by Jenika Snow
“Scars.”
He shook his head. “No, say my name, Hannah.”
A heartbeat passed as they locked gazes. She licked her lips and whispered, “Mickey.”
The organ of his heart that had never truly beat, not until Hannah came into his life, started pounding furiously. The way she said his name, all breathy, had Scars rearing his hips back and feeding more of his dick back into her.
Hannah had her hands on the sheets, clenching, pulling at the material as she writhed beneath him.
Scars was lost in the sensations as he started moving in and out, fucking her, making love to her… as he claimed Hannah as his. Only his.
Only mine.
Sweat started to cover his chest, slid down his pecs and abdomen, down his spine. He couldn’t breathe as the most incredible pleasure he’d ever experienced took root in the very center of his body.
It wasn’t just lust or desire; it wasn’t feeling possessive or territorial of Hannah. It was something more. It was deep. Bone-deep.
It was love.
And that scared the fuck out of him, but it also made him feel invincible.
“Yeah, Hannah.” His words were low, maybe too low for her to hear. He lowered his gaze along her breasts as they shook slightly from his thrusting, then he moved his eyes lower still until he could look at where he was buried.
Right. In. Her.
“That’s it, baby.” The headboard banged against the wall, and he growled. “You’re mine, Hannah. No one will ever have you but me.” Air sawed in and out of his lungs, his chest burned, but it was this pleasure/pain, this feeling that for the first time in his fucking life, he had something truly for himself.
Curling his hands around her waist, he marveled at how small she was compared to him, how feminine and delicate. He needed to be careful with her. She seemed like she’d break in his hands.
I’ll never let anyone hurt her.
He continued to watch as he pumped his dick in and out of her wet, pink pussy. “Squeeze that pretty cunt around me. Take all of me, all the fucking way to the hilt, Hannah.” The sight of his cock moving in and out of her was the most erotic thing he’d ever seen. Her pussy lips were stretched around him, and every time he pulled out, he could see her wetness and… a tinge of red on his cock. Blood. His entire body tightened at the sight of that.
He looked at her face then, their eyes clashing, catching… holding. Scars wanted to say something, anything, to ask her if she was untouched, if this was her first time. God, was it? Had it been? Had he been too rough, too forceful in pushing into her?
But the feeling of her pussy walls clenching rhythmically around him had his pleasure moving vastly toward the surface and all thoughts leaving him. She was going to come.
Because of me.
Scars gritted his teeth as he started rubbing her clit and slammed his hips against her, over and over again, faster and faster. Hannah was gasping, crying out, giving him everything.
He gave her everything that was him.
And when she clawed at him, trying to bring him closer, coming because of him, he let go himself.
The guttural roar that spilled from his lips couldn’t be contained. It was loud and fierce, primal and animalistic.
“Scars,” she cried as her pussy rippled around his cock again.
He forced his eyes to stay open and watch as he came. It was a hard feat, since he wanted to let his own pleasure control him, but seeing Hannah come undone for him—because of him—had his orgasm spiking.
He grunted, his muscles tightening painfully, his cock swelling in her as he pumped her full of his seed.
His life was forever changed because of this one woman.
When his climax dimmed, Scars slowed his pace but didn’t pull out right away. He felt her inner walls clenching around his shaft from her orgasm, and he closed his eyes and just relished that he’d made her feel good.
When he finally forced himself to pull out of the snugness of her body, he gathered her in his arms instantly, loving that she rested her head on his chest, her hand on his abdomen.
“Are you okay?” he asked softly. “I didn’t hurt you?” He’d felt like he’d been too rough, too coarse in how he'd taken her.
She tipped her head back and smiled at him. “No. It was perfect.” They stared at each other for long moments. “It was perfect for my first time.”
Everything in him possessively tightened at her words.
He’d been right. She’d been a virgin.
Mine.
She had been a fucking virgin, and he’d taken her far too roughly… consumed her.
“Hannah.” Her name came from him in a harsh groan.
“Don’t,” she whispered and rose up, looking at him. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. It’s just not something I wanted between us. I felt maybe it would have you looking at me differently then.”
“It sure as hell would have,” he growled. “I would have been gentle.”
She slowly shook her head. “I wanted it the exact way you gave it to me.”
He closed his eyes and breathed out, pulling her in closer, sifting his fingers through her hair. “I should have taken it slower, but with you, everything leaves me. I’m too crazed for you.”
“Don’t change. Don’t stop.” She curled her arm tighter around him, snuggling even closer.
He closed his eyes again and exhaled as pure happiness claimed him. “I won’t let you go. You know that, right?”
A heartbeat of silence passed before she sighed, that little puff of breath leaving her parted lips and moving along his skin.
“Good, because I don’t want you to ever let me go.”
16
Several weeks later
The weeks she’d been at the cabin with Scars had been the best of her life. He made her feel free, alive, like she’d been missing one of the most elemental things a human needed… touch from someone who cared about them.
They’d spent every night in bed together. He made love to her, fucked her, touched her, licked every inch of her body. She fell asleep in his arms every night, woke up to his gentle kisses, his hand between her thighs, his gruff, caring words in her ear.
She cared about him. She had fallen for him.
She’d fallen in love with him.
Closing her eyes as she thought that for the hundredth time since she realized this feeling for Scars went deeper than just feeling good and safe in his arms. It went to her marrow, to her soul.
He’d been working on her car this whole time, but she noticed he took his time, kept making up excuses on why he couldn’t get this or that working. There was delay after delay on the parts he needed, and she felt her smile tug at her lips, because she knew what he was doing. He was afraid she’d leave once her car was fixed. He was afraid she’d leave him. He never said the words, probably never would, since he was such a strong man, thought it may show weakness, but she read between the lines.
And he touched her every chance he got. God, he touched her, pulled her in, stroked her face, her hair, any place he could get his hands on. And she yearned for more. Hannah was a fiend for those touches, the scrape of his calloused fingers on her bare body, the soft but gruffly spoken words he whispered in her ear.
“I want you.”
“You drive me crazy.”
“You're mine.”
“I’m never letting you leave me, Hannah.”
Yeah, she had gone ahead and fallen in love with Mickey “Scars” Lore.
He’d gone to town an hour ago to stock up on supplies. He said he wanted her well fed, that he needed fresh fruits and meats, breads, and even chocolate. She laughed at that. They kissed for long moments on the porch, and she hadn’t wanted him to leave. She’d wanted them to go back to bed, where he slept beside her every night now, and for him to make love to her, fuck her, kiss her, just hold her.
She felt a smile form on her lips. Oh, who the hell was she kidding? She’d been wearing the damn thing for so long no
w it was a permanent fixture on her face.
Although she would have loved to spend time with Scars outside the house, and she knew he’d protect her no matter what, there was still a sliver of fear about being seen, that it would somehow get back to Landon.
That he’d find her.
Although she felt confident with each passing day that she hadn’t killed him, given the fact that there had been no reports of it in the papers Scars had gotten for her from town, she still worried.
She worried so much her belly cramped from it.
Surely, if Landon was going to find her, he would have by now? But she couldn’t stay here for the rest of her life, even if Scars had told her he’d never let her go as he’d been buried in her body and kissing her lips.
He had a life outside of this cabin, friends, family… a grown daughter. He was the president of an MC. All of these things he’d told her as he held her after an especially intense bout of fucking. She’d been so sated, so pleasured, her body deliciously sore, her skin feeling sensitive from the kisses and licks he’d given her. He’d held her and told her everything, about how he’d gotten the scar, how his daughter’s mother had been murdered.
Hannah had been so shocked by his words that she hadn’t been able to say anything. So she hadn’t. She just held him, stroked her fingers along his six-pack, kissed the side of his neck.
And even though only a few weeks had passed since she’d gotten into the accident and woken up with him tending to her, it felt like a lifetime ago. It felt like Hannah was exactly where she was meant to be—in Scars’ arms.
She stared at the fire and watched as the flames crackled along the logs. A part of her wished she’d killed Landon, that it had been plastered all over the news. She’d much rather be a suspect, a murderer, than worry about him coming for her.
Hannah looked at the clock on the wall. She felt excitement and anticipation that Scars would be back soon. And when he did step through that door, she’d throw herself into his arms and make him take her to the bedroom. She needed his touch, that connection she felt with him.
The sound of a vehicle approaching had her smile rising. He had to have been fast in town to be back already, but she hoped he’d been frantic to get back to her because he’d been thinking about the dirty things she whispered against his mouth right before he left.
She stood, staring at the front door when she heard a car door opening and closing. Then she heard heavy footfalls on the porch steps, the sound coming closer. She was by the front door before he could open it, doing that herself, the wind whipping along her hair once it was opened.
“I was just thinking about you—” Her words died in her throat as she stared at the man she hoped to never see again.
Landon.
17
“Man, Hannah, you’re a sight for sore fucking eyes.” The shadows concealed part of his face, but she saw the flash of his white teeth as he grinned.
He took a step closer, and she knew she had to run, to get as far from him as she could, but fear kept her rooted to the spot. Her hand was curled so tightly around the doorknob she felt the ache of that strain race up her arm.
“You don’t know how much I’ve missed you.” Landon’s voice was like a slap to her face. Her heart stopped, sweat bloomed across her entire body as the flight-or-fight instinct rose up, that flight mechanism screaming for her to run, to grab a weapon, to finish what she started all those weeks ago.
She swung the door, intent on closing it and locking it, but he was right there, his big palm on the wood, stopping her from shutting him out.
“H-How did you find me?” she gasped and finally moved back.
He stepped inside and closed the door slowly. “Really? You didn’t realize by now that if you ran, I’d make sure I could get you back?”
She tore at her brain for the hows, the whos, and the whats, and as she stared into his eyes that were alight with so much… need for her, she realized the reality.
“The car,” she breathed.
His smile grew. “The car, Hannah. It’s easy enough to put a tracking device on it. Hell, I got it online, less than fifty bucks, and it comes with an app so I can see where the fuck you go when you leave the house.”
Her heart was thundering, every single synapsis in her body pinging around until the world tipped and she had to force herself to stay upright. Sweat coated her body, dampened her temples. He took a step closer, and she took one back. There was a back door, one he may or may not know about. She didn't know how much investigation Landon did before coming here. He clearly knew Scars wouldn’t be here right now, so he’d been scoping out the place or had someone else do it.
Either way, it didn’t matter. He was here now, Scars wasn’t, and she didn’t know if she’d get a second chance to make it out alive.
How stupid could she be that she hadn’t even thought about Landon being so damn twisted he’d put something on the car to track her? She was panting, unable to draw enough air into her lungs.
“It took me some time to be well enough to find you.” He advanced another step. “After pulling my ass off the floor, going to the hospital, and letting them patch me up, I sat there and planned on how I was going to get you to come back.” His eyes darkened, and his expression became severe. “You actually thought I’d just let you walk away, after all these years, all the shit we’ve been through?”
He was delusional, a maniac, and in need of some serious fucking help.
She shook her head, although she wasn't sure what she was denying. Fear tightened its hold on her body, and she wanted to scream, lash out, tear away at the thickness that poured from Landon. She hated him, loathed him… wished she’d just ended his life back at that house.
He tilted his head, and she felt as though he could see right through her, as if he knew what she and Scars had done, how she’d given every single part of herself to that man and then some. And as if he’d read her mind, his expression turned dark, dangerous, and deadly.
“I can smell him all over you.” He took another step forward, and she moved one back, making her way toward the back door. She could make an escape, or try at least.
They did this dark dance with him moving forward and her stepping backward until she was nearing the back door. She could run, use the trees, the thick darkness as a shield, to her advantage.
“He’s made you his whore, Hannah, his dirty fucking whore, and now you’re damaged. You’re tainted. Now, you’ll never be the same,” Landon spit out, disgust on his face. “You were supposed to be mine.”
She shook her head. “That was never going to happen. Never.”
He gave a bitter, humorless laugh. Her heart pounded so hard she felt as though it would burst right through her ribcage. Hannah felt her eyes widen when she realized Landon held something. A gun.
Oh God.
“Even though you’re damaged goods, I still need you to be close. I still want you.” He moved closer, and she kept walking backward, reaching out and trying to find the knob. She had one chance, only one to try to get out of this alive.
This is it.
She gripped the handle tightly and twisted, but before she could wrench the door open, Landon lunged for her. He went after her, his arms outstretched, this crazed look on his face. She could use things in the room as a weapon, but she needed to get to them first.
She twisted in his arms, but he had a chunk of her hair and pulled her back. Hannah cried out in pain and reached up to grasp her hand around his, trying to get his hold to loosen, to ease the sting. She was terrified, and that had her body tight, frozen.
Landon pulled her up and twisted her around so she faced him, and that’s when she kicked out, hitting his shin hard enough he grunted out. Satisfaction filled her that she’d caused him pain.
His hold loosened for just a second, and she didn’t waste any time moving away from him. But he was fast and slammed his body into hers, both of them crashing to the wall before they stumbled back and fell to the
floor.
He took both of her wrists in one of his hands and thrust them above her head, holding her in place, making her immobile. He added pressure to her wrists, and she struggled, trying to buck him off, trying to kick at him again.
Her head bounced off the hardwood, and stars danced in front of her vision. He grunted in annoyance as she still tried to fight him. He had his hand still tangled in her hair and jerked her head back, baring his teeth. And when he growled again and lifted his hand from her hair, his knuckles coming for her, she knew this one would knock her out.
But the hit never came.
The pain wasn’t there.
And his body was pulled off her seconds later.
Hannah pushed herself up and watched as Scars towered over Landon. He swung out and connected his fist with Landon’s nose, the sickening sound of bone crunching, the sight and scent of blood pouring out, had her stomach roiling in disgust.
Scars had his hand around Landon’s neck a second later, hauling him off the ground as if he weighed nothing at all. As she stared at Scars’ face, she thought she’d see pure, unadulterated rage. But what she saw was far more frightening.
Nothing. A stoic, concentrated, focused expression. This man had done this many times. He was no stranger to violence. He knew about death, had welcomed it, experienced it… delivered it.
He wasn’t a good guy in that sense of the word, not by society's standards, but as Hannah watched him lean in close, Landon’s body seeming so small compared to Scars’, something deep in her body awakened.
It wasn’t sexual. It wasn’t fear. It was this reality, this realization, that the man she’d spent the last few weeks with had shifted her very core.
She’d fallen for him. He was protecting her. And she knew she’d never be the same without him in her life.
Scars said nothing as he held Landon by the throat, the other man’s toes barely touching the ground. Landon looked like a ragdoll just hanging in Scars’ grasp, his hands clawing at Scars’ fingers, which were wrapped so tightly around his neck his knuckles were white.