Scars (Going All the Way, 3)

by Jenika Snow

  And when she was finished, when she took a deep breath in, she waited for him to kick her out.

  But he gave her hand another light squeeze, leaned back in the chair, and crossed his big arms over his chest. “If that motherfucker is alive, Hannah, if he comes after you… finds you here,” he said and shook his head slowly, this dark, dangerous look crossing his face, “I can guarantee you he'll regret it.” He leaned forward, his forearms now on the table as he stared into her eyes. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. They don’t know what I’m capable of, but I think it’s best if you know the lengths I’d go to keep someone close to me safe.”

  10

  God, he wanted her. So much. More than he ever wanted anything else in this fucking world.

  He went into his bedroom and grabbed a change of clothes before heading back out and into the bathroom. He watched her as she sat in front of the fire, a book she found on the shelf, something about an underwater adventure. He didn't know half the little knickknacks that were around the cabin. They were things other members had brought up over the years. But she seemed engrossed in the story, and that made him smile.

  “I’m going to rinse off,” he said gruffly from the opening of the hallway. She glanced up and gave him a smile, and he felt his heart kick up in his chest. She nodded slowly, and he forced himself to turn and leave her sitting there when it was the last thing he wanted to do.

  After he told her all about himself when they sat at the table this morning, he expected her to want to leave right away. He told her shit he hadn’t told anyone outside his circle. He wanted her to know how dangerous he was—not to frighten her, but to reassure her that he could protect her.

  Robberies.

  Killings.

  Any and all illegal shit he’d done in his lifetime to survive.

  It was who Scars was.

  He told her about the MC, how the Vicious Bastards were dangerous, violent, and he’d mirrored his club after himself.

  And the whole time, she sat there and listened, no judgement on her face. And when he was done, expecting to see fear coming from her, she’d been the one to reach out and hold his hand in her tiny one. And right then and there, he felt something strong and fierce shift in his body. His heart started beating for the first time.

  It was painful. It made him feel alive when he hadn't known he’d been dead.

  He headed into the bathroom and shut the door needing a fucking shower to try to get rid of the arousal he felt, or at the very least tame the hell out of this bastard.

  But he knew it wouldn’t work. Him jerking off to the thought of her would no doubt make things worse, make him need her even more. His damn body knew it wasn’t the real thing and wouldn’t be fucking tricked into being sated.

  He cranked the shower on, shucked off his clothes, and stepped inside the stall. First, he had the water frigid, but when that didn’t help, he cranked the heat up. Steam from the scalding water filled the room, and he closed his eyes and exhaled slowly.

  The sting of the water felt like needles on his flesh, but he welcomed the discomfort. His dick was hard as steel, and he felt like a filthy asshole because of it, because of the images bouncing around in his head where Hannah was concerned. She was scared, had been hurt, not just from the accident, but from the person she ran from, yet he couldn’t stop thinking of her.

  He couldn't stop wanting her.

  His eyes were still closed as he pictured her. Although he wanted her sexually, so fiercely that it was painful, his dick perpetually hard, his balls drawn up, his blood racing through his veins, it was more than that. He wanted her, because she had this light to her, this brightness that moved across all the dark parts of his soul. Scars couldn’t even describe the feelings he had, the sensations moving inside him. Never had he felt something so… powerful.

  So real.

  Because he was a desperate fucker, he grabbed his cock, the length pulsing in his hand, the need to get off driving him to drag his palm up and down as he pictured Hannah. Her eyes, the color of whiskey, her hair as dark as the night… as his soul. Her lashes were long, crescents across her alabaster cheeks as she slept. She drew him in deeper with just a look.

  Hannah was so small, fragile in comparison to him. He felt like he’d break her if he wasn’t gentle, snap her in half far too easily.

  Scars tightened his palm around his cock as pleasure and pain slammed into him. He jerked off harder, faster, his bicep flexing with the force and strain. He slapped his other hand on the tile of the shower wall as ecstasy stole his breath, as the image of Hannah filled his head.

  Pins and needles started in the root of his cock and traveled up his spine. Eyes closed, he pictured Hannah naked and needing him. He imagined her on his bed, his scent surrounding her, her delicate ankles in his hands as he pushed her legs back until they touched her chest. She would be open for him, every part of her spread and on display for his viewing pleasure.

  And when he came, it was to the image of sliding his cock into her tiny pussy. He’d fill her up, make her take every single inch of him, every drop of his seed.

  And she’d ask for more.

  Despite his orgasm, he was still hard, still aching. He cut the water off, feeling grouchy and frustrated from his urges. He snagged a towel and dried off, running it over his hair, down his chest. He changed into his clothes then stood there a second just trying to catch his breath. She wasn’t even in the same room with him at the moment, but he felt her.

  Fuck, did he feel every single part of her like she was already his.

  11

  A week later

  The sound of pots banging roused Hannah, and she opened her eyes. The sun streamed through the window, and she closed her eyes again, stretching, letting her arms and legs move outward, as she smelled… Scars.

  He insisted she stay in his bed, and for a week since she’d been here, that’s exactly what she’d done, even though she tried to tell him no. But with his deep growl and sharp shake of his head—a wordless command she listened to—she had not only accepted his offer, but actually liked that he was so damn protective and insistent on her comfort.

  And over the last week, she’d felt things that confused her, emotions and feelings, sensations when he was near.

  She wanted him in a way she’d never wanted another man, in a way that made her body react when he was near, wet in places that were intimate and exciting. And the way he watched her, tracked her around the cabin with his eyes, made her feel like maybe he felt this attraction and intensity too.

  She got out of bed, made it, and got dressed. She’d already done a wash of the clothes she had, and as she brought the shirt she was about to put on up to her nose, inhaling it deeply, she couldn't stop herself from closing her eyes. It smelled like him, like the soap and detergent Scars used. It was just missing that woodsy, spicy male aroma that clung to him.

  Once she was dressed, she headed to the bathroom to do the morning routine then left the room and headed into the kitchen. The smell of bacon was strong, and her belly rumbled so loudly she felt her eyes widen and her cheeks heat. Scars had his back to her, the sound of bacon frying, the grease crackling, not loud enough to drown out the beating of her heart as his image filled her eyes. Scars stood by the stove, and she had to thank whoever had created him, because he was the perfect male specimen.

  He was so strong, so muscular. His body was tall, powerful, his shoulders wide, his biceps defined. She could see those muscles under the white shirt he wore, the material stretched across his upper body. His waist was narrow, and the gray sweatpants he wore fit his powerful legs perfectly. She got all warm and wet down there.

  And when he turned off the stove, plated the food, and turned to face her, she watched how he visibly tensed. His eyes did a onceover of her body, and chills raced along her arms and legs at how that one look made her feel.

  Scars cleared his throat and gave her a smile, but it seemed tight. He gestured to the table, and she glanced at it for the
first time since stepping into the room. She’d been so transfixed at the sight of Scars that she hadn’t noticed the spread he cooked.

  “Sit down. Eat,” Scars said in a gruff voice, one that was deeper than normal.

  When she was seated, he put the plated bacon on the table then gave her an empty one. Before she could serve herself, Scars started filling up the white, circular ceramic dish.

  Bacon, scrambled eggs, pancakes, and a couple of scoops of fresh fruit were now overflowing it. She looked down at it, then looked at him. He sat across from her, filling up his own plate, his portions double the size of what he’d given her. Then again, he was so much bigger than her that his daily calorie intake had to be insane.

  He stopped midbite and looked up at her then glanced at her plate. “You’re not hungry?”

  She licked her lips and nodded. “I am.”

  He grunted in approval. “You need food.” He pointed his fork at her plate.

  She couldn’t help but smile, not bothering to remind him that she couldn’t possibly eat all this.

  He was thoughtful and wanted her to be taken care of, well fed. And once again, warmth spread through her at that thought.

  “I’m going to work on your car a little bit today.” His voice was husky, and she noticed he didn’t go very long without looking at her. It was like he needed to see her at all times.

  “I appreciate everything you've done for me. I can’t thank you enough, could never repay you.” She cleared her throat, her belly in knots. “I’ll be out of your hair as soon as I can. I know I’m an inconvenience.”

  The low growl he made had her eyes widening fractionally.

  “Let me tell you something,” he said and set his fork down, leaning forward and bracing his elbows on the table. “You’re not an inconvenience, Hannah.” Scars spoke low but gently. “I like having you here. A lot.” It was his turn to clear his throat.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “I… like being here too.” And she did. God, she did. She liked being in Scars’ presence. He made her feel safe. He made her feel more than that.

  He grunted as if that was settled then. After picking up his fork again, he gestured for her to start eating.

  “I’m gonna try to work on your car. All day. The more I get done, the faster I can figure out all that needs to be fixed.” He focused on his plate and scooped up a big forkful. She watched as his forearm flexed from the simple act. A fresh wave of heat moved through her. “But I want you to know,” he said and looked at her, piercing her with a steely stare. “You’re welcome to stay here as long as you like. Even after your car is fixed… you don’t have to go.”

  She was stunned by his words, shocked at how good they made her feel. “Why?” she whispered. “Why would you offer something like that to me?” She cleared her throat again.

  He didn’t answer for long moments, just watched her, making her feel bare, exposed, as if he could see every single part of her. As if he knew her better than anyone else.

  “Because I don’t want you to leave,” he said so clearly, so honestly, that she sucked in a breath.

  Hannah’s cheeks felt hot, she couldn’t stop her smile, and she focused on her plate, picking up her fork and eating. A moment later, he continued to eat, but she could feel his eyes on her the whole time.

  She hadn’t responded, even though she wanted to tell him that she didn’t want to leave either.

  12

  Scars had been working all day on her car, and Hannah felt guilty as she stayed inside and rested—his nicely put demand. She cleaned up after breakfast, had made some sandwiches for lunch, some fruit, made potato salad, which had been her mother’s recipe, and as she made it, a pang filled her chest. And when he kept telling her how good everything was, that it had been so long since someone had taken the time to cook solely for him, she felt pride and—again—that damn warmth.

  She grabbed a glass from the cupboard and filled it with water, added some ice, then stepped outside to head to the garage. It wasn’t hot out, this light chill in the air with the promise of fall already here and the hint of winter on its heels. She heard the music before she even stepped out of the house, and the closer she got to where Scars worked, the louder it became.

  Classic rock blasted through a speaker sitting on a wooden, scarred bench, and she could see Scars hunched over the hood of her car. He wore a dark T-shirt that looked like it had seen better days. His jeans were worn, a few holes at the knees, grease stains covering them. Her body warmed, softened at the sight, at the images that flashed through her mind.

  She was embarrassingly aroused, feeling that need, the lust and desire claiming her higher and harder the longer she was with him. The way he watched her, tracked her with his eyes whenever she was near, made her blood feel like it was on fire.

  He hadn’t noticed her presence yet, and she took that moment to appraise his very male, very hard and powerful body more. His boots were thick and black. They screamed “biker boots,” and she could imagine him on his Harley riding down the road, not a care in the world, everyone noticing him and staying away because he screamed danger.

  The wind picked up and goose bumps popped out along her arms. She shivered, knowing it wasn’t just the chill in the air, but how he made her feel.

  Hannah couldn’t lie, not even to herself, and say she didn’t think about him constantly, that she didn’t picture what it would be like to have him in every way imaginable, to touch him, to feel him touch her, moving over her… inside her.

  She became wet, embarrassingly so, her panties soaked, the fire consuming her from the inside out.

  After long moments, probably too long of her just standing there with this glass of water in her hand, Scars glanced up. Maybe he sensed her, but either way, when their eyes locked, she actually felt the air leave her violently.

  The music couldn’t even drown out the sound of her rapidly beating heart, and as she awkwardly held out the glass, watched as his eyes flicked down to it before immediately looking back at her face, her cheeks heated in awareness.

  He moved close to her, reached out to take the glass, and a shiver raced up her arm when their fingers brushed together. While watching her the entire time, Scars brought the glass to his mouth and downed all of it, never once taking his focus from Hannah. When he was finished, she found herself reaching for the glass, their fingers brushing again. God, that moment when he watched her while he drank seemed so erotic.

  “Thanks,” he said in that sexy, deep voice that had her entire body clenching tightly, her muscles aching, and the air leaving her.

  He walked over to the stereo, lowered the volume, then faced her again, grabbing a rag from the counter without breaking eye contact. He started cleaning off his hands, and they stood there in silence, the air suddenly thick as it surrounded her. She stared at his hands as he cleaned the grease from them, his palms big and wide, his fingers long and calloused. She imagined him touching her with those masculine hands, the roughness of them along her smooth skin, the way she’d gasp and beg for more.

  After clearing her throat, because this moment seemed very… intimate for some reason, she started running her fingers over the now empty glass. Condensation formed on the outside, and she traced her fingers over the droplets.

  The front end of her car where the impact happened was still beat to hell, but she knew nothing about cars, so maybe it was just superficial?

  “How's it going?” She pointed to the car as if he wouldn't know what she was talking about, and could feel her face heat even more.

  God, could I make this even more weird?

  The sound of him moving closer had Hannah looking at him. Her eyes widened when she realized he was close, so close she smelled the combination of cedar, motor oil, clean sweat, and something that was wholly unique to Scars.

  She grew wetter, her body pliant, as if it knew what it wanted and that was standing right in front of her in all its male glory.

  Hannah tried not to take no
tice of the wide expanse of chest right in front of her, or how his shirt stretched across his powerful body, how she could make out his muscles. Seeing him dirty like this, grease and oil smeared on his shirt and arms, on his hands and even a little bit on his cheek, made her feel hot and bothered and tingly all over.

  The longer they stared at each other, neither speaking nor moving, it made Hannah very aware of the changes happening with him. They were subtle but noticeable. His eyes darkened. His chest moved faster the harder he breathed. He looked down at her lips then at the hollow of her throat before trailing those gorgeous eyes back to hers.

  His biceps were bulging beneath the shirt, his hands clenching at his sides as if he was trying to control himself as well. Something shifted in Hannah, this feeling that she didn’t have to worry, that she didn’t have to be afraid. She was here with Scars, and everything was… good.

  A tingling started in her belly, and her arousal continued to burn slowly inside her. It moved swiftly, so fast she couldn’t wrangle it in. She didn't want to.

  What’s happening?

  Hannah swore his eyes flashed fire at her as he slowly dragged them up and down her body, as if he couldn't help himself, couldn’t stop himself from checking her out.

  She felt bared and raw in the best of ways.

  God, she felt like she wore a neon sign above her that said she wanted Scars with a fierceness that controlled her. And it was clear her desire for him was obvious. Why else would he not even try to hide the fact that he checked her out? It made her feel… powerful.

  Scars moved toward her even more, and Hannah couldn’t pretend like he didn't remind her of this predator, this stealthy panther or lion stalking with so much power that she knew he’d eat her alive.