Page 97 of Wolfkissed
“What if… what if I’d rather you saw the scars,” she says, lifting her chin, surprising me yet again, “because I don’t care what you think of me.”
“Right…” I hide my wince at her words. “Right.”
“You can tell me, perhaps…” She swallows hard and looks away, betraying her nervousness. “Tell me how bad they are to… to a man. How ugly they make me. How unattractive and unappealing. How… how Lord Eorl might react to them.”
It’s… so sad and endearing. How honest, how open she is right now. How courageous. I see it now, how brave she is. I’ve been seeing it since I met her, but this, deciding to show me her scars, is even braver than going on this journey with me.
And that is sexy. Hot as hell.
“For what it’s worth,” I say, “I don’t find scars ugly. We all have them, inside or out. Nothing you have been through ever truly disappears. It leaves traces.”
She shakes her head. Doesn’t believe me. “You haven’t seen them,” she insists. “You might change your mind.”
“Then show me. Just know that it’s hard to shock me.”
“Because you’re a werewolf? A dark fae whose race was twisted up by magic?”
“Shifting changes your perspective, your view. Makes you question the permanence of appearances and the fluidity of identities.”
She frowns. “You mean that a human lord might think differently?”
“It’s a possibility,” I tell her truthfully. “But if he doesn’t appreciate you, doesn’t get painfully hard for you, then he’s the biggest idiot in existence.”
Her mouth twitches a little at that, and her eyes brighten. “Why?”
“Because you’re beautiful. Didn’t I say so before?”
“But scarred.”
“The one doesn’t negate the other.”
That seems to clinch it for her, and she resumes unbuttoning her collar. I itch to help her, take over, tear her bodice open, and send the tiny pearly buttons flying, but I clench my hands at my sides instead. I should be removing my underpants, too. The water is cooling in the tub, but I can’t look away.
She kicks off her shoes, pulls off her stockings, then peels off her dress and lets it pool around her ankles. Finally, she takes off her chemise and her underpants and stands there, naked and perfect, and I couldn’t look away if my life depended on it.
Did I say nothing can shock me? I was wrong. I am shocked. Fucking shaken to my bones.
She really is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. The sexiest, prettiest, most delectable maiden with her elegant legs and hipbones, the dip of her waist and the light roundness of her belly, and fucking hells, her perfectly pointed breasts.
And yeah, I see the scars. Kind of hard to miss. One runs from her collarbone down, between her breasts to her stomach, and there is another on her thigh, twisting around it, twisting the flesh with it. Both are darker than her skin, the flesh puckered along their lines.
They only make her body shine all the more. Its flaws make it flawless.
Mate,my mind whispers.Mate,my body agrees.Our mate.
Her chin dips. Her eyes shimmer, blue like the sea, her dark hair curling on her powder-white cheek. Her rosy lips part as a blush works its way up her long neck and down her chest, spreading over her breasts, all the way to her hard, dark nipples.
She shifts on her bare feet, and the sight of her small toes curling on the floor almost cracks my heart wide open. “You hate them,” she whispers. “They are horrible. I look horrible, I look?—”
“Sexy,” I breathe. “You’re the most alluring woman I have ever seen, Princess.”
“Not true.” Her voice cracks. “I’m not?—”
“Not ugly. Not even a little. And plenty beautiful.” I smile and look her over again, from head to toe, taking my time. Letting her appeal seep into me, feeling my cock harden and harden until I can barely stand it. I reach down and adjust myself in my underpants. “Fuck… If you needed proof of what you do to a man, look.”
Her gaze dips there again, and her eyes widen. “You’re still…”
“Hard? Oh, yeah.”
