Chapter 30
Devyn
M y arms take up motions all their own, shooting down and covering my waist, where the elastic of my shorts secures around my body.
They’re high rise. Like all my bottoms.
Because I can’t stand to see it.
My scar.
My eternal reminder of the day I lost my baby.
I finally turn around, looking up at Hunter while I finger the line that stretches across my stomach in a thick, solid chunk, longer than a C section scar and thicker than one too. Because mine slices both ways. Up and across.
The first slice up was a wooden shard from the electrical post about as thick as the blade at the deli, the recovery nurse told me later. It shot through the car after our impact with the Mack truck ricocheted our vehicle violently off the shoulder, the pole coming down above us and the sharp, broken edges piercing right through me.
I passed out then. I didn’t get to see the blood.
Or the wreckage. There are times I wonder if I’ll ever remember the in-between. And worse times when I think I do. But the brain fills in the gaps for you, the doctors told me. What I think happened is most likely the fear, a nightmare in my mind, not unlike most dreams. You make parts up based on things you’ve seen or heard in real life.
I hope that’s the case. Because the dreams I have don’t seem like ones God would ever allow to have occurred.
And yet.
Don’t go there, Devyn .
I didn’t hear anything after the screams that filled the car as Hunter and I held on to one another, praying for protection.
If we’d landed only centimeters to the left, the post would have punctured my heart. I’d have died.
Maybe our baby would have lived. I haven’t forgiven God for the way he answered my prayers that day. Not yet.
And truth be told, I don’t think I’ll ever believe when someone says ‘everything happens for a reason.’ I’m not sure that’s true.
I think everything just happens. And maybe things will come of it, or maybe they won’t.
But here we are together again, leaving me to question all I know.
I wring my hands, dropping them from their place of protection around my waist, turning toward Hunter and forcing my body to calm. This isn’t just anyone I’m being intimate with. My scars are his too, and I want desperately to share everything with him right now.
My soul. My mind. My whole body.
Even my scars.
He senses my hesitation, his brow drawing inward as he reaches for me. But I don’t shove away. I take his hand, letting him tug me closer, into his embrace, his warm arms, wrapping around my shoulders and his lips placing soft, supportive kisses on my shoulder blade.
“I don’t have many great experiences with intimacy,” I admit, unable to meet his eyes. I keep my face forward, his touch on my body grounding me, bringing me complete peace to talk about this without the anxiety that normally seizes me when I do. He squeezes me lightly, a gentle nudge to go on.
“Once they see my scars, it gets awkward. They say things, and I can’t brush them off, and then it’s just over after that. It ends almost immediately in that moment.”
As much as I wish I could pretend Chad was just a horrible human, he wasn’t so bad. I mean, yeah, he was conceited, but most people in the city are. He was still a decent guy.
But it always feels the same. Once I’m finally willing to be vulnerable about my past, the scar itself is either too much for them to handle, or it becomes too much once they realize what it means.
I’ll never bear them any children of their own.
A doll with a broken body doesn’t last on a trophy shelf. Even with the shiniest crown.
“Who made you feel like shit about your scars, Dev? You tell me names, right now.” He grinds his teeth, his eyes burning so fiercely I believe he would actually take those names and do something with them.
Is it normal to be horny about that?
It’s probably normal.
It’s definitely hot.
He cups my cheek and kisses me as if there’s no time left between us, immediately searching my eyes.
“Calm down, Alpha Male.” I smile, fingering the hem of my shirt, riding it up inch by inch. “Just because you read a bunch of my books doesn’t mean you need to go un-aliving all my insensitive exes. Even if it would be a major turn-on.”
“It would be, you say?” He grins.
His eyes follow my movement as the shirt goes up my torso and over my neck, exposing the upper half of my body, and the top portion of my vertical scar. I brace myself for the weight of the world to crash down, but there’s nothing.
No sound.
No cringe.
No scowl.
No widening eyes of disgust, or furrowing brows of sympathy, or words of rejection to spark tears that spill over pillows of tomorrow.
All I see is love in his eyes.
I toss my shirt to the floor and peel the shorts down my waist and thighs, earning a groan of approval from Hunter when I’m totally naked before him.
My horizontal scar, from the emergency abdominal hysterectomy, is now exposed to him for the first time.
The scar that stole our child.
I lean back on the bed and for once in my life, as intense of a moment as this is, full of dredged-up memories and sadness, I don’t feel broken underneath the stare of a man.
He sees all the pieces of me, and he’s every bit a part of them.
The past, the history, and the wounds.
The faults that bind us together, and the scars that forever seal our love are etched across my skin like a story. One only he and I can finish.
He runs his tongue over his bottom lip, just how he knows I like it, and goosebumps ripple across my skin when he hums into my breasts.
“Wanna taste every inch.”
He swirls his tongue around my nipple, and pleasure rushes to my center, sending my hips rocking against his body. A low growl rumbles from his throat, and I can’t help but wonder what that sound might feel like in other places on my body.
Reading my mind, he lowers his kisses, leaving one hand to pinch my nipples to points up top, while he teases his mouth down my stomach, licking and sucking at the skin above my scar lines.
My breath hitches when he nears it, but my center still throbs for his touch. I don’t want him to stop. And what’s even crazier, the feelings that normally come in these moments—the rejection, the guilt, the pain—aren’t present right now.
It’s just me and him.
Devyn Lynn Campbell and Hunter Isaac, the boy I’ve always loved .
From top to bottom, he places purposeful kisses across the once-marred flesh, but it isn’t until he reaches the top of the vertical scar that touches my ribcage, that I feel his tears. He leans his weight into me, his head sagging as quick tufts of air release from his lips, breath blowing across my skin, and arms wrapping around me in an apologetic hug that says volumes, without saying anything at all.
He’s crying. For me.
For her .
For all of us.
I sift my fingers through his reddish-blond hair, and I’m reminded of the other little girl.
The one we didn’t lose.
The one who came into our lives at different times but needs a family. The one who stole Hunter’s heart and is fast collecting mine along with it. Suddenly, seeing this through is more important than my pain, my past or my scars.
Because scars are meant to be reminders, not barriers. Not walls we put up to keep others out, but roads we map to find our way.
I kiss the top of his head.
“I love you, Hunter Isaac. And these scars are devastating, yes. I’m reminded of that day every day because of them. But they represent our past, and right now the future seems more intentional than I ever imagined.”
“You’re something else, Ponygirl.”
“If I’m a Ponygirl, then let me ride you already,” I tease.
And that’s all it takes before I’m thrown to my back and the heavy weight of Hunter’s wide frame is pressing down on top of me, his mouth roaming every inch of my neck, making his way to my chest, caressing my nipples with his tongue as he rubs his hardness against me. My body lights up, still needy from before, and when he shoves my breasts together and covers both nipples with mouth at the same time, my entire pussy quakes.
“ Fuck ,” I whimper. “Please, fuck me.”
“You better behave,” he warns, spreading my legs open for his access. He wraps one hand around his thick shaft, pumping up and down.
I watch.
How could I not?
He fists his erection in front of me, slowly and sensually. Putting on a goddamned show and he doesn’t even realize it, all while his gaze roams my body, his brows creased in deep thought, like I’m a battle map in a war room and he’s figuring out how he’d like to conquer me.
That’s my Roman Empire.
And fuck, if it’s not sexy as hell.
But I’m too turned on, and I want him inside me, now.
“Are you abiding by the ‘look, don’t touch’ rule?” I twist my lips playfully. “Because if so, I do not plan on behaving.”
“Is that so?” He chuckles, biting down on his bottom lip and slowly releasing it as he leans over my body and lines up with my opening. “I better give the princess what she wants, then.” Without hesitation, he shoves his cock inside me and thrusts deeply to the rhythm of our heartbeats. Fast, hard, and heavy. I clench around him, enjoying the fullness of each thrust.
My head knocks into the nightstand, a testament to the force with which this man fucks me. Rough and animalistic, like he isn’t even in control of it anymore.
He grabs a fistful of my hair. “So fucking perfect.” He yanks my head back with each thrust, but he’s careful in his roughness, knowing just where to ride the line of pleasure and pain. I feel wanton, used, but mostly…worshiped .
I’m a goddess who has the power to make this man bend with my body alone. To say filthy things to get me off. To fuck me just how I like.
“I’m glad Ellie calls you Papa,” I whisper into his ear, wrapping my legs around him as he drives into me deeper and harder than before. He groans, and I know he’s close, his teeth biting into my shoulder when he exhales, cradling his body around mine tighter with each thrust.
“Why’s that?”
“Because I like the idea of calling you Daddy . ”
I lick the shell of his ear, gasping when he pushes in hilt deep and throws my body into pure ecstasy. He hits my G-spot dead center, and I come, digging crescents into his skin with my fingernails while he groans, pumping and spilling himself inside me and sending me over the edge until I see actual stars. The ones dancing across my vision as my orgasm takes over my body are almost as bright as the real ones spilling in from the skylight above our heads.
And for once in my life, imperfect feels right.
My heart flutters when I take in that I don’t immediately want to cover my scars back up. I lie beside Hunter, letting him touch them instead.
Because something big happened to both of us just now. And the meaning of these scars doesn’t feel secular when Hunter is here to share their burden. Not when he’s by my side to kiss away the pain.
“Daydreaming already?” He smiles, placing a soft kiss to the corner of my mouth. I laugh, rolling onto my belly.
“Ew. You made me messy.” I sweep my legs to the side and do an awkward mermaid-sit, staring at him expectantly, you know, waiting for a towel or something in the least attractive moment of human intimacy culture, but he just cocks a brow and snorts in response.
“You seemed to like the mess I made just fine when you were calling me Daddy,” he levels, stalking back over to me on the bed and placing his thumb under my chin. I look up at him, my heart already pounding so hard, my ho of a vagina can feel it inside her. I’m hopelessly taken by Hunter Isaac, and as spent as I am, with this man, I could go again all night long.
So, I let my lips pop open of their own accord.
He smirks knowingly, a cocky-ass grin that seems to sweep over his face like a sexy leather coat, before he shoves his thumb in my mouth, surprising me with how willingly my body responds to his commands without my brain needing to be involved in the slightest.
“Suck,” he says. It’s not a request.
So, I obey, running my tongue along the length of his thumb like it’s a cock I can’t get enough of. Sucking, swirling, tasting it and wishing like hell it was the real thing all over again.
“That’s what I thought,” he says, tilting my head to the side, inspecting my jaw line as his lips curve up dangerously. “Since you don’t like my messes between your legs, I’ll put them right here sometimes. But only when you’re a good girl, Devy.”
I gasp, his eyes shining with promise when he pulls his thumb free and wipes the wetness across my bottom lip, dragging its plumpness to the side before it pops back into place.
“I’ll get you a towel, princess . ”
He winks, heading toward the bedroom door, swinging his hips and giving me a private, X-rated show of his Internet famous swag.
But then he pauses, arching his brows and whipping his head around.
“Do you hear running water?”