Lex(78)

“No. I’ve been trying to be with you for six years, Lex. Since I was the one who worked on your case with Brian.”

He’s lying! What a low, painful blow!

“Get out!”

“No.” He holds me closer and I start to tremble and helplessly cry in his arms. “I’m not. This is the truth and you’re going to fucking listen, even if I have to hold you down and suck your nipples, until you come a hundred times and you can’t move any longer. You are going to listen. I need to tell you.”

I nod giving in. Sucking back a sob. I don’t have much choice.



Gage





“Six years ago, Biff, the lawyer who worked your case, handed me a file. Your file. I read it. I memorized it. I worked night and days for weeks on that case. I was married, I loved my wife, but you consumed me from page one. I loved you from the first day I got that folder, Lex. I’ve fucking loved you for six years.” I get to the point, I lay it all out with my deep, but gentle voice.

Turning her around, I stop my story and I wipe her tears. I know this going to be hard to hear, but she deserves to know. Bending forward, I kiss her neck and she whimpers. I know she can’t decide whether to run, fight, or listen. I’m not giving her a choice. I’ve waited long enough.

Reaching around her backside I unzip the dress and she trembles. Sliding one strap of the dress off her shoulder and then the other, it falls over her breasts and she screeches out a horrified cry. Covering herself with her hands.

“Let me.” I order and tug the gown to the ground pooling around her feet. Exposing her naked body to me fully. Just like I’ve always remembered her in her pictures. It’s covered in thick pink, ridged scars.

“Beautiful.” I breathe, soaking in the soft purity in her glorious form. Unbuttoning my pants, I drop them to the floor and kick them to the side. She hasn’t stopped shaking or crying. This is good for her. She needs this. I need this. We need this. I’m doing this for us, or that’s what I’m telling myself. Slowly, I unbutton my white dress shirt and shrug it off my shoulders dropping it onto the floor. Through her tears, I know she’s taking in my body. I’m muscular, I have toned ridged abs, a deep V at my hips, and a dark dusting of hair that runs from my cock to my chest where it fans out. My chest is hard and firm. I have tattoos everywhere, to cover my own scars.

Lastly, I hook my thumbs into my waistband of my black boxer briefs and drop them to the floor. I’m naked in front of her and she is naked before me. Both of us, playing an emotional game of you show me yours and I’ll show you mine.

Stealing her shaking hand into my own, I run her cold pointer finger along the rim of my bleeding heart tattoo that’s above where my actual heart lies. My tattoo is old school with a key lock, blood dripping, and it’s a show stopping piece of art. Around the rim of it lies a scar, one of many I’ve gathered over the years. This one being a broken beer bottle carved into my chest from my drunken mother.

Her eyes widen in surprise as the soft pad of her finger caresses the raised scar. I show her another. A scar that rides low on my abdomen and spans from nearly hip-to-hip. I also received that one from my mother when she hit me in the stomach with a metal shovel for cleaning out the beer bottles from under the seat of her car. Each new scar I allow her to feel and I explain in short detail what they mean. Her crying stops as she starts to willingly explore my naked inked body.

Once she comes to the tops of my thighs still exploring my front. She sucks in a hissing breath, as her fingers dance and caress dozens of cigarette burns. “I have those too.” She whispers.

“I know.” I reply, just as quietly, not wanting to break her momentum.

Sliding her hands down my calves she stops at a chunk of flesh that was pulverized. “Motorcycle accident.” I explain and she nods.

I turn around. Gliding her hands up the back of my legs she stops right below my smooth firm butt.

“What do you see?” I whisper.

“A hot ass.” She giggles and pinches my butt.

She’s in a better mood already. Good. I knew this would help us. She needs to realize she’s not the only one who’s been beaten and hurt. We’re in this together.

“Tell me more about your story.” Grabbing my hips as leverage, she stands and that’s when she sees it. I know she does. It’s impossible not to realize it. Especially if it’s like looking in the mirror.

“Oh my god!” she shrieks and I ready myself for her to bolt but she doesn’t. Her hand touches it. Sensuously, like a feather tracing my back.

“Is that?”

“Yes, that’s you.”