The Devil's Scars (The Road Devils MC Book 1)

by Marysol James

  “What?”

  “I – oh, God, baby. I felt your need behind your hug and kiss this morning. I could tell – I knew you wanted to make love. I could hear it, as sure as if you’d whispered it against my lips, and begged me to take you right there in our bed.”

  Zoe’s eyes filled with tears, and she looked away, hoping he wouldn’t see them. He did, of course, and so gently, so carefully, he used his fingers under her chin to lift her luminous gaze to his hungry one.

  “Nobody’s touched me like that for months, beautiful,” he rasped. “Hell, nobody has touched me like that ever, before you. And it – well. It scared the crap out of me. I panicked, and I bolted the hell out of there, and I’ve felt like an asshole all day about leaving you lying there like that, feeling so rejected, all because I’m a goddamn idiot sometimes who doesn’t talk to you enough. I’m so, so sorry.”

  “So I guess you’re not ready,” Zoe said, trying to be cheerful and optimistic. “It’s OK.”

  “But see, that’s the thing,” Scars said slowly. “I am ready.”

  Zoe’s emerald eyes found his blue ones, and once again, for the millionth time, she though of endless sky and perfect ocean. “You – you are?”

  “Short answer –”

  “Fuck yes?”

  He laughed, and she giggled back, feeling like she knew him again. “Yes, fuck yes. Long answer: I’m worried about you.”

  “Me?” Zoe stared at him, astonished. “Me? Scars, come on! I’m terrified of hurting you, like leaning on you wrong, or scratching your back, or putting pressure on your legs in some weird way. I’m worried about you straining or, I don’t know, ripping something in your back. But I think that’s all natural to be worried about, considering the extent of your damage. What on earth have you got to be worried about?”

  “That you won’t…” He closed his eyes, shook his head, dug deep. He looked at her again now, ready to be honest with the woman that gave his life meaning, and a center, and a home. “That you won’t find me as attractive as you used to.”

  “Holy Lord,” she sputtered. “You have got to be kidding me. Are we back here?”

  “Yeah. We are. But not in the way that you might be thinking.” He sighed. “I’ve put you through hell these past few months, Zoe, just like I said I would, that day in the hospital that I first woke up. I promised you that I’d be a miserable, grumpy, glowering, irritable bastard, and that I’d be withdrawn and I’d shut you out sometimes. I promised that I’d be hard to live with, and a real, all-around pain in the ass – and I’ve come through.”

  “You really have,” she agreed. “But then again, you are a man of your word.”

  He cracked a grin at that. “You getting snarky and sassy with me?”

  “You bet.”

  “I know you’ve stood by me through it all,” he said quietly. “And what I need to ask you is this: have you done that out of a sense of duty, because you made me a promise, and you couldn’t just walk away and leave me here alone to cope? Or have you done it because – despite my being a miserable bastard who didn’t talk to you for days on end sometimes – you still love me, and want me? If you’ve done this all to keep your word, I love and respect you for it… and I’m letting you know that if that’s the case, you’re now free to go.”

  She froze. “What?”

  “Today, the doctor gave me the all-clear to go back to Denver, if I want. I’ll need to carry on with my physio for another two months, but I can do that back there. Sam already said that he’d arrange it.”

  “So… so we can go home? We can be back home with family and friends for Christmas?”

  “We can go any time we want, baby. But I need to hear you say it – you need to tell me that you’re still sitting here with me because you want me and need me. You’re not still here because of duty, not because you’re the most amazing person I’ve ever known, not because you wanted to see this through to the end, however it was going to end up. You’re here because you love me. Because you want a life with me, the man that I am now. You want long-term and long-haul, and mess and stress, and wild and gentle. You want everything, and you want it with just me.”

  Her answer was a kiss. Her answer was always a kiss, he’d come to understand, and it was one more reason that he loved her the way that he did.

  “Three minutes,” he whispered against her perfect pink lips, and he hardened as he imagined another set of perfect pink lips on his woman. “You know how I want you.”

  She shuddered as memory washed over her skin, memory from that night at Satan’s, when Scars had ordered her to the back room to strip, ordered her to hold position no matter what.

  That had been their last night making love together, though they’d had no idea of that at the time.

  “I know how you want me,” she said, already feeling seconds from coming. “I remember.”

  “Then off you go, baby,” he said, tugging her to her feet, giving her a little tap on the ass for good measure. “Your three minutes start now. Go.”

  Zoe stumbled through the living room and down the hallway, already unbuttoning and unzipping as she went. She paused briefly, checked on Keira in her crib. The baby was sleeping peacefully, beautifully, and as she always did now, as she was sure she always would, Zoe silently thanked God that she still had a daughter.

  She thanked God, and she thanked Scars.

  With a sense of time passing, she hurried to the bedroom now, flung open the dresser drawer, frantically sifting through all her worn cotton panties and Mom bras… and there they were, as stunning and sexy as she remembered them. She ripped off her white underwear with the saggy elastic waistband, flung her graying bra under the bed, and stepped into the silk and lace. It felt cool and smooth against her skin, and she shivered as memory slipped its hands over her body once more.

  She didn’t have time to fix her face or hair, but she knew that she’d be a tousled, tangled mess after he was done with her, anyway. Burns, skin grafts, soreness – none of this was going to stop Scars Innis from ravishing her. Devouring her. Leaving her used and gasping on the floor. Satisfied, yet still aching for more, her makeup running off her eyes and mouth in sweat and streaks, her hair wild and tumbling over her face.

  Zoe hit the floor beside the bed, went on all fours. She adjusted the rug under her knees – she knew that she’d have bruises tomorrow, no matter what, but a cushion never hurt – and placed her palms flat on the floor in front of her. She arched her back, extended her neck, closed her eyes.

  Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

  She’d just finished her little mantra when she heard his footsteps approaching. She bit her full lip, trying to quiet her excitement, but she knew that her body was going to give her away, anyway. The second he dipped a finger inside her, he was going to find nothing but arousal and readiness.

  The footsteps stopped, and she knew that he was standing in the doorway looking at her. He was standing very still, barely breathing, and she longed to open her eyes and just take a peek at him. But she didn’t – she knew that he’d leave her there, maybe for an hour, waiting. So she screwed her eyes shut tighter, and prayed that he didn’t stand there much longer, gazing at her.

  Footsteps again now, moving into the room. She heard him shut the door, and she tensed. Oh, God, oh, God… it had been too long. She was so ready for him, but the man was a master of patience when he wanted to be. If she moved a muscle, or a baby finger, or made the slightest sound, Scars was capable of self-control and -denial, just to make his point.

  Zoe, not so much.

  He walked around her, a slow circle, paused behind her. She tensed, longing and hoping for a touch.

  “You brought the silk and lace from Denver,” he observed.

  She fought the urge to respond, to nod. Did neither.

  “Good girl,” he said. “It looks as beautiful on you as I remember.” />
  She flushed with pleasure, both at his words and his approval, and then she bit back a gasp when his large hands cupped her ass. Squeezing, testing, moulding. She ached to push back into his touch, but she didn’t move.

  Turn to stone, Zoe, become a statue. Just. Don’t. Move.

  Those amazing hands slipped between her thighs now, delicately, lightly, stroking her through the material. Her clit was pulsing, and she knew that he felt it. How could he not, with the throbbing being as strong and steady as a heartbeat?

  “You’re soaked, baby,” he murmured. “Is that for me?”

  Again, she resisted the urge to say yes, or to nod.

  “I think it’s for me,” he said in a conversational tone.”I think this is all for me.”

  Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he lowered the panties down her hips, down her thighs, down her calves. He gently lifted her bare feet one at a time, pulled the delicate underwear off. Then he knelt between her legs, nudging her knees apart with his own, and leaned forward.

  Zoe couldn’t stop her intake of breath when his tongue started to lap at her pussy, but he didn’t seem to object to that noise. The moans rose in her chest and throat, and she wrestled to not utter a single one – but the man was making it seriously difficult.

  He was kneeling behind her, and he was worshiping her with his mouth. He was tasting her sweetness, devouring her like a starving man, feasting on her like she was a rare delicacy. He was enjoying her, rolling her clit between his lips, nibbling her pussy, holding her open with his thumbs so that not one inch of her sex was neglected, overlooked, missed.

  She was trembling with the effort of trying not to cry out. That was when Scars lifted himself up and over her body, his hands braced on the floor beside hers, and she jolted when she realized that he was naked. He kissed the tattoo on her lower back, kissed his way up her spine, slowly and lazily, like he had nothing but time. She wanted to squirm, to rub against his burning erection… not moving was hell. He kissed her neck, her cheek, placed his lips next to her ear.

  “Don’t you break position.”

  She took a deep breath, released, sucked in another one when his hands moved to her bra now, undid it. It fell on the floor under her, and he left it there. His fingers caressed her breasts, then pinched her pink nipples. The sharp pleasure-pain made her whole body spasm, and he gave a low, heated laugh that drifted over her skin.

  “You like that, huh? I think you have a bit of a thing for rough play, baby, and for taking orders.”

  Another little pinch on her sensitive buds, then he was gone. She wanted to cry out and look around, but she stayed silent and still.

  “Hands behind you, baby. On your lower back.”

  Right away, without a thought, she did as he commanded. Her wrists were bound together with what felt like her silk and lace panties, and she was immediately, instantly, faint with lust.

  He paused now, turned her face to his.

  “Open your eyes, Zoe.”

  She did, and she almost sobbed at all of that dark, almost violent desire that was written across his handsome, rugged face.

  “Is this OK?” he said, tracing the panties around her wrists. “You feel OK?”

  She was confused about if she was allowed to speak or move, so she stared at him, hoping that he saw the assent in her eyes. He smiled.

  “I need to hear the words, baby. You can talk this one time… and then no more noise. Now… are you OK?”

  “I’m totally OK,” she said. “I trust you.”

  “That’s what I wanted to hear.” He turned her around again, gripped both of her bound wrists in his one, massive hand, and pushed her forehead to the floor. He kept his hand on the back of her head, forcing her ass and hips higher in the air. “Don’t break position, and don’t talk.”

  She was just about take a deep breath when suddenly, he was inside her, and her breath left her body. The hand on the back of her head was strong, insistent, powerful, the one gripping her wrists was commanding and dominant, and she was small and helpless under Scars. Unable to move or raise herself up; not allowed to move or talk.

  And she loved it. All of it.

  He started slowly, gently. But it had been so long for both of them, and she was so wet and hot, and he was so hard and ready… very quickly, he was thrusting into her deep and fast, and she was mutely taking it, loving him taking her, stunned at how good it felt to be taken this way.

  Zoe’s whole body was moving like a rag doll: his thrusts threw her forward, then back. His hands on her head and her wrists guided her for his pleasure, and all she could do was go where he wanted her to, do what he wanted her to do. Her vulnerability and helplessness added layers of feeling to the experience, and layers of trust too, and she knew that she was seconds away from coming.

  She then wondered if she was allowed to come, and how she was meant to ask permission.

  “Baby,” he grated out now, his movements becoming almost savage. “I’m so fucking close. Nod if you are too.”

  Frantically, Zoe nodded, her forehead rubbing against the soft carpet.

  “You want to come, beautiful?”

  She nodded again.

  “Go ahead then, baby. Come for me. Not one sound, though.”

  She bit back her sobs of relief and release, as the longest, strongest orgasm of her life crashed over her, through her. Her back arched impossibly from the force of it, and Scars growled as his cock went deeper than ever before. Her muscles were clutching his cock, clenching and then releasing like hands, and he gritted his teeth to hold on until she finished.

  She sagged a bit, her weight falling forward on her knees and forehead more heavily, and he knew that she was floating. His own release was dancing just beyond his reach, so he held her head in place by her hair, by her wrists, and he thrust, and thrust, and thrust, and Zoe couldn’t move an inch anymore, so she just moaned quietly into the rug and reveled in being used thoroughly, completely.

  She reveled in being owned.

  “Oh, baby… I’m gonna come.” Scars’ fingers dug into her wrists, and she loved the small bite of pain. “Tell me you love me… please, baby.”

  “I love you,” she whispered brokenly between gasps and moans. “Scars, I love you so much. I love you.”

  “God!”

  He threw his head back, his massive body turning to stardust with the force of his approaching, rushing orgasm. He pushed as deep inside her body as he could, held himself there, and just came. Came like he didn’t know was humanly possible, sure that his heart was going to explode out of his chest.

  He collapsed forward, stopped himself from crushing her with his hands on the floor again. Her whole body was trembling, and he knew that she desperately needed to be held, kissed, praised for giving so much. Scars fumbled with the knots around her wrists, got her loose. Gently, carefully, he moved her arms to her sides, saw her wince, and knew that she had pulled against the restraints when she’d come.

  He hated to leave her warm, slick pussy, but she needed his warmth now. He slid out, and she moaned again, maybe with a bit of regret, maybe a bit of discomfort, and Scars stood up, pulling her with him. She was unsteady on her feet, her knees were red and marked, and he nudged her to the bed.

  “Lie down, beautiful,” he said, pulling the covers back. “Curl up with me. C’mon now.”

  She lay on her side, blinking and blurry, looking for all the world like a sleepy kitten. Scars smiled at her sated expression, went to the bathroom for a warm, damp towel, and he cleaned her. She murmured happily at the sweet, loving care, watched him go to the bathroom to return the towel, then watched him join her. He gathered her in his arms, and she burrowed into his chest with a deep breath.

  “You OK?” he asked her, stroking her hair.”Your arms and knees?”

  “Mmmm-hmmm,” she said throatily. “What about you? Your back and leg
s?”

  “Never better.” He stretched his legs a bit, felt a slight tug on the backs of them, but no pain. “It’s one of the reasons that I wanted you on all fours again, baby.”

  “Hmmmm?” she asked, puzzled.

  “It was the only position where I could be sure you wouldn’t scratch my back by accident, in a moment of passion.” Scars grinned. “Give me two more weeks or so before you start leaving your claw marks on me, OK? I need a bit of a mental adjustment and preparation.”

  “Awww…” she muttered, even as her eyes fluttered shut. “I like leaving claw marks your back. It’s such a sexy back when it’s all scratched up.”

  “I know it, baby.” He gently pulled her drooping head closer to his chest, dropped a tiny kiss on her hair. “You can scratch me up all you want soon enough. Deal?”

  But Zoe didn’t answer. She had fallen asleep. Just tumbled without a word to sleep in his arms.

  The one thing that she said that she’d never done in her life, and the one thing that she claimed that she never would or could do, not ever.

  With Scars, she did it.

  With Scars, she could do anything.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Zoe woke up suddenly, turned over in the darkness to reach for Scars. He was gone, and she sat up, worried that maybe he was in pain after all. They had been… ummmm… quite athletic.

  “Scars?” she said, wondering if he was in the attached bathroom. “Babe?”

  There was no response, and she grabbed one of his t-shirts draped across a chair, tugged it on. She hurried across the bedroom floor, eased the door open. That was when she heard Scars’ low voice in the living room, murmuring and singing a bit to soft music, and Zoe smiled.

  She tiptoed down the hallway now, peeked around the corner. Sure enough, there was Scars in his boxer shorts, Keira in a fresh onesie and cradled in those strong arms, as they danced to ‘Sweet Jane’, one of Zoe’s favorite songs ever. Keira was gazing up at him, and he was staring right on back, and the connection between them was so full of love and warmth, it was almost physical. Scars was singing to the baby, and he’d changed the words in the song to ‘Sweet Peach’: every time he sang that, Keira gurgled and wriggled her bare little toes.