Uncontrollable Temptations (The Tempted Series Book 3) (19 page)

“Means you’re Property of Parrish now, sweetheart,” I said, as I worked her shoulders with my hands, letting them glide over her breasts, squeezing them in the palms of my hands before moving them down her stomach to the V of her legs. “Means all this, everything you are, is mine,” I growled.

“Whose property are you then?” She asked, her eyes flickering with something I couldn’t name.

“No one’s,” I answered, taking her hands and pulling her toward the bathroom.

She opened her mouth to object but quickly closed it once I turned the bathroom light on. She glanced around the small space, taking in the large floor to ceiling mirrors that covered the walls. I closed the door softly behind me and leaned against it.

“For every piece of clothing you give me, I’ll give you a piece of my past,” I bargained, crossing my arms against my chest as I stared at her lazily through the glass.

“Your past?” She whispered hoarsely. “Maybe it’s not your past I want.”

“Don’t know how to give you more than that,” I admitted, pushing off the door and moving to stand behind her. I wrapped my arms around her waist, bringing her body against mine and looked at us in the mirror. “Give you what I got, Sunshine, and I’ll keep giving it as long as it comes to me,” I vowed, nuzzling her hair. “You see what I see?” I whispered against her ear.

“Turn the lights off, Jack, please,” she whispered, looking away from the mirror. I ran one hand up the front of her body, cupped her chin and forced her eyes toward the mirror.

“No,” I shook my head. “Not tonight,” I said, taking her hands and lifting them over her head. I had claimed her to my brothers, but I meant it when I said I wanted all of her. I wanted her to trust me enough to give me the things she kept to herself, the things that haunted her and shielded her from the rest of the world. In my thirty-eight years I never wanted to be that guy, the one that heals another person, someone who cares enough to fix what is broken beyond repair.

She ruined me.

Or maybe she fixed me.

But it was my turn to do the fixing.

“I was fifteen the first time I got arrested,” I started, my fingers working the hem of her shirt up her torso. “I robbed a car,” I continued as the material went over her breasts. She gasped as her bare skin became exposed. I kept my eyes on hers in the mirror and brought a finger to her lips to silence her. “Just me and you here, Sunshine,” I whispered, dropping my hand and bringing the shirt over her head.

“My mother hated me, told me I was crazy and damned me to Hell every chance she got,” I said, as I restrained myself to keep my eyes on hers while I unraveled her. “When she died, I didn’t cry, I fucking rejoiced.”

I trailed my finger tip down the base of her spine, watching her eyes close and her flesh prickle with goosebumps, unsure if it resulted from my touch or my confession. I moved her hair, exposing her shoulder and leaned closer, my breath on her ear.

“I am crazy,” I whispered. “Just not the type of crazy she thought.”

I slipped my finger beneath the strap of her bra, following it down her back to where the clasp was. Her eyes fluttered open, latching onto mine as I unclasped her bra.

“I sold guns to kids, drugs to women, I robbed, cheated and killed,” I confessed, sliding the straps down her arms and freeing her breasts. Her bra dropped to the tiles and my hands snaked around her, cupping her perfect tits.

She licked her lips, never breaking eye contact as I rolled her nipple between my fingers, tugging on the tip until she moaned.

“I married Connie because we had a kid together and then we had another kid. We fought more than we ever loved,” I continued, dropping my left hand to the button on her jeans while my right hand continued to play with her swollen tits. I undid the button with ease and slipped my hand inside her pants.

“She thought I was crazy too, only she begged me to get help. Instead of getting help, I pushed her away, so far away,” I recalled, dropping my right hand to the waist band of her jeans and slowly tugging the denim down her hips.

It was killing me not to look at her body, driving me utterly insane, but I’d bare myself to her before she bared all she hid.

“I told you I had a brother. I meant I had a brother that shared the same blood as me,” I said hoarsely. I pulled her jeans down her thighs and though I bent down to pull them all the way off, I kept my eyes on her face.

“Got a problem with my head, Sunshine, and when my brother went against me, I snapped,” I hesitated as she stepped out of her jeans.

I brought my hands to her hips, hooked my fingers around the elastic and yanked her thong down her legs.

“I wasn’t paying attention,” I whispered. “I was wrapped up in my own world, my own dark world,” I continued, as I rose to my full height, stepping around her so we stood side by side. “My boy ran out of the house and into the street. He got hit by a car while I danced with the devil inside my head. I don’t remember how I regained consciousness, what made me snap back to reality but whatever it was, it came too late. I was too late. I ran outside and cradled my son in my arms, like I did when he took his first breaths—but I didn’t catch his last.”

It took everything inside me to keep my eyes focused on Reina because all I wanted to do was look away shamefully. “I should’ve gotten help sooner. My son is in the ground because I was too proud to go to a doctor, too proud to admit my truth, too proud to bare my scars,” I whispered, watching as the tears rolled down Reina’s cheeks.

“I was diagnosed as manic depressive three months after Jack Jr. died,” I revealed to the blonde beauty staring at me in the mirror, completely bare to me just as I was to her. It didn’t matter she was naked, and I was fully clothed, we were both exposed in the most vulnerable way, revealing our scars to one another.

“I’ve given you my scars, Reina. Now, I’m going to take yours,” I whispered to her reflection in the mirror. “And I want you to watch. I want you to see what I see,” I challenged, before my eyes finally scanned her body, taking in the scars that marked her skin and claiming them as mine, just as I had the rest of her.

I stared at myself in the mirror, white gauze wrapped tightly around my body. I lifted my arm above my head and reached across my body with my free hand and untucked the start of the gauze nestled just beneath my breast, slowly peeling it away from my skin. I fixed my eyes to my form in the mirror, tears streaming down my face, as my skin became visible, inch by ugly inch. There was no more hiding from myself, this was who I was, who I’d be, these scars would define the rest of my existence. A scream penetrates through me, vibrating off the wall of my bathroom and I recognize it as my own shrill cry as the final piece of gauze falls from my body. I didn’t remember the sensations of the flames as they ate away at my skin, nor did I remember crying out in pain as my skin caught fire but I imagine the agony of it all when I stare at my body.

Jack kneeled before me, his hands falling to my hips as he twisted me toward him. I closed my eyes, tears escaping from the seams. I felt his calloused hand travel from beneath my breast, down my side, wrapping around my hip. I’m sure his touch was gentle but he could’ve dug his nails into my flesh and it would’ve felt the same. I could only feel faint sensations along the grafted skin and most of the time I walked around with the distinct feeling of pins and needles pricking my skin.

“Eyes open, Sunshine,” he murmured.

I willed myself to do as he commanded, to give him this piece of me. To hand over the evidence of what didn’t break me—to the man who could really break me. He could tear me down and ruin me. Jack could do that to me so easily. He could erase these scars with his tenderness, but he had the power to shatter me because it would be so easy to fall in love with this broken man.

My eyes fluttered open and gazed into his.

So easy.

I swallowed the lump in my throat as he closed his palm around my hip, his fingertips gliding over the graft where two shades of skin stretched and blended into one. He bent his head, his lips moving across the skin that was a blatant testimony of how cruel fire could be. He slid his hand higher up my body, faintly grazing the keloid that snaked around my side, pressing his fingers into the skin once assaulted by flames. If the ugliness disgusted him, he hid it quite well. He stared at my scars the same way he stared at the rest of me, like I was an angel sent to chase away the devil.

His lips moved across the scar tissue, his fingers tracing the curves of where it looked like my skin had been stitched together. He peppered kisses under my breast where the skin was still an ugly shade of pink and something inside of me flickered.

The pain faded as beauty took over, the beauty of this man who tried to heal me. With every kiss, every stroke of his fingers he claimed my scars. They’d always be mine but now they were his too.

He lifted his head, his eyes meeting mine as he kept his hand over my hip.

“You see what I see, yet?” He asked softly.

I saw a man on his knees, giving me back my confidence, giving me back all the things I lost in the fire. I saw a man who lived a lot of life in only thirty-eight years. A man who was feared by many and loved by few. I saw a man that tortured himself, tortured by his thoughts and the things he had seen throughout his life. His scars weren’t visible, but they were just as deep. I saw a man I wanted to fix, a man I wanted to make whole again. A man I wanted to claim.

I saw Jack Parrish.

Not the Bulldog.

Not the Jack he let others think he was.

“You’re beautiful, Reina, so fucking beautiful,” he said hoarsely. “And these scars? They might be the most beautiful part of you,” he added, fingers moving over the discolored skin. “They are your colors, your stripes, your patch, and you should wear them proud because you survived.”

He moved to his feet, stood tall as he brushed my hair away from my face and leaned his forehead against mine.

“Thank you for giving me your scars,” he whispered.

“Thank you for taking them,” I replied, my voice barely audible as I raised my hands to his jaw. I held his face, my thumb tracing over his black and white stubble, and pressed my lips to his.

He wrapped his arms around me and his palms cupped my ass, hoisting me against him, my legs wrapping around his waist as he lifted me up.

He pulled his head back and his wild eyes met mine.

“Not going to apologize for what I’m going to do to you,” he promised. “Going to fuck you senseless Sunshine, going to fuck your past away so that all you remember, all you ever feel now is me,” he seethed. “Made you mine with my words, time to make you mine with my body,” he growled.

I narrowed my eyes, ran my fingers through his hair, pulling the ends until his head snapped back a fraction and then I leaned in.

“One condition,” I whispered against his lips.

“Not up for negotiations,” he hissed, taking my lower lip between his teeth.

“You want to fuck me? You want to claim me? Then I get to claim you even if it’s just for tonight. Give me tonight, Jack and I’ll give you whatever you want from me,” I said, pulling my mouth away from his.

He didn’t answer me. Battling the war in his head he placed me on my feet. I opened my mouth to protest, but he silenced me with his finger against my pouty lips. He stared at me for a moment, eyes peering straight down to my soul before he opened the bathroom door and walked back into the bedroom.

I turned around, followed him into the bedroom and leaned against the door jamb. I wanted to take back my words as he walked toward the chair. In that instant I felt more vulnerable than standing in front of the mirror revealing my damaged body to him.

Please don’t deny me.

He lifted his cut from the chair, stared at it for a moment, running his fingers over the patch stitched into the leather declaring him president of his club. I didn’t know much about the whole motorcycle club thing and I was kicking myself in the ass for never watching Sons of Anarchy but I knew that leather vest was everything to a man like Jack. Those patches, the colors he wore on his back, they represented everything he was and everything he’d ever be.