The Stampede ~Vash x OC AU~

Chapter 17: Feeling

**Mature content ahead – reader discretion advised**

Kanyon

He wasn't lying when he said he has scars.

His body is riddled with them. Big ones. Small ones. Old ones. New ones. Healed slashes that are carved in his skin, etched like the canyons in the north, staggering like drunkards. Then there is all the surgical-grade hardware that is mounted to his flesh acting as patches, including this cage-like contraption bound over his heart.

There are so many. Too many. More than I thought possible, but they have piqued my intrigue. Morbidly, of course. After all, how does someone get that many scars? There is a story to this. There are many stories, and I am fascinated.

My fingertips glide over one of those scars, feeling the way it divots. He feels so warm and solid, his chest rising and falling steadily under my touch.

I bring my eyes to his, asking, "Does that hurt?"

He shakes his head. "No, not at all."

My stare falls back to the healed injuries. It is utterly amazing. Powerful, even. I've never seen anything quite like this. Nothing this profound. It has me in awe.

He cuffs his hand over mine, gently squeezing it. I look back up, meeting his gaze as he presses, "What about you? Are you okay?"

We have migrated from how we were earlier. Through a new wave of steamy kisses, we have found ourselves on my bed, my bare back pressed against the mattress, my naked body only shielded by my panties as his trousers hang from his hips. His shirt, jacket, and most of my clothes have already been discarded on the floor, and that is where they lay.

He looks at me, his pretty, blue eyes glimmering in the golden light, his sunglasses no longer on the bridge of his nose, leaving me entranced. I knew he's attractive – anyone could see that – but getting to see his eyes without that orange veil leaves my heart sputtering.

"I'm fine," I say. My fingers are still resting against his skin. "You've been gentle with me so far. Thank you for that."

A small smile lifts his lips as he reaches for my hand. He pulls it to him, pressing his lips against the palm. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't. I'm not breakable."

"Still, if I start to get too rough, or if you feel uncomfortable, tell me and I'll stop."

His tone is so soft as he says this, reaching the depth of his eyes, sending my heart fluttering.

"I will. Don't worry."

Another small smile flashes across his face before he turns, pressing his lips to my palm once again. He kisses it softly, peppering sweet kisses down my arm, to my shoulder, and then across my collarbone.

A shiver runs the length of my spine, reminding me of this foreign sensation crossing my skin. Of his lips and his fingers, each so gentle and sweet. Each so sensual, hovering and feeling me wholly.

He starts to kiss down to the valley between my breasts, his hands trailing my sides, tracing the curvature of my body, and then he stops, looking at the bruise on my left side.

I watch, seeing the way he takes note of it, this strange heaviness filling his eyes. It almost looks sad or worried – I can't tell which. But then his gaze moves to my scar, observing how it stretches far and wide across my abdomen.

I can see the way curiosity – for a moment – reaches the depth of his eyes before he brings his lips to it, kissing my bubbled, but healed skin. Shivers fall down my spine again as his fingertips come to it, gliding across the flesh gingerly.