My Stepbrother's Dirty Little Secret novel Chapter 226

Chapter 226

Gianna

I felt his body go completely still against mine.

His jaw went slack for a second before his teeth clicked together in a hard, tight line. He stared down at me, his eyes searching my face with disbelief.

“I didn’t want you to go in blind,” I said, a hollow laugh bubbling in my chest. “Like I did to you at the office. If I had been honest about being… you know, an idiot, you never would have let me through the door. I just don’t want you to look at me afterward and feel sick. I can… I can use my hands, or my mouth. We don’t have to go all the way You don’t have to touch the parts of me that are ruined.”

“What the fuck?” he rasped, his voice breathy and filled with disbelief.

Raphael jerked back, his arms stiffening as he pushed himself away from me.

“What the fuck?” he said again.

He stared at the space where my nightdress was bunched at my waist, his chest heaving as if he couldn’t get enough air.

He’s thinking about the scars and he’s already sickened.

I scrambled backward on the mattress, my hands fumbling to pull the torn silk up over my chest.

“I… I understand,” I stammered, I couldn’t look at him anymore. I kept my eyes on the dark blankets, my fingers trembling so hard I could barely grip the fabric. “I should go. I should just go right now.”

I was certain that the disbelief on his face was because he was trying to imagine them, and the image was making his stomach turn.

The way he said it made my heart stop. It wasn’t an ask. He held my neck tighter, forcing me to stay still, forcing me to listen to the sound of his rough breathing.

He didn’t keep me there on my knees for long. He slid his hand from my neck to my shoulder and nudged me. He didn’t use his strength to hurt me, he used it to turn me over until I was lying flat on my back, staring up at his beautiful face.

I tried to look away, my chest heaving with those short, shaky breaths that made my throat ache. I wanted to carl up. I wanted to hide the parts of me that weren’t smooth or pretty. But Raphael wouldn’t let me. He settled his weight between my legs, pinning me down with the heat of his body, and used his thumb to catch a tear before it could get lost in my hair.

“Do you even have a single idea how many scars I have on my body?” he asked.

He took my hand and pressed my palm flat against his ribs. I felt the hard, rigid muscle of his side, but under my fingertips, I felt a long, bumpy line, a scar that felt old and tough. Then he moved my hand to his shoulder, where the skin was uneven and knotted.