Scars

  Evernight Publishing

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2013 Kiru Taye

  ISBN: 978-1-77130-503-7

  Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs

  Editor: Karyn White

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  This story is dedicated to all the beautiful women with body issues and the fabulous men who love us, scars and all.

  I want to give a special thank you to Doris, Michaela, Raven, Jennifer, Nana and Empi for reading the first raw draft and loving this story so much. Without your help I wouldn't have had the confidence to submit this story for publication.

  To my readers, thank you for your support so far. I hope you'll continue to read as I explore the spicier and grittier parts of modern relationships in this new Passion Shields series. I love writing these stories. Enjoy reading them.

  Love

  Kiru

  SCARS

  Passion Shields, 1

  Kiru Taye

  Copyright © 2013

  "I look forward to having you naked in bed tonight."

  Benjamin's heavy voice whispered hot against the skin on the back of her ears. The image of her bare body sprawled against the Egyptian cotton sheets of their five-star hotel bed loomed large in Selina's mind. Sparks of arousal travelled down her spine to her very core.

  "All your beautiful chocolate skin on display for me."

  His hand stroked her thigh—slow, purposeful strokes, igniting into flames of desire that licked her sex, melting it like wax.

  She bit her lip, holding back a moan as she turned her head, needing to see his face, taste his lips.

  "Congratulations to Mr. and Mrs. Moss." The strange voice cut through the spell that held her. She looked up, and a guest stood next to their high table, his short glass of what looked like brandy raised in salutation.

  Selina widened her smile in response and thanked him. She didn't recognise the dark-haired, olive-skinned man. He was probably one of Benjamin's colleagues or acquaintances.

  "You made it, then, Juan." Her new husband stood. "Selina, this is Juan Roberto. He's part of Moss Star Security team."

  Benjamin's words confirmed her thoughts.

  "It's good to finally meet you." There was something of a knowing glint in Juan's eyes as he leaned in and gave her a brief kiss on both cheeks. With her senses heightened from wedding day excitement, his aftershave reminded her of sun-baked sandy shores and salty sea air.

  "Thank you." She smiled and, as her cheeks smarted, wondered if there was any member of his firm who didn't know about her.

  The two men continued in conversation, something about Juan returning from a trip providing security for a pop star on a live tour in Europe. Selina relaxed back into her chair as the men talked shop.

  Benjamin owned a security firm that supplied bodyguards to high profile executives and celebrities in the UK and internationally. As a result, their wedding guests were made of gorgeous hunks of men built like armoured tanks and their equally beautiful girlfriends or escorts. She'd met most of them during the six months she'd dated Benjamin and had gotten the impression they were a close family.

  The private banquet room, though small, was tastefully decorated—white brocade covered chairs and tables, thin-stemmed centre-piece flower arrangements, the red and black theme she'd chosen reflected in the colours.

  They'd catered for fifty guests, small by African wedding proportions. She hadn't wanted a big wedding. Truth was, she would've done without a wedding at all. But under the circumstances this one was unavoidable.

  Large crowds in enclosed spaces agitated her. So the smaller the group invited, the better.

  Having to deal with people was nothing in the scale of concern compared to what she had to face up to later tonight in the privacy of their hotel suite. There were things she'd held close to her chest, things she'd hidden from Benjamin. Secrets she was afraid to share.

  All your beautiful chocolate skin on display for me. Benjamin's earlier words came back to mock her. How was she going to get through her wedding night without him finding out she wasn't as beautiful as he thought?

  Wine glasses tinkled; cutlery clattered on crockery. Laughter rang out, the cacophony of voices and music overwhelming. Flashes of images of a celebration from a distant past merged with the present—joyous laughter and rhythmic dancing. General merriment.

  The rat-tat-tat of gun fire. Pounding boots on the hard floor. Terrified shouts. Menacing mirth. Faces contorted with malevolence.

  Selina's mouth dried out. Pins and needles pricking sensations travelled up her arm. Her body flushed with heat.

  "Are you still with me?" Benjamin's sonorous voice drew Selina's attention back from her day-dream.

  Her chest constricted. Her corset felt as if it was cutting off her breathing.

  "Breathe, Selina. Breathe."

  The tone of his voice compelled her. She took a slow breath, drawing much needed oxygen into her lungs, held it and then let it out steadily. She repeated the process. There was no other way to breath in this stiffened garment.

  His hand covered the back of her neck, providing a cool respite from the suddenly elevated room temperature. Memories of the past had her in its grip, unpleasant recollections that had her heart pounding with fear.

  She tilted her head up and gazed into her husband's grey eyes. His dark gaze seemed to see so much, know so much. Concern etched lines on his tanned rugged face, his neatly trimmed beard the colour of chestnut, the same as the hair on his head.

  His hold on her neck turned into brush strokes on canvass, light and erotic, his Da Vinci to her Mona Lisa, making her catch her breath as delicious tingles shot down her spine.

  This was Benjamin. The way he always seemed to have her in an erotic bind whenever he was close baffled her. The tightness of the outfit she wore didn't help as it meant her exposed skin was more sensitive than usual.

  He raised one eyebrow, drawing a response from her.

  "I was thinking of another time and place." Even when she didn't want to talk, Benjamin had a way of making her answer his queries, silent or otherwise.

  "You don't have to worry anymore." He kept his voice low enough so that no one else could listen in over the din of the music and chatter of the guests.

  "I know. But I can't help it." She paused and took a deep breath to quell the tears that threatened to burst free. "I feel so guilty. All this while I've been here, getting on with my life, enjoying my life, and he's been there on his own without anyone."

  She'd recently found out that the brother she'd thought had been killed was alive and living in Sierra Leone. Her only living relative. Another survivor of the war ten years ago.

  "I think about all the things that could have happened to him..." Her shoulders shook as she shuddered in remembered terror.

  Benjamin leaned in, his lips only inches from her right ear. "You're now my wife, and as I promised to take care of you and your brother, I will. Trust me."

  That was exactly her problem—trusting people. Ten years ago she’d lost her faith in humanity and had never fully relied on anyone since.

  Until she'd met Benjamin.

  But it hadn't been easy. Initially she'd rejected his advances, afraid to give in to the intense attraction she'd felt for him. Still he'd been determined to prove to her that he was worthy of her confi
dence.

  For her trust was a matter given in degrees, in increments of grey—neither white nor black. Never given fully, not even to the man she now called her husband. But she'd granted him some commitment. Otherwise, she wouldn't have married him.

  Still, it didn't mean she was ready to give up control of her life totally to him. It didn't stop her from worrying about stuff and making plans.

  The grey of his eyes turned to slate, hard and yet somehow fragile. In that moment she realized that her lack of immediate response was all the answer he needed. He read her so easily. Discomfited, she rolled her tongue across her lower lip, tasting her cherry lip gloss.

  "I'm sorry, Ben." She turned her gaze away trying to avoid his. "Some things are easier said than done. I'll feel a lot more relaxed when Kaya is here with me."

  She stared into the crowd. The guests were mainly his. She had invited only some close colleagues from the hospital where she worked as a pharmacist and the handful of friends she'd made since her arrival in the UK.

  She'd struggled with the decision to get married. But she needed a safe and stable environment for her teenage brother. The authorities wanted to see it, too, before they would grant her the rights to adopt her own sibling. Ben had convinced her that marriage was the best option for realising it. Moreover, since he was a British citizen, it would make the process of bringing her brother to the UK easier.

  Without another word, Benjamin stood. Christopher Star, his best man approached him. "What's up?"

  Ben leaned over and said something to his friend in a low voice that Selina couldn’t hear.

  "Right," Christopher said, his accent tinged with an Easter European drawl that had appealed to her the first time she'd met him.

  "You're coming with me." Ben's fingers circled her upper arm, his grip rough and urgent, helping her up.

  She glanced around, confused by his abrupt action. "What? We can't abandon our guests."

  "We'll only be gone for a few minutes. Chris will cover for us if anyone asks."

  He didn't wait for her response and tugged at her hand. Tottering on her stilettos, she followed him out into the foyer with the bank of lifts. When he pressed the button to call one she had to ask, "Where are you taking me?"

  "There's something I need to show you in our suite upstairs."

  The corners of his mouth lifted in a boyish grin as the lift doors opened. Her gaze fixated on his lips—sensuously full, they were a mix of firmness on the edges and softness on the inside—and she wondered if he would kiss her.

  Her pulse rate skyrocketed as they rode up and he pulled her into the circle of his arms. He looked so handsome in his fitted charcoal suit, broad torso tapering at the hips. Leaning this closely to him, his taut muscles beneath the soft silk fabric offered protection as well as a glimpse of the possession to come. With her head on his shoulder, his all-male spice permeated her pores with every breath she took.

  "You do know we can't leave our guests at the reception just for a quickie," she said. Tilting her head so she could see his face, she curled her lips in an I'd-like-you-to-take-me smile. Her womb contracted in agreement.

  Truth was, she needed to get laid—the hot, fast, sweaty kind. Since she agreed to marry Ben they hadn't been together, not even for a hand job. The mad rush to organise a wedding ceremony in such a short period of time, his insistence for her to move her things into his waterside penthouse apartment in Chelsea, combined with a pretty hefty schedule at work for both of them had left little time for anything else.

  "Who says we can't?"

  He kissed her, a ruthless sweep of his tongue and demand of his lips. She clutched the lapels of his jacket, hanging on as sensation assaulted her.

  Beneath her dress, her lacy thong got soaked as she squirmed against him. She'd worn the skimpy underwear to avoid panty-lines showing through her dress. Perhaps she should've chosen something sturdier like French knickers.

  When he lifted his head, she was breathless, panting.

  "Ben?" she asked when she finally got her voice back.

  The dark colour of his suit emphasised the intensity of his eyes and complemented his tanned skin. With his South African heritage, his skin tone was always on the golden side, despite the recent bad weather and lack of sunshine.

  "No. But I've got the next best thing for you."

  They stepped out of the lift, and he opened the door to the bridal suite. She followed him in, heart pounding in excitement.

  "By the time the reception is over, you'll be begging me to fuck you."

  Heat flared on her skin and sent darts of fire to her core. Speechless, she just stood there by the sofa in the living room, staring at him as he disappeared into the bedroom. Rose petals lined the floor from the main entrance leading into the other room. She recovered her composure and followed the red trail.

  They led to the bed with white sheets covered in more petals. The light sweet aroma of roses filled the air, uplifting and soulful. Ben came out of the closet holding a brown leather overnight bag.

  "Did you do this?" she asked as her heart jolted and warmth bloomed around her chest. She hadn't expected anything romantic. Their wedding was more of an arrangement than for amorous reason. Yet Ben continued to surprise her.

  The glorious smile curling his lips reminded her of a benevolent Greek god.

  "For the right price, you can get anything you want," he said. "Moreover, I wanted tonight to be special."

  She nodded and swallowed a lump in her throat, blinking back tears. When he was being this thoughtful, how could she resist him?

  She'd asked him to keep things simple. He had in his own way. But he'd spared no expense with a wedding reception in a five star hotel in the most expensive part of London. And they would spend the weekend here, since they didn't have time for a full week's honeymoon somewhere else.

  He placed the bag on the bed, retrieving a white tube she recognised as containing lube and a golden egg.

  "What?" Her breath hitched, her eyes widening in recognition.

  "Come," he said.

  She went to him, her heart pounding against her ribs. He took her hand, pulled her to sit on the edge of the bed and squatted before her. Standing tall, he oozed strength and dominated any space he occupied, a leader among his peers. Yet, here he was stooped before her, his hands on her knees offering reassurance and safety.

  Intuitively, he knew what she needed, when she needed it. More than anything else about him, his on-the-mark intuition had attracted as well as scared her when she'd first met him. She curled her hands into fists on her lap. It still frightened her. He had the ability to see through her protective walls into the dark recesses of her soul like Superman with his x-ray vision.

  "Selina, you know I hate watching you all wound up and worried. This afternoon I took a vow to take care of you no matter what. Your experience with me so far should tell you that I never break a promise, right?"

  "Right." She nodded and licked her suddenly dry lips.

  "Then, you know that I have to do something to ease your tension. I brought this." He picked up the egg and held it in his palm as if in offering. "So we could play during our honeymoon. But we're going to use it now."

  "Is that what I think it is?"

  "If you're thinking it's a vibrator, then you're correct. You're going to wear it for the rest of the day."

  "No way." She shook her head, but her body shivered in anticipation. She couldn’t spend the evening wearing a sex toy, and more to the point, being sexually aroused. What would people think of her?

  "Yes, way." The wolfish curl of his lips and the intense determination in his eyes told her more than his words that he wouldn’t accept her rebuttal. "It's exactly what you need to relax you and take your mind off things."

  "I don't know." She bit her lower lip. He was right. She needed to loosen up. She'd been so wound up earlier she'd had a panic attack. That wasn't good. But this?

  "Do you trust me to do the right thing for you, for us?" Hi
s husky voice was cajoling, reassuring, telling her everything would be all right if only she would let go.

  "Of course, but—"

  "Then trust me now. Lift your dress up." His tone changed, brooking no challenge.

  This is crazy. Still, she bunched her skirt up, lifting ‘til it pooled in a ruffle of black satin around her hips. When Benjamin spoke to her with that strong, demanding tone, she was compelled to comply. Moreover, it was easier giving in to this. Some other things were more difficult to yield.

  The hungry way he looked at her before his cool hands caressed her thighs had her heart hammering and her red lace thong getting wetter. He traced the pad of his fingers over the stockings and garter she wore—her bid at a traditional wedding outfit. The rest of her dress was hardly the customary white.

  Who ever got married in red and black satin?

  She did. In her own way she marked the bloody tragedy that had ended her first marriage.

  As if he could read where her mind was travelling to, Ben shoved her thighs apart, earning her attention once more. Any thought of objecting departed when his lips descended on the scrap of red lace covering her mound.

  First there was the scrape of teeth and then the suction of his mouth that had her whimpering in surrender.

  "Oh..." Her body arched off the bed, her elbows supporting her weight. The touch of his full, firm lips drowned her in sensory overload. Sensitive all over, she shivered as her desire spiked to boiling point.

  "I had thought of preparing you with the gel..." Ben hooked his fingers around the straps of her panties and pulled them down. He lifted her right leg and hooked it over his left shoulder.

  "But this is more fun and sweeter, too."

  His lips returned to her damp core, and he dragged a lick from her opening to her swollen bud. He repeated that twice, thrice, the short hairs on his cheeks scraping her thighs as if marking her. The next day her skin would be raw, certainly, a reminder of this brief pleasurable interlude on their wedding day. For now she would enjoy it. Her breath shortened and sped up as her body raced towards an orgasm.