Chapter 16
“Found you.”
Esme had no idea how long she sat in the dark on the rooftop before she heard Prettyboy’s gritty voice behind her. She didn't bother getting up from her spot at the edge of the roof.
“You found me.”
Prettyboy’s heavy footfalls sounded behind her as he neared her, and those damn butterflies were back.
She felt his fingers weave through her hair as he caressed the side of her face, a gesture she hadn't expected.
So, Esme stood and turned to face him.
It was completely dark now, so she could barely make out the lines of his face as he stepped nearer to her, like her own twisted version of Zorro.
“Did you mean it?,” She found herself asking.
She knew she sounded vulnerable, wide fucking open, but how could she deny him a glimpse of what he claimed he wanted?
“Every word.”
Esme pushed some strands of velvety soft hair out of his face.
“Why me?”
Prerrtyboy gently placed his hands, wrapped in fingerless leather gloves, around her waist.
“Why not you?”
Esme tried to look into his eyes as she stepped deeper into the circle of his arms.
He ushered her closer, like he was just as affected by her as she was by him; they were suddenly breathless.
Breathless, weightless, and standing on the edge of a metaphorical precipice that would take them to a place neither one had traveled before.
“I’m nothing special,” Esme muttered as she reached for his bandana.
Prettyboy stopped her at the last second, right before the material fell away and bared to her his biggest secret of all.
“You haven't figured it out yet?”
“Figured what out?,” She whispered.
“You’re everything special, Esmeralda Quinn.”
His words had her whimpering, her lower lip trembling, her heart skipping a beat: how can one man be so fucking sweet?
How can one man make me come undone so easily?
The darkness seemed to crowd around them like a storm cloud as she reached behind his head and undo the knot to his bandana. His long hair fell into her face, wrapping around them like a curtain, as the thin material bunched between her fingers.
“Can you see me?”
Prettyboy asked this question hesitantly, and Esme rushed to comfort him.
“I can barely see anything, baby. I just want to touch you,” She whispered.
They were so close now, she could practically feel his lips through the bandana.
His fingers tightened around her waist and Esme slipped from the confines of her shoes and she aligned her body with his.
The wind whipped around them as she slowly lowered the bandana and let it fall to the ground between them.
The silence seemed to last forever, and time seemed to slow as Esmeralda buried her fingers in his long hair.
Prettyboy made a grunting sound under his breath as she inhaled his spicy scent; Esme familiarized herself with the outline of his scarred face because she couldn't see any of the fine details. All she could do, was touch him.
The cheers from the crowd below grew louder, almost as if they were cheering her on; as least, that’s what Esme convinced herself was happening as she opened her mouth over his.
Perfect.
He’s a perfect fit…
Prettyboy dropped his hands as one arm snaked around her waist and the other gripped her thigh through her skirt. He canted his head sideways as their tongues touched; once, twice.
Esme was almost certain this was an entirely different experience than what she’d had with Chris, but the thought didn't stick.
She was too busy falling into something with Damon Michael.
As he cradled her against him, his tongue sought out hers, his lips caressing hers in a passionate flurry of teeth and hope and whispered promises.
Her head was spinning so fast she couldn't catch a breath; not with Prettyboy’s hard cock pressing against the inside of her thigh as he seduced her with nothing but his tongue and his skilled hands.
Esme wasn't sure what was happening until he had her turned around, until he had her pressed against the scratchy brick wall leading to the exit hatch.
“Tell me you want me to stop and I will,” He whispered frantically as he dipped his head again.
Esme shook her head no, because… fuck no.
She couldn't stop, not now.
She couldn't have one taste of what was quite possibly her saving grace only to turn it away.
“Don’t let go,” She pleaded as she slid her hands under the tight material of his white t-shirt.
“I won’t,” Prettyboy promised.
True to his word, his calloused fingertips slid across her bare skin as he lifted her halter top higher and higher until she was bare to him.
The night air caused her nipples to harden as he dipped his head and nuzzled the skin of her belly with his beard. She gasped his name, tightened her hold on his hair; Esme was lost, alright.
Lost in Prettyboy.
“You’re so fuckin’ soft,” He murmured as he kissed his way towards the button of her skirt.
Esme whispered his name again when he popped the button loose and tugged her skirt down.
She watched, amazed, as he dropped a kiss to the apex of her thighs.
Her mint green panties were sheer, but he didn't seem to mind when he ran his teeth along the edges of her skin.
His hands ran along the backs of her calves as he kneeled in front of her, his fingertips gliding higher and higher until he was cupping her bare ass. The skirt hit the ground between them, and Esme had no willpower to stop him.
“Tell me you want me to keep going. Tell me you still want me to touch you,” Prettyboy demanded gruffly. As he looked up at her from his position on the ground, the moonlight caught him just right...and she saw everything.
Everything he’d been hiding from her.
The puckered skin that twisted the left half of his face into a red knot of tendons and scar tissue. The bunch of burnt flesh that tugged the left side of his mouth downwards the slightest bit.
The scars that disappeared all the way into the collar of his white t-shirt.
Overcome with emotion, Esme’s eyes welled with tears.
Prettyboy stiffened as one tear escaped and rolled down her cheek, his green eyes immediately searching for his bandana. She could see the shame and embarrassment on his face as he pulled away from her.
“Fuck, I shouldn't have done this!”
Esme tugged her shirt down as fast as she could, rushing to stop him as soon as his fingers closed around the black bandana he favored.
Even though it scraped the tops of her knees, she knelt down in front of him and cupped his scarred face in her hands.
“Don’t. Put the bandana down, Damon.”
His hand slowly lowered, taking the bandana with it. His other hand moved to wipe away the tears from her cheeks.
“You’re crying because you saw my face.”
Esme’s heart hurt at his words.
He doesn't even know how beautiful he is.
“What? No! I’m crying because…fuck, baby. I’m crying because I haven't encountered anyone who makes me feel the way you do, okay?”
Preryboy didn't believe her, she could tell, so Esme leaned forward to kiss him again.
And, just like the first time, their need to taste one another far outweighed his fear of her reaction.
Prettyboy’s hands pushed her jacket from her shoulders and Esme welcomed the cool night air this time as the heat between them rose to a blistering crescendo.
She had no idea how it’d happened; maybe some things just did.
Maybe, like a puzzle, some people just fit together.
Honestly, she hadn't imagined ever finding someone else she ‘fit’ with.
Esme hadn't thought that coming to the Seven Deadlies’s clubhouse and spending less than two weeks there would change the course of her life completely.
But, she did like to think that the tiny voice in the back of her head whispering to her that Damon was a good man, belonged to Chris.
As she untied the top of her halter top, she liked to imagine that the beautiful, scarred man, kissing his way along the column of her neck was sent to her by the very man she’d loved and lost.
His hands were kneading her soft flesh and her mouth was tugging on his earlobe; and then Prettyboy abruptly stopped.
“What’s the matter?,” Esme asked worriedly.
“Are you drunk?”
“Not at all,” She said as she kissed him greedily.
He groaned, something like the sound of her name maybe, when he reached behind her for her jacket.
Like a true gentleman he laid his cut and jacket along the ground before he laid hers down too, and suddenly they had a make shift pile of blankets.
Esme rose to her feet, bare in nothing but her mint green thong, and looked at him.
Slowly, so he knew that she was completely sober and lucid, she lifted his t-shirt up and over his head.
He was a lot taller than her, so he had to help, but he didn't seem to mind.
As it fell to the ground between them, Esme put her hands on his warm skin. Prettyboy sucked in a breath when she followed the patches of scar tissue that were splattered across his side and back.
“Did I hurt you?,” She asked.
He slowly shook his head.
So, she continued until she came to the button on his black jeans. He had a perfect body; planes of muscles and tattoos and scars and in that moment, Esme was almost positive he’d been made for her.
If ever she had any doubts about that before, she didn't now.
She couldn’t. Not when it was so blatantly obvious that whatever was happening between them was fated.
Fated...
Prettyboy leaned forward to kiss her again as she unzipped his jeans and pushed them down his muscular thighs.
He worked to removed them, pausing only to work them down around his bad leg.
When it became obvious to Esme that he was struggling without something to hold on to, she fell to her knees and placed his hand on her shoulder.
“Thank you.”
His words were full of mortification, but she didn't mind.
All Esme could think about was touching him again.
All she could think about was consuming him.
“Don’t thank me for helping you. I’m doing it for selfish reasons,” She said hastily as she pressed her mouth to his and slid one hand down the front of his boxer briefs.
They were green, almost the same color as his eyes.
His skin was hot to the touch and his muscles bunched as her hand slid further south, but he didn't move to stop her. As she looked up at him, his crooked mouth quirked into a small smile. He ran his fingers through her hair, pushing the dark strands out of her eyes.
Esme ran her fingers along his thighs, taking her time to make sure she kissed every patch of scar tissue she came across. When their gazes met again, he was watching her though heavy lids; he wanted her, and she could see it written all over his handsome face.
“We can stop,” He assured her.
Esme almost laughed at the absurdity of such an idea, but she held it in as she tugged his boxers down, not bothering to make sure they made it all the way down his thighs before she nuzzled the skin just next to his hard dick. He was thick and hard and long enough to remind her of what it felt like to be a real woman; a thoroughly fucked woman.
Prettyboy’s hold on her hair tightened as she wrapped her hands around him and licked him from base to tip. The breathy gasp that escaped his mouth was motivation enough for her to keep going. She hollowed her cheeks and damn near swallowed him whole, all the while combating the fire between her thighs that told her she was more than ready to have him.
To feel a bone deep connection with him.
To let him love her.
“Fuck, that feels so good,” Prettyboy gasped as he leaned down to cup her heavy breasts in his rough hands. He rolled her nipples between his fingers, causing her to moan. The vibrations in the back of her throat had him gripping her even tighter as his cock jerked. Esme hummed again, enjoying the rapt attention he was giving her; there was no one else in the world besides the two of them in that moment.
His lusty green eyes were practically melting her all on their own as he fucked her mouth. Esme’s own fingers found their way between her thighs as her pussy clenched with need; it’d been a long time since she’d been with a man, and her body was all too keen to remind her.
I’m so fucking wet.
He has no idea how badly I need him.
Esme was jerked back to reality when he suddenly lifted her to her feet and wrapped his arms around her.
Esme’s mouth fused to his instantly; they kissed, they tasted, they shared one pulse for what felt like an eternity before he slowly laid her out across the bundle of leather he’d laid out minutes earlier.
“I can’t wait another second to have you, Esme,” He whispered huskily.
She nodded, her gaze glued to his.
From his position above her she could see every scar, every line of scorched flesh.
Esmeralda cupped his face and grazed his crooked bottom lip with the pad of her thumb.
“I could fall in love with you,” She whispered honestly.
His eyes closed at her words, his shoulders relaxing, his nose running along the inside of her wrist affectionately.
“I could fall in love with you too, Esmeralda Quinn.”
Esme liked that he didn't say the words; she liked that he didn't rush her.
Prettyboy spread her thighs wide with his, and she stopped him.
“What about your leg, baby?”
He wrapped an arm around her back and brought her closer to him, so there was no space separating them.
“I don’t give a fuck about my leg, Esme. I want to please you.”
She didn't have a response to that because he already was pleasing her, but she didn't have long to ponder his words because he was sliding into her then…and it changed everything.
He fits.
We fit.
His gasp filled her ears as she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him hard. She half-expected him to go fast, to take her, but he didn’t.
Prettyboy set a slow and sensual pace that had her moaning his name and gasping simultaneously as she held onto him. Their sweaty skin met in a roiling wave of heat and emotion, like nothing she’d ever felt before.
She couldn't help but think of Chris at least once, and it wasn't because she was comparing the two: it was because there was no comparison.
Esmeralda Quinn realized then and there that everyone else had been right about one thing, and that was that her life wasn’t over.
Her life with Chris, that was over.
Esme’s new life with the Seven Deadlies? That was just beginning.
Prettyboy lifted one of her hips higher and wrapped her legs round his waist, hitting her g-spot from a new angle that had her eyes rolling into the back of her head.
His longer hair fell into his face as he leaned forward to capture her mouth again, his tongue meeting hers, his teeth biting at her bottom lip.
“I’ve been waiting,” He whispered.
Esme’s eyes opened and she ran a hand through his hair, tugging on the dark strands.
“Waiting?”
“For you. I’ve been waiting for you,” He said softly.
Esmeralda’s eyes filled with tears at his earnest words; a man like Prettyboy didn't come around too often. He was sweet and sensitive and above all else, he was supportive. He made her feel like a real woman; desirable, capable, strong.
He did it without even fucking trying.
Esme’s whole body was tense as her orgasm rose to the surface; Prettyboy’s face was damp with sweat, his brow furrowed with concentration. She could tell he was just as close to combusting as she was, and she wanted to explode together.
“I’ve been waiting for you, too,” She said as she arched into him.
His grunt of approval was followed by a few jerky thrusts of his hips before they were both gasping one another’s name into the misty North Carolina air, their arms wound tightly around each other.
Esme was almost positive her heart was going to pound right out of her chest; she was ninety-nine percent sure the dynamic between her and Prettyboy had just taken a drastic turn.
Yet, as he lifted his head to look into her eyes, she took stock of him.
She caressed the perfect side of his face, the un-scarred side. It was gorgeous. Strong jawline, perfect scruff, sensual lips. There was no question as to why he was called ‘Prettyboy.’
But, to her, his beauty came from a completely different place.
The scarred half of his face, was in fact, her favorite half. She even caressed it as she kissed him one more time.
“I’m sorry that I’m not- that my face doesn’t look the way it used to,” He said.
His abrupt statement had her frowning as she shook her head.
“The way you were looking at me. I know pity when I see it,” He said sadly.
Esme couldn't help it- she laughed.
Prettyboy’s head fell and she had to stop her self from demanding that he look at her.
“Damon Michael, I don’t pity you. I admire you. I like you. And the scarred half of your face? It’s my favorite fucking part. I was just sitting here, bathing in the afterglow of our love making, and do you know what crossed my mind?”
“Regret?,” He asked.
Esme rolled her eyes and ran a finger along the bridge of his nose.
Esme wrapped one hand around the back of his neck and brought their foreheads together.
“No. I was sitting here thinking about how amazing it is to me that I can see how fucking beautiful you are, but you can’t.”
Prettyboy grumbled, “Yeah because I have to look at this reflection everyday. You don’t.”
How sad it is that he thinks I wouldn't want to.
“Maybe I want to look at your face everyday.”
His head snapped up and he eyed her closely, looking for lies she guessed.
“You can’t mean that. Look at me!”
Esme nuzzled his nose with hers.
“I am. For the first time in a long time my eyes are wide open. Your face may have gotten burned and your leg may not be at one hundred percent, but you’re still pretty to me.”
His green eyes looked so wide, so innocent, that Esme had to kiss him again.
“Are you having second thoughts?,” She asked.
His eyes narrowed then and he tightened his hold on her waist.
“No.”
“Good. The party is still goin’ on downstairs, and I don't really want to see everyone else just yet. I’d rather lay here and spend time with you,” She admitted.
Prettyboy’s smile was brilliant as he whispered, “Your wish is my command.”