I WOKE, HOT, BREATHLESS, SCARED. For a second, I forgot where I was. But seeing Patrick splayed in the bed next to me quickly made me feel safe again.

I snuck out of bed, and crept into the living room. Gabriel was asleep on the pullout sofa, Trigger stood guard. Trigger’s ears perked up when he saw me. As if to ask if I needed him for anything. I pet him on the head; he circled and lay back down.

The small kitchen was clearly the home of a bachelor—minimal appliances, refrigerator stocked with nothing more than beer, condiments, eggs, and bacon. My mind raced—I wanted to take care of Pat. Cook for him, love him, brighten up his life. Were we moving too fast? I knew it seemed anti-feminist to say this, but all I wanted was Pat. I didn’t care about my parents, my old friends, going back to school. For now. I couldn’t help myself; I was falling in love with him. I wanted to be his wife, have him adopt Gabriel, create a family. Was that so wrong? God, how pathetic was I? He hadn’t told me he loved me. He wouldn’t even make love to me. Was this connection in my head? I had to know.

I poured myself a glass of water. Little things, like the freedom to get up in the middle of the night and leave my room, make a snack, get a drink, were still so enjoyable to me. I never took anything for granted.

But I was not healed. No matter how hard I wanted to be. Noises rattled me, I had to keep the window shades open at all times. Somehow, being with Pat again allowed my mind to calm down. Like I felt with him by my side, I’d never be in danger again. I was making progress in my journey back to myself.

I crept back into the bedroom. Pat was just collapsed on the bed, his strong back shined in the moonlight. He was so fucking fine, I couldn’t believe it. I still felt guilt for being attracted to him, not sure why. Like because I was a prostitute, I shouldn’t have sexual thoughts? I wanted him, completely. I imagined him making love to me, kissing me gently, tasting my flesh, licking me like an ice cream cone, making me come, begging me to scream his name. I needed him so fucking bad. But not just soft and loving. I wanted him to fuck me hard, his huge cock filling me up, making my pussy throb. Could Pat ever fuck me? Not make love to me but screw me senseless? Or would he always be worried about traumatizing me.

Either way, I couldn’t handle the guilt. This insane sadness that I couldn’t shake. I don’t deserve love, I don’t deserve sex, I don’t deserve him. My father’s voice rang in my head, telling me that Pat was worthless, a player. Real men don’t buy girls, he said.

But I forgave Pat. Forgave him for going to a brothel. Forgave him for his words that echoed in my head, “Fine, we don’t have to talk. Blow me.” He didn’t even see me back then. I was an object.

Pat was a good man. Not just because he saved me. That was his job, I got it. But the way he looked at me, the way he played with my child, the way he respectfully held himself back when I knew he wanted me. I could see his desire, every time he touched me. His level of self-control was unreal.

I cuddled up next to him, kissed his shoulders, his neck.

He turned to me. “Hey. You okay?”

“Yes babe. Sorry to wake you. I need you.”

His strong arms pinned me under him. He pressed his hips into mine. I could feel his big, beautiful cock pressing against my panties. I wanted him, I wanted this, I needed to feel every inch of him.

No words. He kissed my neck, nibbled my ears. One hand pinned my wrists above my head, while his other hand worked its way down my body.

I still felt so dirty—why would he want to make love to me? Did he truly see me as beautiful like he claimed? Instead of the worthless woman he had hired to blow him?

My back arched, I wiggled free and his hand quickly released the hold on my wrists. A guilty look washed over his face.

“I’m sorry, Annie, did I hurt you?”

“No no, that’s not it. I want you.” I tugged at his boxers, his happy trail taunting me. I wanted to see him, feel him inside of me. “Make love to me, Pat.”

His lips curled, and I glanced at his boxers. I could see his desire for me. “No, Annie, tonight is for you. All for you. Lie down.”

I did, hesitantly. He knelt beside me, his knees by my hip and his hands on either side of my body. I watched him intently. I was scared, yet excited. What if I could never enjoy myself again?

My body trembled, and it was a feeling so sweet it made my heart hurt.

He smiled down at me as he lifted a hand to move the hair off my forehead. The stubble on his face tickled my skin. I shuddered, imagining him going further, that same stubble grazing my thighs. I closed my eyes at his soft touch, my back arching off the mattress with a loud creak. He trailed his hand down my face and along the line of my jaw. I sucked in a breath as his hand continued down my neck to follow the soft material of my nightie over the rise of my breast.

I opened my eyes. My fingers grasped at the sheets when he dipped a finger under my nightie to tease at my nipple. He moved his finger to pull the strap of my nightie, down my shoulder to bare my breasts. He trapped my arm under the strap and moved his head to take one into his mouth. My other hand pressed his head closer. He kept at one breast, and then lavished attention on the other until I was writhing under him.

“Pat, that feels amazing.”

His tongue traveled from my chest, down the centerline to dip in my belly button. He nibbled down my stomach to the line of my panties. Nuzzling it with the scrape of his stubble caused me to gasp in pleasure.

“Babe, please. Don’t stop.” I wanted this, I wanted to feel pleasure. I wanted to see if my body could respond to his love.

His lips kissed my soft skin. I couldn’t believe what he was about to do. I’d fantasized about this so many times, but I was afraid he would think I was dirty. His kisses erased that thought in my mind. He touched his tongue to my opening. My thighs clamped around his neck and my fingers grasped at his shoulders. My head arched back and I groaned with pleasure as his tongue fluttered over me.

I gasped for breath. I became wetter, hotter, hungrier for him. His pace varied, sweet loving to fast and frenzied. My body responded. I wasn’t broken.

“Pat, don’t stop, please, baby, you make me feel so good.” My body bucked on the bed and, when he slipped two fingers deep inside me, I exploded around them with a moan for an endless moment and he eased up to watch the erotic response ripple across my face.

Complete bliss, which I never thought I would feel again.

I collapsed across the bed. A thousand spikes of pleasure still bounced through my body. I gasped in a final breath, savoring the moment. I had to tell him something.

“I love you.”

I didn’t expect a response. Maybe a cuddle, a kiss on the forehead, a loving touch.

The silent night echoed through the room. He wrapped his arms around me, pulled me to him.

I was drifting off to sleep, content with his embrace.

A few more seconds passed, and his words roused me from my haze. His lips parted. “I love you, too.”