ANGELA'S POV
While our mouths stayed locked, one of his hands gripped my backside firmly. My body flinched at the sudden contact, and the reaction only seemed to please him more.
He broke the kiss long enough to pull his shirt over his head in one fluid motion. The sight of his bare skin made my breath catch. His body was a map of violence and survival—dense muscle, prison tattoos, scars that told stories of fights, loss, and survival. In short, his body served as a book of sorts - telling his story of fear, anger, imprisonment, freedom, violence, and death.
A thick, jagged scar cut across his chest like a permanent reminder of his violent past, present, and future.
I couldn’t look away until he kissed me again, slower this time, trailing his mouth down my jaw and along the side of
