tried to reassure him.
He sighed deeply. And grunted. “Hmm.” Fine. Fucking fine, he thought. He didn’t have the strength to fight her. She sliced his Achilles heel and he was powerless to deny her. He’d already stripped for her. She had technically already seen, but he knew what she was asking. She wanted to get a good look. She wanted to talk and think and dwell in that place that he didn’t want to show anyone. But she was already there, rooted in the darkest corner of his soul, so she might as well get another look.
He put his hands into the neckline of his T-shirt, and yanked it up over his head. If he was going to do it, he was just going to fucking do it, like ripping a bandaid off.
Her eyes shuttered down, then widened. Her mouth dropped open, her eyes roving over his abdomen. There, Sugar Fairy, you see it? You want to touch me now? The hateful, destructive monster I am?
She put her hand out. She flicked her eyes up to him. He stared defiantly back, daring her to touch him. She looked back again at his chest. And the tips of her fingers made contact with his sternum.
He shuddered. She would withdraw her hand with disgust.
But he felt her pushing, a pressure on his chest. She was pushing him, lightly, but firmly. She wanted him to lie down.
“It looks almost like lace, on top of your skin, like you’ve got some sort of very fine lace, bunched up in places, over you…” She was murmuring thoughtfully.
He reluctantly let himself fall back onto the bed, so he was fully reclined now. She straddled him, his waist. His cock stirred but now was not the time.
She turned away. He knew she would hate him. He was about to roll away from her, disappointment stabbing through him. But she was holding the bowl of ice cream in one hand, and the spoon in the other. She held his gaze, pinning him down. His breath stuttered in his lungs. She scooped up a ball of ice cream, and flicking a look at him again, lowered the spoon down to his chest.
And she rolled the scoop straight onto his stomach.
The chill shot through him and he flinched at the shock. Then tipped his head back and closed his eyes. The sensations on his scarred skin felt hot. He slammed his head back up, coming up onto his elbows so he could look down.
She had her face lowered to his stomach. Her tongue tracing one of his scars. One of the big, jagged, more recent ones. She licked it from bottom to top.
“Taste?” he rasped out. What does it taste of, Sugar Princess? Bitterness? Lies, betrayal, despair? The sour taste of death?
She looked up at him. “Tastes of…” She paused, and flicked her tongue out.
He braced himself. He almost sobbed.
“Tastes of warm skin, Eli.”
He looked down at her, his breath shuddering out.
“Nothing more, nothing less. It tastes the same as all the rest of your body, just warm, living flesh. Delicious to me.”
He breathed and let her lick off all the pain.
She scooted down and dipped the spoon into the bowl again. Then placed the smaller scoop on the inch of skin above the base of his cock, where his loop was. His now hard cock, bobbing eagerly, standing to attention. It hit her chin as she smiled up at him, moved her head down, and licked him there, too. It tickled pleasurably and broke the tension. He smiled at her. She smiled back, licking his groin clean before moving back to his stomach. She licked another scar. And this time he was smiling. He rested his head back down and felt the weight of his living hell lift from him.
Minutes passed but it felt like years. Phantom lost himself to her completely. Her hand was languidly pumping his cock. He felt he could last all night with her doing that, just a gentle, slow build. A burn, like a candle he never wanted to go out.
“You leave one,” he heard himself rasp.
“Huh?” She raised her head to look at his face.
“A deep, long scar, from you,” he huffed out.
