“East—”
“You want me to show you, Scar?” I breathe into her lips while my eyes are transfixed on them.
“East,” she pleads.
“Let me show you just how fucking good it can hurt.”
“Don’t,” she continues to beg, her body already aching for my touch.
My hands pull at the hem of her frumpy sweater, her preferred camouflage to hide the beauty that lies underneath.
“Tell me you want my pain as I yearn for yours.”
She hisses when my hands start to travel up and down her flat stomach.
“I’m mad at you,” she repeats on bated breath.
“Be mad at me. Hate me even. I don’t give a fuck. Just let me show you my version of pain.”
I lick my lips and go to my haunches, her eyes never leaving mine. I slip the brown, ugly-ass skirt up her thighs, exposing her white cotton panties underneath. The wet spot at their very center reveals that she is already wet and anxious for me. I crane my neck back and catch her wanton gaze.
“Just say the word, Scar. You’ve got me on my knees now. Begging for mercy.”
“Show me.”
And fuck if her command isn’t music to my ears.
My nose tickles her pussy, taking in the smell of her arousal as I slowly pull her panties down her legs, pocketing them once removed. I raise her skirt again, my mouth watering when her smooth lips spring into view, welcoming me home. With one elongated stroke, I taste her essence, all of it just as sweet as she is. As I lap at her folds, her hands grip on my shoulders so that her quivering knees don’t give out, making me moan into her pussy when I feel her nails dig into my skin.
“You hurt, I hurt, Scar. It will always be like this for us.”
My kiss is hungry and depraved as my hands travel to her ass cheeks, grabbing them so that she has nowhere to run.
“East,” she sighs, so close to unraveling.
I keep sucking on her clit until we’re both hurting. She cums, wild and ravenous, with my name on her lips, but it’s still not enough to satiate my hunger for her. I stand back up, unzipping my cock from its confinement, ready to take what’s mine. I grab her leg and wrap it around my hip, my cock teasing the folds of her pussy.
“You drive me insane,” I growl. “I need to be inside you,” I tell her as my only warning that she isn’t leaving this room until she has been properly fucked.
I thrust inside her wet core, my body trembling with need, as another loud wail erupts from her throat. My cock being strangled by her pussy is punishment and reward all in one, and I just can’t get enough of this sweet torture. My head falls to the crook of her neck, kissing it while I pump ruthlessly into her. Her mouth slacks open on a cry as my teeth sink into her creamy skin. She wraps her arms around my neck, both her legs encompassing my hips now.
I keep to my rhythm and press my sweaty forehead on hers, our eyes locked with one another as our rapid breathing accelerates with each maddening thrust. The need to taste her lips consumes me, desperate to see if her mouth tastes as sweet as her pussy. I shut my eyes, not wanting to give in to temptation. But in my mind, she’s got her lips on mine, bruising my soul with just one kiss.
“Look at me, East,” she rasps, cradling my face in her palms.
I open my eyes and see so much love in hers that, for a single moment, the world ceases to exist.
There is no Society.
No Owen.
No ghosts or demons.
There is only us.
“Scar,” I hiss when I feel her core clench around me.
“Give me your pain, and I’ll give you mine.”
“Fuck,” I roar desperately, never wavering my stare from the brown eyes that hold so much hope in them.
“Give it all to me, Easton. I can take it.”
And with those words of reverence and worship, I bite onto her lower lip, sucking on it as if it will clean all my sins away. She cums when my mouth latches onto hers, and this time I don’t have the restraint to pull out, filling her to the hilt as we both come undone together.
I’m not sure how much time passes, and in all honesty, I don’t care. If I could, I’d stay just like this for the rest of my life—with Scarlett in my arms, looking sated and genuinely happy. The warmth inside my chest should terrify me, but fear is the last thing on my mind. There is no room for it when only love resides in me.
“I think it’s time you met my mom,” I whisper, my forehead still kissing hers.
“I already know your mom.”
“Not as my girl, you don’t.”
Chapter 22
Scarlett
When we get to his house, my stomach is a fluttering mess of nerves. Not even Easton’s trademark, slanted grin settles my anxiety any. It’s foolish of me even to be this nervous since I’ve known Easton’s mother for most of my young-adult life. I have even talked to his stepdad on those rare occasions he accompanies his wife to my uncle’s church on Sunday.
But being invited to Easton’s home so formally like this feels different somehow.
Significant.
Meaningful.
It’s a lot to take in when, just a few months ago, we did everything in our power not to be in the same room together. Or at least, I did. Easton wasn’t as squeamish at invading my personal space.
When we drove up through his gate, my jittery nerves only increased at the sight of such lavishly wealthy surroundings. Unlike most of the homes in the Northside, the Price residence doesn’t have that North Carolina feel to it. In fact, it looks like it was built for the hills of sunny California, not the Asheville countryside. The white, three-story home boasts large, clear-view windows from top to bottom that showcase the elegant decor inside, making it fit to be featured in an issue of Architectural Digest.
If I wasn’t intimidated enough, then this home sure turned up my apprehension a notch.
“Stop fidgeting, Scar. It’s just my mom, not the Queen of England,” Easton jokes, placing a loving kiss on my shoulder.
Easton’s uncharacteristic tenderness thaws my restlessness. He’s been like this for the past couple of days now, ever since he cornered me Monday morning, demanding my attention long enough to apologize for his actions. I’m not naive in thinking that his new-found gentleness wasn’t sprung by the shame of how he dealt with seeing Owen and me together.
I guess if I had seen such intimacy between him and anyone else, I wouldn’t have taken it well either. But where I retreat into my corner and lick my wounds when my feelings get hurt, Easton becomes a burning volcano ready to turn the earth to ash.
He entwines our fingers together, giving my hand a light, comforting squeeze as he leads me into the dining room where the table is already set for dinner guests. Soft footsteps ring out behind us, and I turn around to see who it is. Naomi’s smile is as bright as the sun as she engulfs me in a hug, welcoming me to her home. Her husband stands just behind her with an amused look on his face.
“Scarlett, I’m so happy you’re here,” she says after placing a kiss on both my cheeks, which undoubtedly must be crimson red with such affection.