His Property(34)

“And your mom brought you there?” His fingers slid the sides of the lacey boy shorts he’d made me wear further up on my thighs, his touch sending heat hotter than a summer sun through my entire being. But his touch wasn’t purely sexual, even though desire pulsed under the surface, always there, the chemistry between us too strong to deny or temper.

But his touch was also comforting, like he was trying to make sure I was okay, like he was trying to make sure there were no more scars, no more marks he couldn’t see.

“My mom brought me there,” I said, the words feeling like sandpaper in my throat. “She told them she thought I had bone cancer.”

His body stiffened and his fingers stopped moving over the scars, his hand gripping my hip hard. I knew it was hard for him, this kind of intimacy, that any kind of emotions would make him want to fuck or punish me.

“He was about an hour away, this doctor. She, um… she found him on the internet, I think. “ Liam’s eyes hooded and his jaw clenched. I knew he was thinking about what I’d tried to hard not to think about. How my mom found this guy, what she’d searched for when she’d gone online. Had she found some guy that had a bad medical license, perhaps someone who’d been sued before? What had she found out about this man that let her know he would be so willing to operate on me? “She brought me to him, told him that I had bone cancer and that I needed chemo.”

“Jesus,” Liam murmured.

“He didn’t give to me,” I said quickly, as if that made it okay. “That wasn’t his particular kind of torture. But he did surgeries on me. He cut into me. Once he was in there, I don’t know what he did.”

“Why poison someone when you can cut them,” Liam murmured. “Sick fuck.”

My chest ached so hard I could feel a hard knot starting in the middle of it and moving to my throat. Don’t cry, I told myself. But something about hearing Liam say that doctor was a sick fuck made me emotional. I knew the doctor was sick, knew my mother was sick, but I’d never heard anyone else say it, mostly because I hadn’t ever told anyone else.

“Where’s your mother now?” he demanded.

“She left when I was thirteen. When I got old enough to be able to tell someone what she was doing.” My eyes filled with tears as I thought about it. “I don’t know where she is.” I swallowed. “I googled her once, a couple of years ago, but I couldn’t find anything.” I forced a laugh. “She’s probably in a shelter or something, or maybe she found a new family to torture.”

But I could tell Liam didn’t find anything about the situation funny. “Emery,” he murmured. “God, Emery.” His lips brushed over my cheeks, kissing away my tears and then he was kissing my lips, the salty taste mixing between our mouths. His lips and mouth were warm, washing away the memory of what had happened to me.

We kissed and kissed, and just like before, his kisses and his touches took away the power of those scars. His legs tangled with mine, but he made sure to keep a bit of distance between our torsos. I was turned on beyond belief, my pussy beating with need, so wet I could barely take it. But I knew this was him trying, knew this was him trying to keep us apart so that it wasn’t all about sex.

And yet he kissed me hungrily, feverish with want, our tongues tangling and stroking, his lips sucking on mine, his stubble brushing against my chin.

When he finally pulled back from kissing me, I was breathless.

He held me, stroking my hair in the darkness, my head against his chest, listening to the soft beat of his heart.

I glanced up at him, and he was staring at me, and he pulled me up toward him, our foreheads pressed together, his arms around me. Every so often he would push a strand of hair off my forehead, or stroke down my shoulder, or softly take my bottom lip between his.

But most of the time he was just looking deep into my eyes, and it was one of the most erotic experiences of my life. I knew this was difficult for him, it was difficult for me, too, talking to him about these things, about what happened to me, saying it out loud after all these years when I’d never spoke of it before.

My core pulsed.

“I need to feel you,” I whispered. “Please.”

He reached into the nightstand and grabbed the key for the handcuffs, unhooking me.

Instantly, his hands were on me, tugging at my top and pulling at my boy shorts until I was naked.

My hands went to him, cupping his ass before tugging down his pajama pants. His cock sprung out, rock hard, and before I could stop myself, I gripped it, stroking the hardness from root to tip.

A drop of precum slid out of the top and down over my fisted hand.