Scarred (Never After Series)

I’ve been waiting for him. I knew it was only a matter of time after Michael bent me backward and pressed his thin lips to mine.

But what I didn’t expect was for him to not show up for hours, until the dead of the night, and then storm into my quarters without even knocking.

“Tristan.” My hand shoots to my chest, the other tightening around my water cup as he rushes across the room with fire in his eyes.

“What are you—”

He walks into me, the glass in my hand dropping to the ground and shattering as he shoves me against the wall, his lips claiming mine in a brutal kiss. I moan, my arms flying up to wrap around his shoulders as he consumes me, his body pressing against mine as he licks inside my mouth, his hands roaming over my sides like he can’t bear the thought of not touching me.

“You let him put his hands on you,” he rasps, his voice tortured and low.

“What would you have had me do?” I whisper back, as he sucks and bites down the length of my neck. I tilt my head to give him better access, my core pulsing with need, his possessiveness spreading arousal through my insides, loving the way it feels to be wanted so desperately by someone with so much power.

“It makes me crazy, Sara.” His grip turns bruising, and then he’s ripping my red nightgown from my body until I’m naked and bared before him, goose bumps spreading along my skin. “I can’t stand it.”

My hand runs down the front of his chest, my heart pounding with sudden desperation to prove to him that no one else has me, that I only belong to him. His nostrils flare as he glares at me, the rings of his fingers glinting as I drop to my knees, reaching out to undo his slacks, my mouth watering at the thought of having his thickness in my hand and on my tongue.

“I’m yours, Tristan.” I rub my palm up the length of his growing erection, excitement skipping through my chest when it hardens beneath my touch.

He fists my hair, the way I know he loves to do, his other hand reaching under my jaw and tipping up my chin until I’m staring him in the eyes.

“Take it out,” he growls.

My center throbs and I slip my hand beneath the waistline of his slacks, underneath his underwear, until I grip his shaft, feeling it hot and hard as a rock in my palm. I run my fingers along him, and he sucks in a deep breath, gripping the strands tight as I pull him from his pants. My stomach tenses as it bobs in front of me, and I lean forward, opening my mouth to devour him whole.

His grasp tightens on my hair and he pulls me back, his hand coming down to grip his own cock, stroking it from the root to the tip.

“You love being on your knees for me, don’t you?” he asks, moving in sure motions up and down the length of himself. I nod, licking my lips as I watch his balls tense and release while he manipulates his flesh. He brings the head of it down and slaps it against the top of my breasts, leaving behind a string of arousal from the tip of his cock onto the top of my chest. The act itself is so dirty that it makes my cunt drip down my legs, desperate to have him fill it.

He rubs the tip in the small puddle he left behind before dragging it up to my neck, repositioning it so it rests on my lips. I can’t help but peek my tongue out and lick up his essence, moaning when the salty flavor hits my tastebuds.

“Open your mouth.” His fingers flex in my hair, drawing my head back more.

I obey. Not because I’m weak, and not because I have no choice; but because surrendering to him makes me happy. Powerful. It’s intoxicating, owning the passion of a man like Tristan, and so I’ll worship him like a god because I know he does the same with me.

I’m his equal.

And right now, I’m his whore.

He slides his cock inside of the open hole of my warm, waiting mouth, hissing as I leave it wide so he can see every inch as it slides inside. My insides flutter and my core tenses, wanting to watch from my knees as he comes apart down my throat.

I’m ravenous for it.

I don’t think I’ll survive if I can’t have it.

His hips thrust forward, the tattoos on his forearms coming alive while his muscles tense. The vein on the underside of his shaft throbs as he slides it along my tongue, and I have to stop myself from closing my lips around him—from sucking him as deep as I can take.

Instead, I wait for him to give me direction; knowing he’ll take what he needs.

His fingers tighten their grip, creating a delicious sting that strikes through my middle and pulses between my legs.

“Suck.”

It’s one word, but the second he says what to do I’m there, running my tongue around his silky shaft, feeling him throb as I hollow out my cheeks, wanting to milk his dick until cum bursts in my mouth.

He groans, his other hand flying up to meet his first on the back of my head, and he thrusts in and out. His eyes are half-lidded but they never leave mine, and I swear I’m close to coming apart without even being touched, just from watching him fuck my mouth.

I’ve done this act before, but it’s never felt like this.

“Look at you,” he whispers, his fingers caressing down my face until they grip the base of my chin. “So pretty on your knees while I choke you with my cock.”

He surges forward as he says the word and hits the back of my throat. I do choke, only a little, but the discomfort ratchets my arousal higher, making my cunt squeeze against air, wishing it was wrapping around the length of him and feeling him paint my insides.

“You love it, don’t you, filthy girl? I bet if I put my fingers in your pussy, it would drench my hand with how sopping and eager it is to take me.” He thrusts again, and this time, I suck harder, swirling my tongue around the throbbing vein that runs on the underside of his sensitive length. Groaning, he pulls his hips out until his heavy erection bobs in the air, tensing and growing right in front of me.

He closes his eyes, breathing deep.

And then he grips himself with his hand and smacks me with it. It’s nothing more than a light tap, but the act itself sends shock waves of tension rippling through my middle, and I lose control of my limbs, my fingers sliding down into my begging cunt, finding it sopping and wet, just the way he said it would be.

His eyes flare as he watches, his fingers stroking up and down his spit-soaked shaft and he groans as I finger myself, my insides coiling tight until I’m on the edge of an explosion.

“That’s it, my little liar, fuck yourself on your fingers and imagine it’s my cock.” He bends down. “Spread your thighs and show me how bad you want it.”

I’m not sure if it’s his words, the sound of his voice, or the fact it’s just him telling me to do something, but when I do as he says, my body seizes up tight, pleasure skittering through my insides as my walls contract so intensely that it hurts. My vision blacks out and I fall forward on my knees, bliss exploding inside of me and coating my every nerve.

He catches me by the face, my chin held in his grip as he continues to jerk himself off. I’m malleable beneath him, a willing servant begging for every drop.

His face scrunches up and I can see the moment his balls pump, the vein in his cock pulsing as the cum pushes up through his shaft and explodes from his tip, showering me with his orgasm. I moan, the hot liquid pouring onto my skin, and when he drops to his knees, I get on all fours and crawl toward him, remembering the fire in his eyes when I did it before, diving down and swallowing him whole, small spurts of his cum spraying down my throat.

He groans, his hands gripping my hair as he spasms against my tongue, and I continue to lick him clean until he’s spent, softening in my mouth.

Finally, I slip him out of me, sitting back as I stare at him, warm and gooey love filling up my chest. He leans forward, tangling our mouths together so our breaths become one, and I lose sight of where he ends and I begin.

“Don’t shower before you go to him tomorrow,” he demands, pecking my lips between words. “I want him to smell me on your skin.”

I nod. I’ve felt loyalty before; it runs through my veins deep. It used to beat for family, for duty. For my people.

But with Tristan? I would light myself on fire and revel in the burn if I knew it would please him. It’s a scary feeling, but one that I embrace, because he is my king and I am his queen and together we will rule the world.

He moves from beneath me and stands, grabbing his pants and stepping into them. I move also, walking over to the hook that has my night robe, and grabbing it. Before I can put it on, he slaps it out of my hand, wrapping his arm around my waist and lifting me up as he walks us toward my bed and throws me down.

I bounce when I hit the mattress, and he smirks, crawling between my legs, his hands spreading them wide, tingles spreading up my body as he does. And it’s only then I realize he has a pen in his hand. The ink is cool as it bleeds from the tip of the ballpoint onto my skin, and my heart spasms in my chest.

“What are you doing?” I whisper.

“Branding you,” he replies.

His face is serious; his eyes focused and hands weaving magic, and I’ve never been more attracted to this man in my life as I am with him lying between my legs and drawing artwork on my thigh.

“Should we talk about tomorrow night?” I ask, my stomach jumbling from anxiety at the thought of the plans we’ve made.

His jaw tenses, his movement faltering before he resumes drawing lines on my skin. “I’d rather not. The thought of it makes me want to tie you to my bed and never let you leave.”

My heart warms, knowing that he’s just as nervous as I am over what we’ve talked about. “Everything will work out.” I rub my hand over the top of his hair. “Tomorrow night, I’ll go to your brother, and convince him to take me to his quarters.”

His grip grows tight enough to bruise.

“And then you will be there,” I soothe. “Before anything can happen. And I will have slipped laudanum into his drink.”

“It’s too risky.”

“There is no reward, if you don’t take a risk, my love.” I reach down, my hand touching his cheek. “I trust you. I believe in you. Let me help you.”

He continues drawing, although he leans into my touch. “I don’t wish to use you this way.”

“It’s the easiest plan, Tristan. Please. I can do this. And before he can even blink, you’ll gather the rebels, and come find me.” My heart kicks in anticipation, sick and twisted excitement bleeding through my pores. “You’ll take what’s yours. And your people will be behind you, ridding you of any person who wishes to keep you from the crown.”

His eyes snap up. “Our people.”

Emotion swells in my chest. “Our people,” I correct.

He blows out a shaky breath and leans in, leaving a light kiss on my thigh, his fingers smoothing over it after, before he sits back, grinning at his art.

I push up on my elbows and stare down at what he drew.

It’s a heart. Not the kind that you see kids draw or the type that you would expect in paintings that depict love. This one is of the organ, blood dripping off its edges, and vessels running through the muscle. A thick chain wraps around its center and coils beneath it, a padlock on the end. I squint my eyes and look closer, realizing there’s writing on the lock.

Tristan’s Property.

I scoff, shoving at his shoulders. “Romantic.”

He lets out a small laugh, sliding up my body and pressing a kiss to my lips, his hand gripping my face. “For you? I’m barbaric. And after tomorrow, when we kill Michael and seize the castle, I’m going to fuck you while his spirit is still in the room, just so he knows you never belonged to him.” His other hand skims up the inside of my thigh, resting on top of the bleeding heart. “And then I’ll tattoo this on your skin, so you never forget I own you as much as you own me.”

I lean in and press my lips to his again, passion surging through my center and exploding through my pores until it wraps around us both. It’s intense and I’m not sure if it will lift us up or burn us down.

But either way, it consumes me.