Tainted Desires | 18+

44 - Tats and Scars

Mirabelle Morrison

As we lay in each other's arms, the room was filled with a comforting silence, broken only by the soft sound of our synchronized breaths.

My fingers gently traced patterns of his tatted chest, feeling the rise and fall as his heart gradually returned to its regular rhythm. Our bodies, still entwined, seemed to melt into one another, the boundaries between us blurred.

His fingers gently traced my back as if he were creating a map of desire with his touch. The tenderness of his caress sent waves of pleasure through my body, making me crave more of his touch, more of him. But I was too sore to think about opening my legs for him to pummel me again.

"What does this mean?" I traced the intricate designs of his tattoos with my fingertips, breaking the momentary silence between us.

Curiosity and a desire to understand him on a deeper level led my words. His tattoos, each with probably its own story, were a gateway to his past, his experiences, and his journey.

"Which one?" His voice carried a hint of intrigue as he tilted his head slightly, his eyes shining with a mix of fondness and excitement. He seemed genuinely interested in sharing the meaning behind his tattoos, eager to invite me into the stories they held.

I pointed to a particular tattoo along his rib that caught my attention, tracing its contours gently with my fingertips. It was an intricate design, weaving together. It looked like a patchwork. "This one," I said softly, my eyes fixed on the beautiful artwork etched onto his skin.

"Oh, I just used it to cover up a scar from..."

I looked up once I sensed a shift in the atmosphere. His smile had faded, and a veil of vulnerability seemed to envelop him. His eyes carried a mix of sadness and a longing to share something deeper.

"From...?" I gently encouraged, my touch still lingering on the tattoo.

He took a deep breath, his gaze fixed on a distant memory. "A car accident," he finally revealed, his voice laced with a hint of regret.

My heart skipped a beat as his words sank in. I remembered his father had mentioned it when we went for dinner at his parents' house. I couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt for not knowing about his accident all those years ago. And from by his father's words, I was the cause of the accident.

As the weight of his confession settled upon me, my mind swirled with a mix of emotions. The realization that I had unknowingly played a part in the accident sent shockwaves through my being. Guilt gnawed at my conscience, overshadowing the beauty of the moment we had shared.

"Is.. is it the one your father mentioned?" I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. "The one I–"

He gently interrupted my words, his hand reaching up to caress my cheek. "It wasn't your fault," he replied softly, his gaze filled with understanding. "Don't let my father's words get to you."

"But... how can I not feel responsible?" I questioned, my voice quivering with the weight of my emotions. "If I had known, I could have done something to prevent it. I could have been there for you."

He looked deeply into my eyes, his expression filled with compassion. "You didn't know, and you couldn't have known," he reassured me.

"Tell me about it," I looked back down at the tattoo covered scar and placed my hand over it. He took a deep breath, and his fingers traced mine that rested in his skin.

"I was coming to see you," he began, his voice carrying a hint of nostalgia. "Landon told me you came over to see me but said you left almost immediately. I had taken a drink before I got into the car, and my whole head was hazy."