Scarred Souls: Raze & Reap

by Tillie Cole

  Something in my gut told me to just trust him.

  I felt his fingers on the cheeks of my ass, but he’d trapped me in place, and I whimpered at his strong touch. Then his fingers were suddenly running down the crack of my ass, and every part of me tensed.

  “Raze!” I called in alarm as his finger pushed into the tight hole, and I tried to get up. His firm hand held me in place and panic replaced passion as I fought back against this unwelcome intrusion. The finger soon pulled out, but when I looked back and saw him fist his cock and head for the same place, I began fighting to lift off the bench as the tip pressed flush against the one place I didn’t want him to go.

  “Raze! Stop!” I ordered.

  Raze’s jaw clenched and his eyes fixed on mine.

  “Not there!” I begged, witnessing his eyebrows pull down in confusion. My fear this time was replaced with sadness when I realized he didn’t understand why I was protesting.

  Fighting back the rising lump in my throat, I said, “Lower.” I saw Raze look down at my pussy, and confusion clouded his face. “Lower, fuck me in the other hole.” I guided, a devastating truth becoming evident in my mind.

  Raze … where the hell have you come from?

  “I don’t understand,” Raze rasped, his face and tensed body racked with confusion.

  Leaning back, I took his dick in my hand and slid him along my pussy. When he was at the entrance and his thick thighs rested against the back of mine, I said, “Now push in. Fuck me here.”

  Raze’s gaze focused back on his breaching cock. Reaching out to grip my hips, he began pushing forward, the tip slipping into my entrance. Then he suddenly stilled, and I relaxed, cherishing the sensation, just in time for Raze to dig his fingers into my hips to an almost agonizing grip and surge forward, slamming into my channel until he was fully rooted to the hilt.

  “Raze!” I screamed out as he roared, and I could feel his hands physically shaking as his chest met my back and he panted hot breath into my hair.

  “Fuck,” he groaned, and his hips began rocking back and forth, his dick so wide it scraped against my G-spot, my eyes closing as I savored the feel of him within me. I could feel him everywhere: within my body, in my heart … in my soul.

  “Kisa…” Raze groaned as his hand brushed my hair from my back and his warm lips pressed to the skin on the nape of my neck, making me shiver. His lips dragged down my spine, making me moan uncontrollably, and then his tongue began to lap at my damp skin.

  “I remember this,” he said as his hips became more demanding, his cock plunging farther within me, all sense floating from my mind.

  “I remember something. It felt so good. It feels so good … with you … only with you…”

  Tears misted my eyes, and I pictured my first time … with Luka. We were too young, too inexperienced, but that memory was my world. I felt like I was making love to Luka again. Everything about the way he was cherishing me, made me think of Luka.

  Feeling Raze begin to build to orgasm, I wanted to go with him. Needed to find release at the same time. Reaching behind me, I took his hand and brought it around my waist and placed his fingers on my clit.

  “Circle your fingers here. I want to come with you. Stroke my clit and make us come together,” I instructed.

  Raze rumbled a groan as my clenching channel wrapped around his cock, spurring my orgasm further.

  Raze’s length seemed to grow bigger as he thrust inside me faster, the man savage and fierce in his lovemaking, wild and primitive, focusing only on our pleasure.

  That burst of delicious tension began burning at the bottom on my spine and surges of heat spread to my clit. I felt Raze’s thighs tighten against my legs as his fingers became frenzied, as his thrusts became stronger, longer, harder, and rougher.

  “Kisa,” he hushed out as the sweating skin of his torso slapped at my back. I opened my mouth to respond, but I couldn’t speak. When he pounded into me one last time, stilling and bellowing out as he came, I tipped over the edge with him, indescribable pleasure making me see lights.

  Raze’s arms wrapped tight around my stomach as his knees hit the floor, causing him to sit back, taking me with him. I sat in his lap, his sated cock still jerking inside me.

  As the minutes passed in silence, his breathing settled, and I stroked along his toned forearms, treasuring the closeness, treasuring the most meaningful sex of my life.

  As my fingertips danced on his arm, a low rumble sounded in his chest, and I smiled. He liked my touch. Raze then moved his legs, and standing, keeping me locked in his arms, he carried me to his makeshift bed and laid us down. He kept me secure in the strong hold of his arms; he couldn’t bear to let me go. As possessive as this move was, I loved every second of it. I’d never felt more complete than I did in his embrace, locked to his chest.

  Lifting his rough and scarred hand, I pressed my lips to the skin, enjoying his warmth on my back.

  Hearing a staggered sigh slip from Raze’s mouth, I tensed and then my world splintered into sorrow when he whispered, “I … I didn’t know it was like that.” His deep, husky voice was filled with shame, embarrassment. Unable to stand the ache in my heart, I turned in his arms and the desolate look in his eyes cut me as deep as any dagger could.

  He lowered his gaze, and my heart beat more rapidly as I stroked my fingertips over his cheek. “Tell me what happened to you … please. I want to know.”

  Raze’s face turned to stone as I watched him war with different emotions. Then he shook his head, his brown eyes darkening. “I … I was in the Gulag.”

  Slowly sitting up on my elbow, I stroked back the messy strands from Raze’s head as his forefinger landed on my breast and began circling the nipple, his tongue sliding along his lips.

  “Gulag?” I questioned, trying to stay focused. “Isn’t that some kind of old Russian prison from the war?”

  Raze nodded and his finger began to shake. “It was a prison. We named it the Gulag because of its shitty conditions. One where they keep you caged until they force you to fight to the death.”

  Anger contorted his beautifully masculine face, and I leaned forward to press a kiss onto his lips. The shaking immediately stopped and a moan caught in his throat.

  Pulling back, his pupils dilated, he stole my breath. He looked so much like Luka at that moment I found it difficult to deal with the possibility.

  Because if Raze was my Luka, I was about to hear what had happened to him all those years ago when we all believed he had died. When we were told he had been burned … When he had been torn from my life, without explanation, cutting my soul in half.

  “Why were you there?”

  Raze’s eyebrows furrowed, and I could see he was fighting to remember. When a black look came across his face, his mouth tightened and he said, “I don’t remember. I don’t remember anything but death, violence, pain and…”

  My breathing came short when I thought of how he was going to take me. He was going to …

  Shuffling closer to Raze, until we touched skin to skin, I threaded my fingers through his hair and asked, “Why were you going to take me from behind … like that? Did … did…?” I stopped talking, unable to ask the obvious question. There had to be an explanation, but I wasn’t sure I was ready to hear it.

  Raze’s brown eyes widened and he dipped his chin, hiding his head from view. He was such an enigmatic hulk of man, but at that question, his face clouded over like a storm. His position became fetal.

  “Raze…” I said, choking on a sudden rush of sadness as he slowly lifted his head.

  “I remember the first time one of them came into my cell. He was big, and I’d just been beaten with a bat. I couldn’t move, but I watched him walk toward me, untying his belt and pulling down his zipper. I remember being pushed onto my stomach. Then I remember pain. Pain like nothing I’d felt before. Then all I can remember is blocking everything out. Blocking those cunts out every time they came into my cell, until I was too big for them to control, too big
and dangerous for them to fuck.”

  Without him knowing, his hand had gripped mine and he was squeezing it like I was giving him strength to continue, like he was drawing the courage and the strength from me to talk about these horrific rapes. I could barely see through the torrent of tears falling down my cheeks, trying to think of ways to make everything better for him.

  “Raze, oh my God,” I cried and pressed my forehead to his, devastated this had been part of his life in the Gulag.

  He said nothing in response, but his grip on my hand didn’t loosen. I guessed it was the first time in years he had been comforted. Of course, I had heard of conditions in Russian-owned underground prisons, but what I’d heard didn’t compare to what Raze had revealed.

  “How old were you?” I asked, peppering kisses down his cold, stubbled cheeks.

  Raze clenched my hair in his hands and said, “I … I don’t know. It’s hard to know my age. None of us ever had birthdays.”

  Regaining some composure, not wishing to drown him with my suspicions, I continued. “And they made you fight? To the death? As a child?”

  Raze nodded his head once, gaze blanking out, taking him off somewhere else. “Yes. They ran a gambling ring. Just like this one.”

  Nausea built in my stomach as he compared The Dungeon to the Gulag. At least I had the comfort of knowing we didn’t imprison and serially abuse kids, forcing them to fight until the death.

  “Raze, I don’t know what to say. I’m devastated for you,” I said, feeling inadequate—no, pathetic.

  Raze gripped the back of my head and pulled me down and timidly kissed me. I was immediately lost to his familiar kiss.

  Raze broke away and stared at me. “There was a breakout. Some fighters got free and murdered the night guards. There were always less guards at nighttime. The rest of the prisoners rioted and started fleeing.”

  “How did you get free?”

  Raze’s lip hooked into a smirk. “362.”

  “362?” I questioned, confused.

  “362. Another fighter, the only one I ever spoke to.” The tone of his voice had changed.

  “He was your friend,” I surmised.

  Raze’s half smile reverted to an impassive expression.

  “Friend?” he asked as if he were savoring the sound of the word on his tongue.

  My heart bruised just that little bit more. He had no idea what a friend was.

  “Yes, your friend. You spoke with him, spent time with him. Confided in him … Liked him?”

  “I trained with him. He helped me adjust to life in the Gulag. Taught me how to block things out. We would never fight. We were the Gulag’s two best fighters. When the riot happened, he freed me. Most of the others would never have dared approach me. They were too scared of me. But not him.”

  A smile pulled on my lips, and I asked, “And where is he now? Did you come together to New York?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know where he went. West somewhere. We all just ran.”

  Raze stared and stared at me. I assumed I’d pushed too far for one night. Color had drained from his cheeks and his body sagged. Feeling warmth spread in my chest at his devoted attention, I pressed a kiss to his forehead.

  Raze’s expression softened. His finger landed on my neck and traveled down to my breast. I closed my eyes, once again cherishing his touch.

  “I want to touch you,” he said. His finger stopped and he looked into my eyes.

  Taking my hand, I brushed my finger over his left eye, the one with that smudge of blue.

  Biting my lip, I mustered the courage to ask, “Have you noticed that your left eye has a smudge of blue amongst the brown?”

  Raze studied me, and his hand lifted to touch his eye, his eyebrows pulled down. I held my breath, waiting for what he had to say. And then hope bloomed within me when his head tilted to the side in confusion and his full lips pursed.

  “We match,” he rasped out and narrowed his eyes, observing the color of my eyes. “Your blue is the same color in my left eye.”

  My bottom lip trembled. I could no longer hold back the sob choking my throat. Raze would have no idea why I was crying. How could he know that saying those two words—“we match”—could, in tandem, inspire such high hopes and such deep sorrow within me.

  This was Luka. This had to be Luka. Of this I was becoming more and more convinced. It no longer felt like an obsessive fancy, some stupid teenage, love-struck hope that this damaged and raw man was created just for me. I believed more and more that this was real, veritable, tangible, a soul-colliding connection from God.

  This man, this tortured and scary hulk of a man seemed to be my match. Mama seemed to have been right all along; even lost, it looked like we had found our way back to one another. But if this was my Luka, he was broken. Had no memory. I dared not push too fast, too far, for fear of scaring him away.

  Taking his hand still resting near my eye, I pulled down the palm and laid a kiss to its center. “We match,” I whispered back. Raze’s lips stretched into a smile. That smile, the brief flicker of happiness on his face was my undoing.

  My God, he was beautiful.

  Shifting Raze’s hand down to my breast, his expression morphed from happiness to lust. His fingers squeezed my flesh and I closed my eyes and moaned.

  “I like touching you,” Raze murmured.

  Then I placed my hand on Raze’s shoulder and pushed him onto his back. He let me control the situation, and I knew it was because of his inexperience. It made the moment that bit more special to me. He trusted me enough to let me lead the way. I straddled his hips and immediately I felt his cock harden and push against my ass.

  Our gazes locked and electricity arced between us. Raze’s hips began lifting, searching for my entrance. Leaning forward, I placed my hands on his chest and slowly impaled myself on his length. Not once did I tear my eyes away from his face; I drank in every wave of pleasure as it rushed across.

  As I moaned and took him fully inside, I started to gently move up and down. Raze closed his eyes, his hands holding my hips.

  “Open your eyes,” I whispered, but Raze shook his head, his forehead wrinkling in concentration.

  My eyebrows furrowed in confusion, a twinge of insecurity rippling through me, until Raze gasped and said, “I’m closing my eyes so I can feel being inside you.” He placed his hand over his heart and rasped out, “I’ve seen too many bad things with these eyes. This, I will feel in my heart.”

  Water fell from my eyes at his beautiful but heartbreaking words, and resting my breasts on his chest, I placed soft kisses on his neck as I worked my hips faster. More rumbling growls of pleasure sounded from his throat.

  Raze’s hand slipped around my waist to my back, and my breath came faster as I felt myself building to orgasm, his satisfied grunts telling me he was nearly there too. Licking and nipping at his throat, I journeyed my lips to his mouth, and Raze immediately met me kiss for kiss, our tongues wet, hot and dueling, as shivers ran up and down my spine. I came so quickly and so powerfully that I pulled my mouth from Raze’s and cried out in pleasure.

  Raze’s long groan soon joined mine and I felt his warmth flood my womb, his hands holding down my hips to extract every moment of pleasure.

  Fighting to catch my breath, I lay contentedly in Raze’s arms.

  “Kisa…” he whispered, rolling my name on his tongue, and I froze, praying he would say something else. I know you. I remember you. You’re the girl I was designed to love, my God-given match, my solnyshko. But he didn’t. Instead, he inhaled a deep breath and said, “Why do I feel like I’ve known you all my life?”

  And at that moment I knew …

  My beating heart exploded like a supernova of light. I savored this moment and a smile tugged on my mouth. He might not remember specifics, but deep down in his tragically damaged mind, in the mind blocking out his past to protect him from the present, my Luka … my Raze … He knew me. He felt that connection that always kept us close.

&
nbsp; “Kisa-Anna,” he murmured as he raked his fingers hypnotically through my hair.

  I sucked in a sharp breath, and Raze clearly felt it, felt my shocked reaction. His hands stopped dead.

  Lifting my head, I stared at him through blurred eyes and asked, “Why did you call me Kisa-Anna?”

  Raze opened his mouth to speak but slowly closed it again. “I don’t…” His eyes squinted closed and he ran his hand over his head as though he was hit with a migraine.

  “Raze?” I asked.

  He blinked, then blinked again. “I don’t know why I called you that … but I think … I think that’s your name. It feels right.”

  Nodding through my tears, I said, “Yes. It does feel right.”

  I laid my head on Raze’s chest and closed my eyes, relishing his touch while I could. But I knew I had to go, and after I didn’t know how long spent in his arms, I reluctantly tore myself from his body, looking down to see his face … a face that appeared … hurt?

  “I can’t have you, can I?” he asked, devastation in his voice.

  “I … I … It’s complicated,” I stammered and began scooping up my ruined clothes, trying to dress as best I could with the tattered bits of material, praying that my long summer jacket would cover me.

  “It’s because of Durov, isn’t it?” he pushed, the feral, untamed side reasserting itself.

  “He’s a dangerous man, Raze.”

  Raze got to his feet and gripped my wrist, preventing me from pulling up my pants. “So am I.”

  “I know, Raze. I know. But you don’t understand. We’re engaged. There’s expectations,” I explained, but I continued to dress. Mixed emotions and thoughts clouded my mind. Questions welled up. Could I explain all I knew to Raze? Did I dare tell him about his connection to the Bratva? How could I make him remember what happened to my brother, if he did kill him? And how could I ever get out from under Alik’s controlling hand?

  “But I want you. Will you come back again tomorrow? I need you. I want to touch you again. I can’t bear to think of you with him.”

  Dressed as best as I could manage, Raze’s fingers linked through mine, and when I looked up, he was staring at me in deep concentration, his eyes darting from side to side, like he was trying to remember something. I was mush the moment his head tilted to the side and his lips pursed.