Scarred (Never After, #2)

by Emily McIntire

She’s breathtaking. I want to fuck her until she breaks, breed her until my cum oozes from her pores and every person knows who it is she belongs to.

“I think you like pain with your pleasure, don’t you, little doe?”

“We both know you’ll take whatever I give you, ma petite menteuse

“Do you deserve to come yet, ma petite menteuse?” I ask, thrusting my hips so my length slides along her soaking folds. She moans, her breasts pressing into me as she arches.

And then I slide inside her, all the way to the hilt, my eyes rolling back as her tight cunt swallows me whole. There’s resistance, but it breaks, and my self-discipline disintegrates when I picture her blood coating the length of my dick, proving she’s mine and no one else’s.

She cries out, her legs tightening around my waist. I run my hand along the top of her hair and over her cheek until I’m cupping her face. “So fucking perfect.”

“Are you okay?” I whisper against her mouth. “You’re right.” She sinks her teeth into my lip, biting down until skin breaks, my balls drawing up so tight, a little cum leaks out. “I like the pain.”

“Are you going to kill me, little doe?”

“Ma petite menteuse, the world is full of lies.”

“The truth is, I am yours. Wholly. Inexplicably. Painfully. Unconditionally.” He moves my hand until the dagger presses against his throat. “And if you need to sacrifice my soul so you’re able to live with yours, then do it.”

“No tricks, little doe. Not this time. Not with you.”

But he drops to his knees instead, his arms splaying wide at his sides. “I am nothing if I’m not yours.” His jaw tenses, water lining his lower lid until it spills over, a single tear tracing the raised flesh of his scar and dripping off his chin. “So do it. Kill me, Sara. Put me out of this constant purgatory of needing you without having you.”

“I will die happily if it’s what will bring you peace,” he rasps, thick emotion bleeding into his tone. A sob breaks free from the deepest parts of my chest, echoing around the cathedral chambers, mocking my pain as it reverberates against my ears.

“Give me a reason,” I say instead. “One good reason why I should let you live.” His eyes flare. “Because I love you.” I drop the knife.

The sound is loud as it clatters to the ground, but I barely hear the noise because the moment I let go, Tristan is reaching, his hands grabbing my body and dragging me into his lap, fisting the back of my hair as he consumes my mouth, my lips, my tongue, my soul. I cry out against him, sinking into his hol...

“Show me your pain, little doe. Give it to me so you don’t bear it alone,” I rasp against her mouth as I suck down her cries.

“You say my name when you’re coming around my dick, ma petite menteuse. No one else’s.”

“Tristan!” she cries out again, her walls slicking with her cum as she tenses around my cock. “That’s right, little doe. It’s me making you crazy. Only me. Only ever me.”

“Not anymore, little doe.”

“So you see, Tristan, I can’t love you. Because loving you means forgetting him.” “Little doe—” “Nicknames and sweet words won’t change the truth, okay?”

“I’ll be your family now, little doe.”

“You could burn down the entire kingdom until it’s nothing but charred rubble, and I would crawl over the embers with glee, so long as I could worship at your feet.”

“If that’s love, then yes, I love you.” He lifts a shoulder. “I can’t feel anything but loving you.” I bite back the emotion that’s stampeding through my chest, lifting my hand to push the stray hair off his forehead. My breathing stutters, and I know that with my next words, everything will change. “I love you too.”

“Tristan.” My hand shoots to my chest, the other tightening around my water cup as he rushes across the room with fire in his eyes. “What are you—” He walks into me, the glass in my hand dropping to the ground and shattering as he shoves me against the wall, his lips claiming mine in a brutal kiss. I moan, my arms flying up to wrap around his shoulders as he consumes me, his body pressing against mine as he licks inside my mouth, his hands roaming over my sides like he can’t bear the thought of not touching me.

“You let him put his hands on you,” he rasps, his voice tortured and low. “What would you have had me do?” I whisper back as he sucks and bites down the length of my neck. I tilt my head to give him better access, my core pulsing with need, his possessiveness spreading arousal through my insides, loving the way it feels to be wanted so desperately by someone with so much power.

“It makes me crazy, Sara.” His grip turns bruising, and then he’s ripping my red nightgown from my body until I’m naked and bared before him, goose bumps spreading along my skin. “I can’t stand it.” My hand runs down the front of his chest, my heart pounding with sudden desper...

I push up on my elbows and stare down at what he drew. It’s a heart. Not the kind that you see kids draw or the type that you would expect in paintings that depict love. This one is of the organ, blood dripping off its edges and vessels running through the muscle. A thick chain wraps around its center and coils beneath it, a padlock on the end. I squint my eyes and look closer, realizing there’s writing on the lock. Tristan’s Property. I scoff, shoving at his shoulders. “Romantic.”

It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except for the fear that courses through my insides at the thought of Michael having Sara. They can kill me. They can torture me for hours and I’ll sacrifice myself gladly, so long as I know she’s safe.

“You are not allowed to die. Do you hear me? I will come back for you.” Her lip trembles. “I know.”

“If something happens, know that I will find you in every lifetime, Sara Beatreaux. You are mine, and not even death can keep you from me.”

Because there he is. Standing like a god in the middle of the court, his hands in his pockets, suspenders hanging off his waist, black sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a joint between his lips. My beautiful, scarred prince. His eyes lock on mine, and a calm takes over. He came back.

The second he touches me, my body comes alive, his arms smoothing up my sides and cupping my face, ignoring everyone. “Let me show you what a true revolution looks like,” he whispers. And then he kisses me.

Moving away from the cliff, I jog over to my little doe, wrapping her in my arms and slamming my mouth to hers, sucking her tongue inside me, my hands groping anywhere they can reach, wanting to assure myself that she’s here, and she’s real, and she’s mine.

She moves to walk in front of me, but I reach out, gripping her by her hair and pulling her back until her body slams into mine. I dive down, claiming her mouth, our tongues swirling together and my hands grabbing any part of her they can reach.

“Are you excited, little doe?” “No.” She shakes her head. “Ma petite menteuse.” I grin. “You still think I don’t know you?” I pull her to me, not caring that we’re in front of thousands of eyes. They all know their king is wild for his queen. Let them see just how much.

I take a long moment to soak him in. He matches me in height, his amber eyes far less innocent than they were when I sent him away all those years ago. But his smile is just as bright, and he draws me into a hug before I can stop him, his arms wrapping around my shoulders and gripping me tight. “Hello, Uncle,” he says, his voice a deep timbre similar to his father’s.

Simon reaches out to take it, every inch of his smooth brown skin covered in dark tattoos. Just the way he always wanted. Glancing over at me, he smiles. People in the crowd gasp, confused murmurs racing through the air. I turn back toward the crowd. “I’d like to introduce you all to Simon Bartholomew Faasa. Son of King Michael III. Rightful heir to the throne of Gloria Terra.” Reaching up, I take the crown off my head and place it on top of his. “And the one true king.”