"And this one?"
Her fingers trace the white line beneath his third rib and he shifts, peering down at the mark.
"Bar fight – had a minor disagreement with some cad named Blackbeard."
She arches an eyebrow and meets his gaze. "You're kidding."
He just frowns in response and she sighs, hand smoothing over the planes of his chest to his shoulder. His body is littered with scars – 300 years of life mapped out in broken and jagged marks. She can tell which memories cut deeper by the way his eyes shutter and his lips twitch – can tell which thoughts haunt him by the way his fingers curl around her hip, rings digging in painfully as if to remind himself of her existence.
Of her choice.
She follows with her lips and his hand tangles in her curls, warm breath caressing her skin in a heavy exhale.
Her lips dip in to the hollow of his throat and she grins when his hand tightens against her scalp.
"What about this one?"
She nudges the bruised flesh of his throat with her nose and he growls, rolling them smoothly so that she is pinned beneath him. His grin is full and free and her hand thumbs at the corner of his lips, memorizing the feel of his happiness. His lips are soft when he catches her hand and presses a kiss to her palm, blue eyes full of promise and joy and hope.
"A siren lured me to her bed." He mutters, voice rough and delicious. He ducks his head, teeth closing over the junction between her shoulder and neck.
And as she sighs and arches, she hopes his mark lingers – fading into her skin and burning her as his.