THE DEVIL'S MISTRESS
PART 7
The mansion was quiet.
Jessica sat on the edge of her new bed, the silk sheets cool beneath her trembling fingers. The echoes of her family’s laughter still lingered in the air, the warmth of their embraces still imprinted on her skin.
But her mind was elsewhere.
It was fixed on him.
Mr. Scar.
The man who had given her everything.
The man who had torn apart the world and rebuilt it just to see her smile.
Her chest ached.
She couldn’t breathe.
Before she knew what she was doing, she was on her feet, her bare feet padding silently across the marble floors, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure the entire household could hear it.
She stopped outside his door.
Raised her hand.
And knocked.
A deep voice rumbled from within. "Come in."
Jessica pushed the door open.
Mr. Scar stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, his back to her, his broad shoulders outlined by the moonlight. He was shirtless, his scarred skin a map of violence and survival, his muscles tense even at rest.
He didn’t turn.
"You should be with your family," he said quietly.
Jessica swallowed. Then, before she could lose her nerve, she sank to her knees.
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice breaking. "For everything. For my family. For—for me."
For a long moment, there was only silence.
Then—
Strong hands gripped her arms, hauling her to her feet. Mr. Scar’s face was unreadable, his dark eyes burning.
"Don’t," he growled. "Never kneel to me."
Jessica trembled. "I don’t know how else to—"
"It was nothing," he interrupted, his voice rough. *)"I had my men dig deeper after that night in the basement. I know now that Kazeem threatened you. That you had no choice." His grip tightened. "You and your family will never be unsafe again. That’s my promise."
Something inside Jessica snapped.
Tears spilled over, hot and uncontrollable. A sob tore from her throat, then another, until she was shaking apart in his arms.
Mr. Scar froze.
Then, slowly—so slowly—his arms came around her, pulling her against his chest.
"Jessica," he murmured, his voice softer than she’d ever heard it.
She clung to him, her fingers digging into his bare skin, her tears wetting his chest.
And then—
She kissed him.
Mr. Scar went rigid.
For one heart-stopping second, he kissed her back—his mouth hot, desperate, hungry.
Then he wrenched away.
"Go to your room," he ordered, his voice strained.
Jessica stumbled back, her lips still tingling. "W-what?"
"This isn’t why I did any of it," he snarled, turning away. "I don’t want payment."
The words stung.
Jessica’s face burned. "That’s not—I didn’t—"
"Goodnight, Jessica."
Humiliation and hurt crashed over her. She turned to leave, her vision blurring.
She barely made it two steps before an iron grip seized her wrist.
Jessica gasped as Mr. Scar yanked her back, spinning her around so fast her head swam.
His eyes were wild.
"You don’t get to do that," he hissed. "You don’t get to kiss me like that and walk away."
Then his mouth crashed down on hers.
It wasn’t gentle.
It wasn’t sweet.
It was ruin.
Mr. Scar kissed her like a man starved, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise, his tongue claiming her mouth with a possessiveness that stole her breath. Jessica melted into him, her fingers tangling in his hair, her body arching against his.
Then he was lifting her, carrying her to the bed, his mouth never leaving hers.
"Tell me to stop," he growled against her lips.
Jessica shook her head, her eyes burning with tears. "Never."
That was all he needed.
He worshiped her.
With his hands. His mouth. His body.
Every touch was a brand, every kiss a vow. He tore her apart piece by piece, then put her back together again, his name a prayer on her lips as she shattered beneath him.
"Scar—!"
"Mine," he snarled in response, his fingers laced with hers, pinning her to the bed as he moved inside her. "Say it."
Jessica sobbed. "Yours."
He kissed her tears away.
Sunlight streamed through the windows, painting golden stripes across the rumpled sheets.
Jessica blinked awake, her body deliciously sore, her heart full to bursting.
Mr. Scar slept beside her, his arm draped heavily over her waist, his face younger in sleep, the harsh lines softened.
She smiled.
Then, carefully, she tried to slip away.
A strong arm yanked her back.
"Where do you think you’re going?" Mr. Scar murmured, his voice sleep-rough.
Jessica’s cheeks heated. "I—I thought—"
He rolled her beneath him, his dark eyes blazing with possession. "This is your room now, my sweet little lioness."
Her breath caught. "Really?"
Instead of answering, he kissed her.
And when he slid inside her again, slow and deep this time, Jessica knew—
She was home.
TO BE CONTINUED....