Page 54 of Endo
I nod, my throat too tight to speak, and he pulls it off me in one smooth motion. His gaze sweeps over me, lingering, and I feel my cheeks heat under his scrutiny.
“You’re so goddamn beautiful,” he says, so quietly it feels like he’s afraid to say it out loud.
The words undo me. Before I can overthink it, I pull him back to me, my lips finding his again, my hands exploring the planes of his back, the curve of his shoulders. Every touch feels electric, like I’m drawing closer to a flame I know will burn me, but I can’t stop.
His movements grow more deliberate, his hands sliding over my skin with an admiration that sends a shiver through me. He leans down, pressing kisses along my jaw, my neck, his breath warm against my skin. “Tell me what you need,” he murmurs, his voice like a low growl that makes my stomach tighten.
“You,” I whisper, the word escaping before I can stop it.
His breath catches, and for a moment, everything pauses. Then he kisses me again, slower this time, more intense, like he’s savoring every second.
The world narrows to just the two of us, the pull between us impossible to resist. Every touch, every kiss, every sound from him crashes over me like a tidal wave, pulling me deeper into him until I can’t tell where I end, and he begins.
“God,celona mou,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, the pet name slipping from his lips like a secret meant only for me. His forehead rests against mine, his breath warm and ragged. “You have no fucking idea how long I’ve been waiting for this.”
Celona mou. What it means I have no idea, but the sound of it—the way he says it with so much need, so much intensity—sends a shiver through me. My heart pounds, the weight of his words making my chest ache. He wants me. Not just in this moment, but in every moment before it, and I can feel it in the way he looks at me, like I’m the only thing in the world that matters.
“I’m here,” I whisper, my voice trembling as I run my hands over his shoulders, down his back, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath my fingertips. “I’m right here, Reign.”
His lips claim mine again, slow and knowingly, and I lose myself in the way he tastes—like whiskey and heat and something I can’t name but never want to lose. His hands move over me, exploring, teasing, until I’m trembling beneath him, my body arching into his touch like it has a mind of its own.
He trails kisses down my neck, his stubble grazing my skin, leaving a path of fire in its wake. When his mouth finds the sensitive spot just below my ear, I gasp, my fingers tangling in his hair.
“Oh God,” I breathe, my voice breaking as he presses his hips against mine, the weight of him settling between my thighs.
He pauses, his gaze locking with mine as his hands slide down my sides, gripping my hips. “I need you. I need all of you,” he mutters, his lips moving lower, trailing over my collarbone and down.
“Then take me,” I say, the words slipping out before I can stop them. They’re raw, unguarded, and the way his expression shifts—softening even as the tension between us tightens—sends a shiver through me.
His hands move to my waist, his fingers brushing the waistband of my shorts. Without a word, he tugs them down, his movements slow and purposeful, as if he’s giving me a chance to stop him. I kick them off, my breath hitching as the cool air brushes over my skin.
He leans back just enough to undo his own jeans, shoving them down with a kind of urgency that has my pulse racing. As the fabric slips lower, my gaze drops instinctively—and then I see them. The scars.
They’re jagged and angry, twisting along his thigh like a cruel map of everything he’s been through. The mangled flesh, raised and red, stands out starkly against his skin. My breath catches, not in horror, but in something softer, something aching.
He freezes, his hand hovering like he’s about to yank his jeans back up. “Don’t—” he starts, his voice rough and defensive, but I don’t let him finish.
I grab his wrist, shoving his hand away as I meet his eyes. “Don’t do that,” I say firmly, my voice steady despite the way my chest feels tight.
His jaw clenches, a flicker of something vulnerable crossing his face, but he doesn’t stop me as I sink to my knees. My fingers brush over the rough edges of the scar, gentle but deliberate, and he inhales sharply.
“It doesn’t change anything,” I whisper, glancing up at him. The intensity in his gaze nearly undoes me, but I hold it, grounding both of us.
Then, without breaking eye contact, I lean forward and press my lips softly against the damaged flesh. His entire body tenses, like he doesn’t know whether to pull away or pull me closer.
“You don’t have to—” he begins, his voice tight with something I can’t quite name.
“I want to,” I cut him off, kissing another line of raised skin, then another. My lips trail along the scars with a kind of reverence, like I’m memorizing every inch of him.
His breath hitches, and I feel his hand twitch against my shoulder like he wants to stop me but can’t bring himself to. When I finally glance up again, his expression is raw, unguarded in a way that makes my heart ache.
“You’re still you,” I murmur, my fingers curling around the waistband of his jeans as I tug them the rest of the way off. “Every part of you.”
For a moment, he just stares at me, his throat working like he’s swallowing down whatever he wants to say. Then his hand finds my cheek, his thumb brushing over my skin as he tilts my face up to meet his gaze.
“You’re something else,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, full of something I can’t name but feel down to my core.
His hand moves before I can react, wrapping firmly around my throat—not enough to hurt, but enough to send a spark shooting through me. He pulls me to my feet, and I let out a soft gasp, my heart hammering in my chest as his dark, burning gaze locks onto mine.
