HIS ARMS AT HIS SIDES, his voice barely more than a low growl, he issued an order. “Do your worst.”

Instinct telling me I was treading on thin ice, I flattened my palm over his heart. I didn’t want to do my worst. I wanted to make him feel good. I wanted to make him feel something as powerful as the orgasm he gave me.

But he was impenetrable.

His expression, his authority, his dominance. He was a warrior. And I was… me.

I didn’t know what I could do for him, but I felt desperate to try.

Coasting my hand up, taking in all of his ink, but not seeing the details, there was only one tattoo I could read without the lights on. Just above his hips, across his lower abs, nine bold letters.

UNSCARRED.

In all caps, the ink slightly curved down on either end, the word itself mocked all the ink he had covering his chest and arms. He was completely scarred. But I suspected the word meant more than its surface and I’d wager every cent in my trust fund it had to do with his time in the Military.

I wanted to ask him about it. I wanted to ask him about every single tattoo covering his body, but I didn’t want him to change his mind about giving me free range, so as I ran one hand up his chest and over his shoulder, I reached for his hard length that jutted out proudly from his impossibly perfect, sculpted body.

One hand wrapped around his shaft and the piercings I’d felt in my mouth as my other coasted over his shoulder, but then I stilled.

Rough, raised flesh jutted out under my fingers and the ink on his stomach suddenly took on a whole new meaning.

My heart stuttering at the thought of what kind of wound had caused the jagged scar, I moved even farther over his shoulder. Like dragging my hand over asphalt, more scarred flesh pebbled under my fingers and I needed to know. “What happened?”

His shoulders stiff, he watched me with a locked expression. “IED.”

I splayed my hand, but the scar didn’t end. “Does it hurt?”

“No.”

I dared to ask. “Is this why you aren’t in the Marines anymore?”

His nostrils flared but he didn’t respond.

Feeling like I crossed a line, I dropped my gaze. “Sorry.”

His chest rose with an inhale and when he spoke, his voice was tight and controlled. “I was medically retired after they surgically fused vertebrae in my neck.”

Oh dear God. I looked up at him. “The IED injured your neck?” He was lucky he was walking.

The side of his jaw twitched. “Shrapnel did.”

“I’m sorry.” But I was thankful he was alive.

Not verbally replying, he tipped his chin.

I let my other hand drift over his abs. “This says—”

“I know what it says.” Anger darkening his voice, his words cut through the night.

“But you are scarred,” I whispered.

One second his arms were at his sides, the next they were gripping the sides of my face without mercy. “You said you wanted to touch me, not rehash the past. Which is it?”

I did want to touch him. Badly. But I also wanted to feel him and understand him and taste every reason why my heart seemed to beat in the same rhythm as his now. I couldn’t explain any of it, but I was already neck deep in it.

His name didn’t suit him.

It was him.

He was the shade, covering every inch of my soul that’d been left too long exposed in the blinding light. I’d been living without an escape and now he was blanketing me. His protection, his attention, his eyes on me, the way he didn’t cater to me or treat me like I was inconsequential—I wanted him.

“I want everything,” I admitted.

His expression darkened with his voice. “You’re not getting everything. You’re getting orgasms and then you’re getting out of here in one piece.” His nostrils flared like he was angry. “That’s all I’m offering.”

“What if I want more?” I wasn’t daring to ask. I wasn’t playing games. I simply, honestly wanted to know.

“You don’t.”

His reply stinging, I pushed ahead anyway. Wrapping my fingers around the shaft of his hard length, I asked what I already knew. “How many piercings?” I’d felt four on my tongue and one on the roof of my mouth. All huge, all with barbells.

“Five.”

I squeezed and he pulsed in my hand. Then I asked what I wanted to know since I’d first felt them. “Why?” It wasn’t just about sex. It wasn’t just for looks or for the single moments when he was getting off. This man was deeper than that. He didn’t do anything without purpose.

“There has to be a reason?”

Now I knew there was significance behind the number. “There is with you,” I said confidently.

He smirked.

I pushed. “Why five?” He could’ve stopped at one, or he could’ve fit twice as many, he was that big. But he didn’t. Five seemed important.

“Get on all fours and I’ll tell you.” He dropped his hands.

The warmth of his touch leaving, my core thrumming with need, all I wanted to do was what he wanted, but I didn’t get on my hands and knees. Instead, I wrapped my hands around his neck, my fingers brushing across his scar, and I went on tip toe. Then I made a demand of my own. “Kiss me.”

“I was wrong.” Fisting a handful of my hair, he pulled me in tight. “Taking you into that restaurant wasn’t the turning point.” His lips a breath away, he growled out two words. “This is.”

He slammed his mouth over mine.