Chapter 16: Beautiful Scar: Chapter 16

I’m weirdly disappointed.

The meeting with his brother and his aunt yesterday went really well. Afterwards, he stopped by just to tell me that he was giving me another night off, which I guess I appreciated, but it was also strangely frustrating. Because I wanted him in my bed. I wanted him to bury my mouth with his.

But okay, fine, another day off for my poor virgin vagina to heal from his big dick’s brutality. Or whatever the hell he’s thinking. I spent today cleaning up, building some furniture that came in the mail, hanging new pictures and paintings, and basically just putting on the finishing touches. I ate lunch with Vito at my table, and then I sat my ass on the couch and waited.

And waited. And waited. Nervously sweating, thinking about Tigran dragging me into my bed. Is he going to be gentle this time? Do I even want him to be? I feel like I only got a glimpse of what he’s really like in bed.

Does he really like handcuffs?

And when can I wear them?

That’s all I keep obsessing about all night long. Except it starts to get late, and he still hasn’t shown up. I even work up the courage to poke my head into the hall, but there are only a couple of guards lurking nearby. When one notices me and gives a curious frown, I duck back into my room and lock the door, my heart skittering.

No Tigran. No nighttime visit. No weird steamy sex.

Like I said, a disappointment.

I’m not even sure why I feel this way. A week ago, I would’ve been insanely relieved that he’s not visiting. Except things have changed between us.

We had that intimate dinner, him sitting across from me on the floor. It was so odd but also so normal. Tigran’s not the kind of man I can picture doing something like that. It was sweet and gentle, and it made me want him even more. Then there was the way he acted all protective of me when his aunt and his brother visited, like he wanted to make sure my feelings were spared.

The man talks like he’s a heartless monster, and maybe he is.

But I’ve seen another side of him.

“Ah, screw it.” I start getting ready for bed. I wash off my makeup, running my fingers down my scar. Images flash through my head. The bars of my cage. A Celtic cross on the wall. A sneering young man and a long, thin knife.

Someone pounds on my door and I nearly scream.

Sweat cools on my skin as I hurry to answer. I haven’t let myself get anxious about what happened in a long while, and I’m annoyed that I’m doing it now. There’s more pounding, insistent this time, and I yank it open, afraid that something bad’s happening.

It’s Tigran. He looks at me with odd, unrestrained anger and a hint of fear in his eyes.

“Are you okay?” he says and storms into my room without asking.

Normally, with anyone else, that would bother me. But for some reason, it doesn’t even faze me. “I’m fine, I was just getting ready for bed. What’s going on?”

He grunts at me and starts looking around. He checks windows, looks under the couch, kicks open the bathroom door, and rips open the shower curtain. “What are you doing?” I ask, following him around as he searches my place. He’s acting like a murderous ghost is hiding in the closet or something.

After he goes through every little inch of my suite, he finally wears himself out and pours himself a big drink at the bar cart.

“Tigran,” I say, going to him, confused and more than a little afraid, but not that he’s going to hurt me. I have the sudden and intense urge to comfort him like he’s been comforting me. “Talk to me.” I touch his chest with both hands.

He takes a long drink of whiskey. His eyes flash to mine. Pure, intense, knee-shaking desire burns in that gaze. My stomach does an excited flip and my mouth opens, my heart racing into my throat.

He takes my hips and pulls me into him roughly, then he smothers my mouth with a wet, needy kiss.

It’s hungry and possessive. He tastes like sweet alcohol. There’s an edge to the way his tongue dominates me, and he holds me closer, his hands moving up to grasp my braid, the other gripping the nape of my neck. A growl escapes him, and it’s like every kiss before this one has been a pale imitation, and now he’s finally releasing himself, dropping his guard, giving me everything he’s been hiding away.

And it’s so freaking good.

The glass tips from his hand. It hits the floor, shatters, and spills. I yelp, trying to pull away, but he doesn’t release me. “I should clean—” I start to say, but he smothers my words with another needy, hungry kiss.

It’s too much. My head’s spinning like crazy. He roughly drags me to the couch and pulls me into his lap, cupping my ass with one hand as the other grabs my hair and pins my mouth to his.

I grind myself into him. He hasn’t said a word since coming into my room like a freaking creep, and the way he searches the place scares me, but all that gets forgotten in the frenzy. Ever since the first time we did this, I’ve been thinking about it constantly. His mouth, his hands. His growls of pleasure.

He bites my lower lip and pulls my top off. I gasp with ecstasy as he licks and sucks a nipple, going hard, lapping his tongue around.

It hurts, but I arch into him anyway, wanting more. I’m greedy, desperate for him, grinding against his lap. He’s stiff between my legs, and his breath comes fast.

He wants this as badly as I do, and that turns me on like crazy.

“Slow down,” I gasp, whimpering as he pulls my hair and shoves a hand down between my legs. He forces my knees wider as his fingers glide up and down my wet pussy. “Tigran, fuck, hold on.”

“No.” He bites my lip and sinks a finger inside.

“Just—oh my God—just tell me what’s going on.”

“Right now, I’m pleasuring my wife,” he says, rolling his fingers to my clit then back deep inside again. This time, he sinks in two, and I grind into his palm as he does it.

Fuck, it’s so, so good.

“But why—did you—come here⁠—”

“I can’t come fuck my wife?” he snarls in my face.

“Something’s wrong.”

“The only thing wrong is the fact that my cock’s not buried in your fucking mouth.”

I stare at him, appalled, outraged, fucking turned on like crazy. “You shouldn’t talk to me that way.”

He pulls my hair harder, grinning like a monster, his fingers gliding up and down as his palm grinds into my clit.

“And you should be fucking careful, little prissy wife, or you’re going to make it my mission in life to corrupt you.”

“Tigran,” I moan, chills running down my spine in cascades. Corrupt me? Make me dirty? God, I want it. How messed up is that? “You wouldn’t.”

“Come here.” He unbuckles his belt and forces me down onto my knees. I stare as he takes out his thick cock, his shaft pulsing and veiny, fist still in my hair. “Open your mouth.”

I obey him, heart racing.

“Stick out your tongue.”

I do it, feeling so filthy.

“That’s a good girl. Look at you, down on your knees, my big cock aching to touch your pretty fucking throat. And you still think you’re a good girl?”

I nod slowly, staring into his eyes, mouth open, tongue out. My body is numb with anticipation.

“Lick me, you dirty fucking girl,” he whispers.

I bend forward, and I do it.

Slowly too. I lick every inch of his thick, vein-covered dick, starting low and going high until I taste his precum.

“That’s right, baby. Look at you. Does a good girl moan while she takes a big dick in her mouth? Does a good girl want to straddle a bad man’s face while she sucks his dick?”

My eyes widen. “You want me to do what?”

He stands and drags me to my feet. I yelp in surprise as he yanks off my pants and panties until I’m bare before him, but he doesn’t stop. He takes off his own clothes, and we’re standing in my living room totally freaking naked. I’m cold and exposed and more turned on in my entire life than I’ve ever been.

“Get over here,” he snarls, dragging me back down onto the couch.

But this time, he turns me around and makes my legs wrap around his face.

His cock is inches from my mouth.

I stay on all fours above him. “Tigran, what should—” I start to ask, since I’ve never done this before. But it’s sort of obvious, right? And he doesn’t bother explaining.

Instead, his mouth begins to devour me.

Holy shit.

I moan as his tongue laps me up and down then sinks into my pussy. He eats me like that, holding onto my thighs as he does it, and pleasure rips through my brain. He’s filthy, spit all over my folds, growling like an animal as he does it. I’m so exposed right now, so fucking naked and owned, and I love it.

I love being dirty. I love being a slut for my husband.

And there’s nothing wrong with that, right?

I grip his cock with one hand and take as much of him into my mouth as I can. He’s big, and I don’t have a lot of experience with this, but what I lack in skill I make up for in lots of drooling enthusiasm. I suck him, tongue swirling, nice and wet, and not caring how much spit’s rolling down his shaft and mixing on his balls.

I gag and whimper when he spanks my ass. He’s moaning, and I’m moaning; also, I’m mostly choking and sucking, and the filthiest slurping noises drive me absolutely wild. This is inappropriate, it’s obscene, it’s sick, and it feels so good.

I grip his face with my legs. He only licks me faster. I suck his cock harder, wanting to lose it, the pressure in my core building before I pull back, whimpering and unable to control myself anymore.

“Fuck me,” I beg, stroking him, spit dangling from my tongue to the tip of his dick. “God, Tigran, make me your slut. Fuck me, please.”

Apparently, that’s all I had to say because he pulls out from under me, pins me face-down against the arm of the couch, and slides his soaking cock deep into my dripping pussy.

“That’s right, baby, you are my filthy fucking slut. Every inch of your body is mine. Every orgasm you have is mine. Every beautiful wet hole is mine to use as I please. And now, my sweet, messy fucking wife, I’m going to fill you to the brim, and I’m going to own you.”

That breaks me. He pumps his cock deep inside from behind, stretching me wide, and this time the pain lasts only a few seconds before I’m moaning and gasping. His rough, beautiful hand sinks two fingers into my mouth, and he makes me suck them.

“Taste yourself, baby,” he says, ripping into me. I’m sweating and moaning, basically beyond real language at this point, as I drool on his fingers and take his big dick. “That’s right, fucking bite me while you come, you dirty girl.”

I try to say his name, but it comes out as a violent mumbling moan. The orgasm rips through my core, and I shatter all over his big dick, biting down on his fingers as I do it. I come so hard I nearly black out, and I have to blink away bright stars at the edge of my vision as he keeps pumping into me. He stiffens, one hand grabbing my ass, fingers digging into my skin, the other hand grabbing my hair and using me for his pleasure. He fills me to the brim with his orgasm, his growls of incomprehensible pleasure in my ears, and I’m left gasping for air when we’re both finally done.

“That’s my girl,” he whispers, kissing my neck, my shoulders, my back. He slips his cock out and kisses my ass, squeezing it with both hands, patting it lovingly. “God, you are such a good girl.”

“You’re easy to please,” I say, grinning like an idiot. I stretch, still floating with pleasure.

“No, baby, I’m not.” He nestles down into the couch next to me and wraps his big arms around my body. “You know what I like about you?”

“I think I can name a few things.”

He chuckles low and bites my ear. “I like how eager you are to learn.”

A thrill runs down my spine. “Who said that?”

“You’re too much of a stuck-up priss to ever admit it, but you like when I treat you like a slut.”

“Don’t be an asshole,” I mutter, cheeks turning pink. It’s one thing for him to call me that when his dick’s buried between my legs, but another when we’re just snuggling together.

“I’m right though. I bet all your life, people have walked on eggshells around you.”

I close my eyes, frowning slightly. “People treat me like I’m breakable,” I admit, and it’s only lying here in his arms after spitting all over his big dick that I could ever say that out loud.

Otherwise, I’d be way too ashamed to say it.

“But you aren’t.” He squeezes me harder. “You’re far from it, and that’s what I like. You can take more than you realize.”

“Lucky for you,” I mumble, feeling his dick getting hard again. I wiggle my hips against it. “Don’t tell me you’re already thinking about round two?”

“I’ve been holding back out of respect.”

“I didn’t know you were capable of that.”

“But now that you’re my slut—” He kisses my neck and tweaks my hard nipples. “I feel like I can do whatever the fuck I want with you, and you’re going to thank me for it.”

“Bold of you,” I say, desire burning between my legs again, because he’s right.

I’m fucked up for him, and right now, I want to feel everything.

“Come on.” He pushes himself up from the couch.

“Where are we going?”

“Your bed. I’m not finished with you.”

I hesitate. He stands there, cock half-hard, thick and long. His muscles ripple with power, and those tattoos are both terrifying and strangely alluring. He’s all darkness and hate, violence and death, and yet he treats me like I’m special.

Like I’m everything to him.

I cover my breasts with my arms. Sometimes I feel like I’m not good enough. There he is, a glorious freaking god of a man, while I’m nothing. Medium boobs, a decent butt, nothing to write home about.

And yet when I get to my feet, he looks at me with pure, naked desire.

“How about this,” I say, skipping out of his reach. I snatch up my clothes and back away as he follows. “You tell me why you showed up here and started ripping through my rooms, and maybe I’ll let you touch me again.”

“I don’t make deals for sex,” he says, smirking as he comes toward me. I keep backing off toward my bedroom.

“Then I guess you’re done for the night.” I go right to the door separating our suites and open it with raised eyebrows. “Or are you going to play?”

His jaw clenches. I can tell he’s annoyed. He wants to do this on his terms, but I’m not above using what I have to get what I need.

Slowly, though, his expression eases as he comes toward me. I inch away, my heart racing. He leans into my face and brushes a thumb down my scar.

“I like when you stand up for yourself,” he says, then grabs my wrist. I gasp in shock. He moves so fast, and he’s so strong. He pins me against the wall, and my clothes drop from my hands. His body crushes mine, his cock hard now and pressed into my belly. “Something bad happened. I wanted to make sure you were safe.”

“You thought someone might be hiding under my bed?”

“I’m not taking chances with you.” He licks his lips, staring at me as he leans down to run his mouth along my scar. “Not with something precious.”

Oh my god. What is with this guy?

One second, he acts like he’s a heartless monster, and the next, he turns into some obsessed, protective bear.

“All right, you win,” I say, turning my mouth toward his, feeling desperate and greedy for more. “I guess you can stay.”

“I knew my little slut couldn’t help herself.”

Then he buries my mouth with his, and he’s right, I really can’t.