Page 92 of Acceptance
“Oh! It’s cold!” she cries as Venom’s lips crash against hers. “It’s… Oh…”
The water drenches them, making their clothes heavy, but she doesn’t care. Every time he kisses her like this, she refuses to do anything that may make him stop. She’s wanted this for so long that she cherishes every moment together.
“You’re right,” he says, moving to suck her earlobe. “Wet clothes aren’t fun to stand in. We should probably take them off.”
Marnie laughs as he strips out of his clothes before helping her. There’s nothing graceful or sexy about how difficult it is as the fabrics stick to their skin, but she loves it. Everything he does has her swooning.
Once they’re completely naked, she can’t tear her eyes away from him. Her man with a lean, muscular body, bleached hair, high cheekbones, and the bluest eyes she’s ever seen stands before her looking at her with nothing but love.
“What?” Venom asks.
“I love you.”
He looks down at his erection and looks back up at her with a wide smile. “I’d love me, too, if I was you.”
Taking him into her hand, she strokes him while her other hand runs down his chest. Her eyes follow her hand as she feels a rough section of skin.
“What’s this from?” she asks, her hand releasing him as she spots a few other similar scars along his chest. Scars she’s never noticed before. “It looks familiar, but I can’t place it.”
He looks down at the spot where her hand rests. “You’ve seen a similar one on Melanie’s back. It’s from a cigar.”
“How…?”
“Pretty much the same way she got hers. One of my mom’s boyfriends used me as an ashtray.”
Blinking, she gently traces it before moving to one of the others. “How old were you?”
“Uh… four, I think.”
Four years old?
Marnie slides her hand down to touch a jagged scar along his side that looks like a lightning bolt.
“Got thrown through a window. A piece of glass broke and stabbed me. I used to call it my superhero symbol.”
Superhero symbol. Something a child would say. “How old?”
“Twelve. No, eleven. Another one of Mom’s boyfriends, but I’m not sure if they were married at that point or not.”
A raised scar along his collarbone catches her attention, and she can’t believe she’s never noticed it before. Then again, they rarely had sex in the light. Even now, they find dark rooms to find their releases.
“What about this one?”
“Got stabbed by the meth head who killed my sister. He didn’t realize it would only propel me to make him suffer even more.”
“You were older?”
“Twenty-four.”
The tears appear involuntarily, and she gently kisses a cigarette burn on his pec before clinging to him.
“What’s wrong?”
“These should have never happened. You didn’t deserve these.”
“You don’t know what I did—”
“No child deserves this. Nothing you could have done would have warranted touching you, let alone leaving scars.”
