Scarred Souls: Raze & Reap

by Tillie Cole

  Zaal closed his eyes. His lip hooked up in a small smile. I gasped at the sight. When he opened his eyes, he dusted his fingertips over his mouth. “I feel … happy.”

  I placed my hand over my chest and closed my eyes, too overcome by what he’d been through, when fingers ran through my hair.

  I opened my eyes. Zaal was looking at me in concern. “Why do you look sad?” he asked in his clipped English. A part of me then questioned how he knew English. That thought vanished as soon as he moved closer still to me.

  I shook my head. “I feel sadness at how you’ve been treated.”

  His black eyebrows pulled down. I knew he still couldn’t understand the gravity and the magnitude of what he’d been through. I knew he didn’t remember what was done to his family. He was the embodiment of living in the moment, living for now. Of course, I adored that Zaal was embracing and savoring life for the very first time.

  “Ignore me,” I said as I waved my hand.

  “You are tired?” he asked.

  I nodded my head. “Yeah, I’ve barely slept these past couple of weeks.”

  Stepping back onto the dock, Zaal reached down and lifted me up in his strong arms. I couldn’t help but laugh as he did so. He placed me down in front of him and put his hand in mine. “We rest,” he said with finality.

  I let him lead me back to the house, then I led him up the stairs. I walked him to a spare room. As we entered, I hung back at the door. “You can sleep here.” I pointed to the bed. “You have a bed, Zaal. No more sleeping on the floor.”

  I turned to leave the door, when Zaal suddenly reached for my hand. I turned my head to face him. Raw fear was on his face. He pulled me to his chest. “Where do you go?” he asked, his accent thicker as panic laced his voice.

  “My room,” I whispered. My pulse picked up speed at the desperate look of need in his eyes.

  His hand dropped and his fingers laced through mine. “I come with you.”

  I knew this had to be it. This was the moment I stopped myself from falling off the cliff. This was the moment I called Luka and told him that Zaal had got rid of whatever fucked up serum was in his body. That it was time to come and get him.

  Or, I’d jump off the cliff, arms wide and free-falling. I’d follow what was leading my heart. Zaal, the Kostava who had seized control of my soul.

  Stepping closer to Zaal, I ran my hand down his chest, my eyes following my fingers, and I chose to fall. “You go where I go.”

  Without looking at his face, I turned and walked to my room. As I entered through the door, I released his hand and walked to the window. I drew the blinds. The sun was fading now, the bright winter’s day drawing to its end. I paused as my hand hung on the blind’s chain. I was exhausted. I felt exhausted, conflicted, confused, yet at the same time, every cell in my body was zinging to life. Lustful adrenaline surged in my blood, igniting every sense. The cause: Zaal.

  Taking a deep breath, I slowly turned. Zaal was watching me. I knew that look. He wore that look when I’d bathed him, when I’d stroked his cock. Wore it as I’d washed his hair, then straddled his lap.

  Reaching my bed, I pulled a nightgown from my dresser. My eyes flitted back and forth to Zaal, who remained standing, waiting patiently at the door. My body was so aware of his overwhelming presence, that my large bedroom suddenly felt full, stifling. But right.

  Throwing my nightgown on the bed, I walked to Zaal and took his hand. I led him further into the room. He followed and I pointed to my right. “The bathroom’s in there. You’ll probably want to have a shower.” My face flushed red as I remembered riding him in the basement. My breasts ached and my nipples hardened at the memory. I wasn’t sane around this man.

  Zaal’s eyes bored into mine. His lips rubbed together as he watched me. Suddenly his finger was brushing across the apples of my cheeks. “You are red.” His eyes narrowed, studiously taking in every detail. “Why?”

  I shook my head, trying to dismiss his question, but he edged in closer. I almost moaned aloud when his hard torso caressed mine. My gaze fell to his olive skin, then the dark edges of his identity tattoo. I felt my panties grow damp. “Tell me,” he said roughly. His thigh brushed against mine and I could feel his hardness. I closed my eyes and fought with all I had to rein in my desire. “Talia…?” he pushed.

  Shyly, and looking for something to do with my fidgeting fingers, I ran my fingertip over the zipper of his sweatshirt. “You may need to clean up before you sleep.”

  I saw his head nod in my peripheral vision. Reluctantly dropping my hand from his chest, I walked to the bathroom. I’d assumed Zaal had followed, but when I turned to show him the shower, I was alone.

  I moved back to the bedroom to see where he was, and I ground to a halt. My lips parted and a shaking breath slipped from their depths.

  Zaal.

  Zaal stood beside my bed, free from clothes, his black hair hanging low and free over his chest. Every inch of his body was ripped and raw with tight muscle … and his hard cock … his large wide cock was erect, flat against his lower torso. His clothes were lying in a heap beside the bed. Zaal’s head was downcast, waiting, just waiting for me.

  I swallowed at the sight of him. I fought for breath at his savageness; his brutal, primitive presence, and I lost my sensibilities.

  Driven by instinct, I stepped forward, Zaal’s eyes immediately snapping up to meet with mine. His nostrils flared, his taut traps flexed, and his hands clenched at his sides. It was predatorily, and I felt like I was his prey. Though I wasn’t afraid. No, the opposite; turned on, compelled, drawn in, but never afraid.

  Zaal’s cheek twitched as I approached, and I stopped just inches away. I fluttered my eyes from the view of his chest to his eyes; his eyes were already fixed on mine.

  “Zaal…,” I whispered, hearing the longing clear in my tone. “Do you not want to cleanse?”

  His pectoral muscles, marred with deep scars and ink, pounded heavily as his breathing grew labored. “You,” he rasped. My stomach and thighs clenched. Reaching down, he picked up my hand and laid it flat on his torso. I gasped when he began to steer my palm over his abdominal muscles, his jade eyes blazing with need. “You cleanse me,” he said, his clipped English and heavy Georgian accent growing thicker. “You touch me.”

  He pushed my hand ever lower. My breath hitched as my palm ran over the head of his cock. “Zaal,” I moaned as my free hand lifted to rest on his bulging bicep. I was overcome by him, by this inexplicable pull between us.

  Zaal’s hand over mine, we placed our joined fingers over his hard length. His jaw clenched and a growl rumbled in his throat. His eyelids grew leaden. I watched in fascination as his long black lashes swept against his high cheeks, his tongue licking along his full bottom lip.

  My index finger, free from his hold, ran along the tip, pre-come kissing my skin. Zaal stilled, a deep groan surged from his lips, and before I’d known it, his strong hands had fisted the material of my thin sweater and ripped it in two.

  Instantly, my breasts were bared.

  Zaal panted as if he couldn’t draw his next breath without touching me. And my tether was strained. I thought of the necklace around my neck, its significance, the memory, the giver of the gift. But I became lost in that trusting sea of jade. The pull of Zaal’s draw, and the truth that I’d never felt this viscerally connected to another person in all my life, well, I tried to push it away … but could not.

  Zaal was without restraint, tormented by the primal need to take. To take me. To own me. I could see it in every tense muscle, every protruding vein. He wanted to fuck me.

  And, Lord forgive me, I wanted that, too. Damn the consequences, I wanted the man I’d sworn to always hate. I was fired with need.

  Leaning to his side, I lifted Zaal’s red scarred wrists, once manacled by shackles and chains. I brought them to my breasts, my hands covering his as I silently urged him to touch.

  Long calloused fingers grasped at my flesh. Hot shivers traveled like flare
s to the apex of my thighs. His touch alone sent me close to the edge. If this flicker of pleasure was a taste of what was to come, I wasn’t sure there would ever be any going back.

  For a moment I had to question whether this betrayal with Zaal—against my family—was worth it. I cast my gaze across his identity tattoo, the scars from Lord knows what, and then his face, open, trusting, and handsome. Those beautiful innocent eyes. I sighed deeply, a sense of accepting peace flowing through me. It was worth it. Pure instinct told me he was worth it.

  I chose to follow my heart.

  Zaal’s face flushed as his hands explored. Meeting his gaze, I couldn’t look away from his hungry face as I snapped the button of my jeans. But Zaal looked down to watch, his hands palming my flesh more and more, his fingers grazing over my erect nipples.

  I rolled my jeans down my legs and kicked them to the side of the room. Nerves overwhelmed me, engulfing my skin with hot shivers.

  Tension built to a heady storm as our body heat clashed. Zaal’s rough hand still stroked my skin, his fingers tracing south.

  I stood only in my black lace thong, a flimsy barrier from being completely bare, completely vulnerable.

  My heart drummed.

  My thighs clenched.

  My pussy pulsed.

  And then he moved. He moved until he was flush to my front. Flesh to flesh, sharing space. “Talia…,” he whispered, his warm breath skirting down the side of my neck.

  “Zaal…,” I whispered in reply, my eyes closing at his nearness.

  Taking a deep breath, I lifted my head. Zaal hissed through his teeth as he glanced down. He towered over me, dwarfed me with his sheer size.

  Zaal’s hands smoothed up over my waist, teasing me inch by inch. A low rumble sounded in Zaal’s throat, making my pussy flood with wetness. Then his hands skirted over my breasts, up the sides of my neck, and landed on my cheeks.

  We stood there, suspended in the moment; his hands cupping my cheeks, breathing in each other’s air. The pulse in my neck raced, then my eyelashes fluttered in anticipation of what was to come.

  Our desperate gazes met.

  He took a deep breath.

  Then he whispered, “You are … for me?”

  And I knew I was done.

  Trampled, heart-flattened, done.

  You are … for me? Four simple words that smashed through any barrier between us.

  “Zaal,” I moaned and, with my hands threading over his broad round shoulders, I lifted to my tiptoes. Zaal’s eyes widened in surprise as I drew in my mouth toward his. His hands, on each side of my face, tightened. His breath slipped through his lips with a nervous exhale.

  Eyes remaining open, I brushed my lips over his. Zaal stilled. He panted into my mouth, which hovered in anticipation next to his. Zaal’s warm sweet breath caused my pussy to ache with need.

  I expected Zaal to crush his lips to mine. That a man of his size, with such a primal persona, to overpower me, to control me, to dominate me. But he stayed still, body tensed. I pulled back slightly, only to see his eyebrows drawn. His pupils were dilated, the whites of his eyes shining brightly. His nostrils flared. The three moles to the left of his cheek had me entranced as they twitched with nerves.

  Then it hit me—Zaal didn’t know why my lips were touching his.

  I sighed. The heat of realization melted in my chest. He’d never been kissed.

  Zaal’s hands were cupping my cheeks like his grip was the only thing keeping him grounded. Keeping him from falling.

  Smoothing my hands up the sides of his thick neck, I threaded them through his now-soft ebony hair and lay them on his cheeks. Zaal’s eyelids lowered, his anxious eyes fluttering to relax at my touch.

  “Zaal?” I whispered. His eyes bolted open, that jade green stare catching mine. “Have you ever been kissed?”

  Frown lines laced his forehead. His cheek twitched. “I … I don’t understand. You speak … differently from what I know.”

  English, I thought. He struggled with understanding English.

  Zaal’s face searched mine. He was Georgian. I didn’t speak Georgian, but most Georgian Mafia knew Russian. I prayed he did, too.

  “Potzeluy,” I offered. Zaal froze, his gaze drifting above my head. His expression was one of deep concentration, as though he was trying to remember how he knew the word. “Do you know the word?” I pushed.

  His head dropped and he nodded. “I think … I think…” His head lifted and he pulled me to his lips with his hands still on my face. My heart fired off beats like a cannon in battle. His lips moved until they hovered next to mine. “They, our lips meet. They meld.” A crease between his eyebrows formed. He asked, “How? How do I know this?”

  I swallowed as his panicked eyes searched mine for an answer. Before I could reply, his face paled. His hands shook against my cheeks. Zaal’s eyes squeezed shut. His lips parted. “I think … I think someone used to kiss me … before I belonged to Master?” Sweat beaded on Zaal’s forehead. My stomach fractured at the lost look on his face. “Tal … Talia … who would have done that?”

  I didn’t know what to do. Did I tell him the truth or did I soothe him? I chose the latter. He was shaking, flustered. I wanted to make him feel safe.

  “Shh…” I hushed, then moved my mouth to caress his lips and pleaded, “Potzeluy menya.”

  Kiss me.

  Zaal tensed. He whispered, “I will try.”

  In seconds my lips melded to Zaal’s. A long moan resonated in my mouth. I used the grip on his cheeks to pull him closer.

  A deep hum sounded in Zaal’s chest. Wasting no time, I pushed my tongue into his mouth, his taste bursting onto my tongue. For a moment, Zaal’s palms slipped from my cheeks, the deepness of the kiss catching him off guard.

  I kept going. I took from this primitive man what I wanted, what I needed. At first, the kiss was clumsy, as his innocent tongue tentatively met mine. I became breathless the more our tongues dueled. Zaal became more confident. His grip tightened and he pulled me to his hard chest, the impact knocking precious air from my lungs.

  I pulled back, gasping for oxygen. But Zaal stayed close, his pupils wide, dark, and love drunk. I panted, still at the edge of his swelling mouth. His lips were red and flushed. I flicked my tongue out and ran it along the seam of his bottom lip. Was it possible? Zaal’s hard cock seemed to swell even more; its length pressing hard against my stomach. I cried a breathy moan and captured his bottom lip between my teeth, before releasing it and staring into his eyes.

  Zaal froze. Completely froze; causing my body to follow suit.

  His green eyes blazed and his hands dropped. With a sudden, almost deafening snarl, his large hands yanked at my panties, ripping the black lace thong in two.

  The chill in the air beaded my nipples and washed over my clit. Zaal stepped back. His stormy gaze dropped to between my legs. His hand gripped his cock.

  Beads of sweat dropped down onto his damp chest. And those eyes, they roved, they devoured my naked body. They shone bright, flaring with need. As I watched his scarred tattooed hand stroke his long cock, my thighs grew slick with wetness.

  Zaal growled low as my hand lifted, then skirted down my stomach. My heart raced as fast as a hummingbird’s wings. Then I reached the top of my pussy. Zaal’s hard breathing seized as my fingers crept lower, down to run along my folds.

  And he broke.

  Whatever control Zaal had, snapped. He plowed forward.

  With a shocked gasp, Zaal took me in his powerful arms and crushed his mouth to mine. The grunts and groans pouring from his mouth caused me to claw and rip at his back. I wrapped my legs around his waist. Zaal’s cock met my pussy, its length dragging along my folds, scraping against my already-swollen clit.

  Tipping my head back, I cried out. Hands losing purchase on his burning skin, I raked his hair. My fingers wrapped around the long strands and I ground against his length.

  Zaal’s mouth broke away from mine, a loud roar sounding in my ears. Suddenly
, Zaal’s knees dropped to the floor, his firm grip not releasing me as he took me down also.

  The head of his cock probed at my entrance and I cried out against his neck. Zaal groaned. Hands holding my waist, he flipped me onto all fours, his huge body closing in behind me.

  I called out in shock, but lost all rational thought when his head lowered and his wet tongue swiped my pussy, licking over my folds, to finally land on my clit. He was relentless in stroking, probing, and sucking.

  I could barely see, my skin shivering as he assaulted my clit, sucking and swirling his tongue. My juices flooded into his mouth. When his tongue stiffened and plunged into my hole, a white light blistered behind my eyes as I broke apart. I came so hard my arms gave way and my forehead touched the carpet.

  I came, wave after wave cresting and stealing my breath. But Zaal never stopped, savoring every ounce of pleasure I could give. He lapped at my wetness, his strong hands spreading my pussy to reach every last drop.

  I fought for breath, trembling on the ground, when I suddenly felt Zaal behind me. I felt his wide hard cock brace at my entrance, his rough fingers grasping my hips.

  Desperately needing to see him, I turned my head. My heart missed a beat at the sight. Zaal, every muscle in his huge body protruding and strained, stared at my pussy. His face was primitive, tense with need, flushed with need. His teeth were gritted and a look of intense desire took hold in his eyes.

  Then, as if sensing my stare, he glanced up, and that look he was wearing so strongly ebbed away, only to leave adoration in his beautiful expression.

  “Zaal…,” I whispered as his hands flexed on my skin. His jaw clenched, and releasing one hand, he guided his cock to my entrance. I thanked the lord I was on the birth control shot. I wanted Zaal raw. I wanted him flesh to my flesh.

  I never moved my gaze from his. He never moved his from mine. But as the head of his length pushed into my hole, my wet warmth engulfing him, his traps and neck corded as he slammed himself inside me.

  I screamed out as he roared, the joined sounds of our sex echoing off the bedroom’s walls. And then he began thrusting. Hard, rough, and fierce. Zaal’s untamed hair hung over his face, masking the wild expression on his features. He looked every inch the unpolished savage I’d believed him to be.