Page 22 of Lost Prince

But even as passion consumes me, fear creeps in. What if I lose control? What if the violence that lurks deep inside me bursts forth? I could hurt her without meaning to.

I rein in the need, breaking the kiss. "Diana, I?—"

She silences me with another searing kiss. Her fingers dig into my shoulders, anchoring me to her.

"I trust you,” she murmurs against my lips.

Trust. How can she trust me when I don’t trust myself? But looking into her eyes, I see no fear. Only desire and something deeper, something that makes my chest ache with longing.

I bury my face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her sweet scent. My body trembles with the effort of holding back, of keeping the beast within me caged.

Diana runs her fingers through my hair, her touch soothing yet electric. "Let go, Lazaro."

Those simple words shatter my restraint. With a groan, I capture her lips again, pouring all my conflicting emotions into the kiss. Fear, desire, gratitude, and something that feels dangerous… not physically, but emotionally.

But I give in, sliding her shirt up and off. She doesn’t have a bra on and her tits sway from the movement. They’re so fucking beautiful, full and round, her nipples pink and hard. My mouth waters to suck them. Cupping one, I bend over, swirling my tongue around the hard nub before sucking it into my mouth.

“Oh!” she gasps, her fingers gripping my head as I suckle. I wish I had two mouths so I could suck them both at the same time. I move to her other breast, and it’s as delicious as the other.

“Lazaro.” Her hands tug at my shirt, sliding along my skin, making me shudder. I reach over my head, gripping my collar and tugging it up and off.

Her breath catches as stunned horror flashes across her face. Only then do I remember the scars that mar my body. A map of all the violence of a past that I don’t remember. My instinct is to cover up the proof of my monstrous past, to leave, not just Diana, but Chicago, and go back to the ignorant bliss I lived in Lafayette.

“So much pain and suffering,” she breathes, like it’s breaking her heart. Her fingers hover just above a particularly nasty scar on my chest. I flinch away before she can touch me.

"Don't," I growl, harsher than I intend. "Just… don't."

The hurt that flashes across her face makes me hate myself even more. I want to explain, again, that I’m not a good person. But the words won't come. Instead, I stand there, frozen.

Then she looks at me with those warm, understanding eyes that seem to see right through me. “These scars are part of you, but they don't define you."

As much as I’m glad the sight of me doesn’t disgust her, I’m not particularly happy with the pity.

Her gaze flicks up to my face. “Can I touch them?”

Her request to touch my scars catches me off guard. I feel exposed, vulnerable in a way I can't remember ever feeling before. But something in her eyes, in the gentle way she asks, makes me nod.

Her fingers hover just above the scar on my chest. I brace myself, expecting her touch to burn, to bring back the phantom pain of old wounds. Instead, as her fingertips make contact with my skin, an unexpected warmth spreads through me.

"Each of these tells a story. They're proof that you've survived, that you're strong."

I want to believe her. God, how I want to believe her. But the fear still gnaws at me, the uncertainty of who I am and what I'm capable of.

"You don't know what I've done," I say hoarsely. "What if I'm the monster everyone says I am?"

She traces each scar with a reverence that leaves me breathless. Her touch is feather-light, almost reverent, as if she's reading a story written on my skin. "The man I've gotten to know these past few days isn't a monster. Maybe he’s a little lost and confused, but he’s loyal and protective of his family. Whatever you've done in the past, whatever these scars represent, that's not who you are now. You get to choose who you want to be."

As Diana's fingers ghost over a particularly nasty scar on my ribs, I shiver. Not from revulsion or fear, but from the tenderness of her touch. It's been so long since anyone has touched me like this—like I'm something precious rather than something dangerous.

Diana's hand comes to rest over my heart, and I realize it's beating faster than normal. But it's not from fear or anger, nor simply a base need to fuck—it's from something else entirely.Something that fills me with a strange mix of terror and exhilaration.

I capture her lips again, feeling grateful that she sees me in a way I can’t even see myself. The kiss deepens, her tongue sliding against mine, and I groan into her mouth. Her hands are in my hair, pulling me closer, until I can feel her heart pounding against my chest.

I give in again to the clawing need, picking her up and carrying her to the too-small bed in the corner. I finish undressing her, taking in her beautiful body illuminated by the moon filtering through the window.

I lower her onto the bed, her gaze never leaving mine. I cover her body with mine and kiss her again, feeling like no matter how long we kissed, it would never be enough. She reaches for me, but I push her hands away.

“This will be easier if you take your pants off,” she says with a lightness in her voice.