Page 30 of Tempted By Poison
It doesn’t last long because a deadly hand snatches my throat along with a chunk of my hair. I yelp. I’m twisted and folded until I’m flush underneath Ronan’s hard, naked body.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he flares in a thick accent.
I'm met with dark eyes, cutting into me like razors, as if he wants to crush me and fuck me at the same time. I hope it's the latter. He doesn't remove his grip from my neck, and I moan sensually as a tear slips down to my cheek. The grasp only provokes my desire, causing my cunt to dampen. It seems to entice him, too, as his cock comes to life.
“You don’t need to hide your scars from me,” I crack, staring at him. I slide my pointer down his chest to his pelvic bone, where the old inflictions end. Then I place my palm flat on the bumps and ridges.
His muscles clench solid and his eyes close. He pants. “Stop.”
I slide my palm farther up, taking in every groove and tight muscle on his body. “Why?” I continue, my muscles shaking. If he wasn’t choking me, I would kiss the wounds again.
The spot where he was lying before is warm and cozy. He pushes my head deeper into his pillow, and I arch my back. Another tear slips. I reach the area on the left of his chest that has the most slices. Every movement his cock jumps with flexes to his belly. His hot breath shudders across my mouth, and he searches over my face at the new discovery of myself.
I’m crying.
His hand loosens on my neck slightly with softened, chaotic eyes. “Little snake,” he says in a hollow whisper. Leaning forward, he drags his tongue up my temple, swiping the salty drip trailing down my cheek—tears that haven't been shed since becoming an assassin.
I close my eyes as another runs down, then another, but he catches them again with a delicate touch of his mouth. His wet lips lightly graze over my cheek, then he says, “Why do you cry?”
My lips quiver as I force the other tears to stay where they are. I think of everything that led to the point of them being kidnapped. “Because of your pain.”
His breath scatters as he motions his length on me again. My lips part with the movement.
“I’m sorry,” I say, envisioning them tied to that chair, weak and afraid. “You didn’t deserve it. Neither of you did.”
When I open my eyes, water pools at the rim, and everything becomes blurry. Showing your emotion is a weakness—you hold it in until you feel nothing but emptiness—but I don’t feel that. I feel everything. Everything that I shouldn’t.
“And it's not your fault.” I told him this before, and I’ll say it again and again, so he removes that blame that leaves a heavy weight on your shoulder. “I don't hate you—anymore.” I move my hand under his scars.
A soft, ragged huff brushes across my cheek, and he rocks again. “Do you forgive me?”
I suck in a low breath. “For what?” I tip my face to his mouth as I savor the hold he has, rocking my hip innocently so my pussy can press on his dick.
He hesitates for a second. “For being a coward. For not going to his funeral and being there for you...For being too weak to face your family.”
My throat becomes scratchy, and I fold in my lips to control the rush of liquid behind my eyes. Memories of me at sixteen years old flash in my mind, towering over my brother's closed casket, crying and wishing that some piece of Carter was there with me. Thathewas there. I needed him—selfishly. I hated him for it, but I never thought of the pain that it caused him, too. How he was only protecting his peace and his heart. I can’t fault him for wanting to not see his best friend gone after watching him suffer.
Hating him took so much energy, and I can't be like my father when it comes to that anymore.
I swallow down the aggressive pressure, but I’m choking on my own silent sobs. I nod as old, hot resentment streams slowly from my eyes as if it's finally relieving itself from me. I thread my fingers through his ruffled hair.
“I forgive you.”
Years of hate lifts from my own invisible wounds.I forgive you.
His body semi-relaxes before he pulls away, and I look up to find him watching me with hazy, glossy eyes, his lips part slightly, and his cock presses angrily against me. “I’m sorry,” he finally says.
I can’t hold anything back, and my chest caves in as hot tears leak down my cheeks and stain the sheets. It's the words I never knew I needed to hear—as if he’s speaking for himself and my brother. As if he’s telling me he wishes he could've watched me grow, watched me change into a woman more than what my father bestowed on me. Sorry for how fucked up our lives have turned out to be.
I’m sorry.
I want to feel like a fool for being so emotional, but the body can’t hide your true feelings—regardless of what you do. And I feel safe for once to do that with him.
A shaky breath escapes me, and I lift my chin, meeting me halfway. He closes the gap, crushing our lips together. I smooth my hand over his chest and lift my hand to touch the scars on his face. I explore his lacerations, and as I do, he winces. I pull away to look at him, wrapping my legs around his waist. “Don't hide them.”
Ronan's lips pinch together, like he's aggravated with my response. He takes my wrist, removing me from his touch, and locks them above my hand. “You shouldn't want me after seeing this,” he says. “You should be disgusted by it.”
I shake my head. “Never.” I whimper in delight when his thick cock jerks again. “You may see yourself as the ugly beast in your story, but in mine, you’re beautiful,” I say, looking into his eyes. “You’re beautiful,” I whisper again as my chest rises and falls.
