It doesn’t take her long to fall asleep, five maybe ten minutes max. Now she’s sacked out in my arms, her peaceful face nestled against my chest. And I’m wound so damn tight I want to scream.
“I was raped.”
Fuck … every time I replay those words in my head—a freaking endless, barbaric loop—I just want to hold her tight and never let go. Those three words explain so much, but the questions keep piling up, one after the other. Questions I have no business asking or knowing the answers. For all the ups and downs Bella and I have experienced since that birthday party in August, we’ve still only ever been just friends—new ones at that. Sure, we forged a connection early on made of mutual attraction and general curiosity. And in the past few weeks we’ve been spending time together just getting to know one another, it does feel like we’ve become closer in many, many ways.
I have to ask myself … why. Why me? Why has she trusted only me with this secret and not her family or Roman at the very least? It makes no logical sense. What does make sense in a situation such as this? Is there a right or wrong? Seems to me like she’s acted on instinct shielding those she loves the most from impending pain. I understand that completely. I also understand her need to purge, to let out this private horror and lay it on someone else’s shoulders for a change.
There’s something genuinely good and real about Bella. She’s so tough and yet at the same time so incredibly fragile, so damn resilient and so lonely too. I’m amazed she hasn’t broken down before this, lost her shit in front of someone she’s much closer to than me and unloaded this vile truth. She’s shouldered this pain for so many years. I can’t imagine how she’s found the strength to continue to hold everything inside. No wonder she puked. I would too if I spent a decade biting my tongue and letting a monster control my future.
She sighs heavily and rolls to her side with her back to me. Chances are she’ll be out for a few hours, which is a good thing because I can’t lie here anymore and kill myself with overthinking. My stomach churns with worry as I slowly slide my arm out from under her and get to my feet. I spend a few minutes just standing there watching her sleep, trying to figure out my next move. Then, with nothing more in mind except homicide, I make my way out into the kitchen and pour myself a shot of tequila. Tossing it back feels good so I have another, then one more, and on round four I finally start to feel semi in control.
Shot glass in hand, I move out onto the balcony and settle into the rickety plastic chair. The alcohol burns in my gut. Worry and fear roll around with tequila until I’m once more as nauseous as I was when she was spilling secrets on the bathroom floor.
Setting the glass aside, I tear my fingers through my hair and prop my elbows up on my knees. What the fuck am I supposed to do now? Do I treat her differently, not use certain words, or avoid particular movie subjects? Is that what she wants from me, to tiptoe around her now and treat her like a victim? Fuck no. I can answer that completely and without hesitation. She would hate me if I did that, which in truth is probably part of why she never told a single soul about what happened.
What about the physical stuff? Granted, we haven’t touched in any way that wasn’t innocent since Marco’s party, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have plans or want to eventually. Hell, every time I’m with her I’m semi-hard. And truth be told, she didn’t exactly respond me to like a woman who is afraid or skittish of sex.
I’m not exactly the type of guy to skirt issues, especially when it comes to what I want in the bedroom. I have no problem stating my needs, asking the woman what she wants, or doing what’s requested regardless of what’s asked. Sure, I have my limits like most people do, but I’m always up for a challenge or trying something new as long it’s mutually beneficial to us both. All that aside, where the hell do I begin with Bella? I can’t exactly slam her against the wall and declare that I intend to fuck her.
Why not, asshole? You would have if she hadn’t told you what happened.
True enough. I suppose the big hurdle here is going to be all the shit going on in my head—assumptions I’m making about her, her sexual past, and so on. It’s not like she and I are anywhere near that now anyway, so chances are I’m worrying about all this shit for nothing.
I hear a noise from inside the house, something that sounds decidedly like pain-filled moaning. On my feet, I move quickly across the room and down the hall just in time to hear her start to scream out my name. She’s sitting upright, eyes tear-filled and frightened. The moment she sees me she starts to sob, and I swear it feels like my feet are weighted down with cement as I step toward her. I can’t get to her quickly enough, can’t pull her into my arms tight enough.
“It’s all right. I’m here.”
She crawls right up into my lap straddling me and wrapping her entire body around mine. “I didn’t know where I was. It was so dark.”
Fuck me. I should have thought to leave a light on. “I know. I’m sorry. I should have stayed with you.”
“Don’t leave,” she cries.
“I’m not leaving.”
If I thought she was all cried out in the bathroom, I was sorely mistaken. It’s like she’s now suddenly realized the magnitude of what’s happened and everything she’s held back for all these years is flooding to the surface. All I can do is hold her and occasionally whisper words in her ear and let her work through her pain. Words, real words anyway, are a waste of time. The only thing she needs at this exact moment is my protection, my warmth, my body.
I have no idea how long we sit there together on the edge of the bed. Could be minutes, feels more like hours. Eventually her wretched sobs turn to whimpers and once more I feel her body slump against mine. She barely even moves when I slide us backward and lower our bodies to the mattress. When I roll her off me, her arm falls with a limp thump off to the side. I sit up just enough to strip off my shirt, somehow manage to get us both under the covers, then once more pull her into my arms.
She sighs with relief and her eyes drift closed and she whispers, “Thank you.”
Pressing my lips to the top of her head, I reply softly, “Sleep now. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”
Sleep doesn’t come easily, but eventually I’m worn out from all the questions and overthinking. Exhaustion takes over. By the time the sun fills the bedroom with early morning light, I’m wide awake again and we’ve barely moved at all. She’s curled up in a ball, knees pressed against my thighs, face squished into my chest.
Now what? If I roll out of bed I’m not keeping the promise I made the night before. If I stay, well … let’s just say I might scare the poor girl to death.
Thank God she saves me from making that choice by lifting her lids and sending me a sleepy smile. “You stayed.”
“Said I would.”
She stretches out her legs and moves closer before I can warn her off, but damn if she isn’t a trooper and barely reacts to the telephone pole stabbing her in the stomach. For a girl who spent the better part of the night crying hysterically, the soft chuckle she omits now sounds like a Godsend.
“Good morning to you too,” she murmurs.
I’d apologize, but really, we’re both adults. And, I rationalize as I pull her tighter, she did grow up with three brothers. There’s no doubt in my mind she wasn’t acquainted with morning wood long before she was ever with a man.
Of course, that’s assuming she has been with a man. Could she, you know, after what happened?
Jesus, Austin. Let it go already.
“I suppose you have some questions,” she says, fingers tracing a path down my arm as she reads my mind.
“Yeah, I do.”
Tipping her head back, our eyes meet. Gone is the fog of painful memory, the haze of fear, the late-night terror. She looks up at me through honest, trusting blue-green eyes. Eyes that beg for understanding as equally as they beg for the truth. The truth, hard as it may be to swallow, is something I can give her without pause.
“Why me, Bella? Why trust me with this and not Roman or even Sophia?”
She shrugs as her fingers continue to skim over my skin. “I wish I could tell you why. I think we’ve had a really intense connection since we first met. That’s part of it, at least.”
“And the other part?”
She sighs and lays her palm over my heart. “I’m tired, Jace. I’ve carried this burden around for a long time. It’s kept me from living, kept me from trusting people, kept me from having relationships.”
“Have you … Fuck. Have you been with anyone, other than … him.”
She nods. “I have. I’m not repulsed by the idea of sex.” Her cheeks flush bright red, and she averts her eyes. “But you’ve probably already figured that out.”
“You could say that,” I reply with a chuckle.
“I just never cared about it one way or the other.” Her eyes lift to mine again. “Until you came along.”
My stomach flips wildly. “So what you’re saying is that you are mesmerized by my rock-star looks and you want to jump my bones?”
She laughs and gives me a hard punch to the gut. “Yeah, that’s it. That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
We settle against one another and her hand resumes traveling over my arm, my shoulder, my chest. If I didn’t know better, I’d say the woman is trying to get to know me. As horny as I am—and I’m pretty fucking horny—I’m not about to breach the trust she’s placed in me just to try to get laid. Not now. We have plenty of time to think about that later.
“What are we doing here, Bella? Are we friends, are we dating, are we potential lovers? I need to know.”
Her hand slides into my hair. “All of the above.”
My eyes drift over her face, watching and waiting for signs of doubt and fear. “Are you ready for that, though? Sure it won’t be too much for you?”
She takes my questions in stride and shrugs. “I’ve waited many, many years to want to be a part of something. I dated a man off and on for over a year, and I never looked forward to spending time with him like I do with you.” She pulls back just enough to give us both some breathing room. “Jace, I know this is a lot to take in. And I’d completely understand if you need time to decide if you can be with me after what happened.” She scrunches up her face. “It’s a lot for a man to accept.”
Frowning, I swallow back the anger that surges to life. “Is that what you think, that I might not want to be with you because of what happened to you?” She shrugs, which only inflames the anger morphing into full-blown rage. “Well, you can get that fucking thought out of your head right this minute.” Without thinking, I roll completely on top of her propping myself up on my arms. “You feel that, don’t you? Does that feel like I’m repulsed or that I can’t react to you?”
She rolls her eyes, unmoved. “That’s a typical reaction for a man.”
“Bullshit. That’s my reaction to you.” Leaning down, I nuzzle her neck and simultaneously grind my hips against the juncture of her legs. “I want you, Bella. I’m fucking hard for you all the damn time. And whether it’s now or a year from now, I’m still going to want to strip you bare and make you mine.”
“You can’t mean that,” she whimpers.
“I can and I do.” Rotating my hips once more, her legs widen, and she moans softly. “You like that, don’t you, baby? I bet if I do it again you’ll get wet for me. Won’t you?” The only answer she gives is a deeper, louder moan. “That’s a good girl. Moan for me. Let me hear you.” She mumbles something that sounds like a curse, throwing her arms over her head and arching her back.
Sitting back on my haunches, I reach for the button on her pants pulling it loose and lowering the zipper. I don’t bother tugging them down, just dip my hand beneath the denim and lace and touch warm, wet flesh.
Wet, my ass. The poor girl is soaked, panties completely drenched from my heated words and gentle humping. If I had to guess, she’s been working herself up to it with all the strokes to my skin while we’ve been talking. And sure, this has been some heavy shit we’re tackling, but clearly she has more on her mind than discussing what happened last night.
Fine by me, I think as my hand snakes lower. One barely-there stroke of my fingers and she’s panting. One thrust deep inside and she’s calling out my name and begging me to make her come.
Oh … hell yeah.
Leaning down over her once again, I spend a moment taking it all in. Isabella on the edge of orgasm is a beautiful thing. Her face is flushed, eyes half open, tongue tracing the plumpness of her lips. Lips I can only fantasize about being wrapped around my cock as I thrust in and out of her warm, wet mouth.
Sliding another finger in deep, I start a nice back and forth thrust then roll her clit with my thumb. She whimpers and moans. Her head thrashes side to side as I feel her body respond. Maintaining my own composure takes a huge effort. I’m sure once I’m alone I’ll relive this fantasy time and time again while getting myself off. Not exactly how I thought this would go, but I also can’t imagine us going further than we already have. Not today anyway. God knows, she’s worth the wait.
“Oh … yes!” Her entire body shudders as she tips over that glorious edge and spirals all over my fingers drenching my hand and riding the wave with each thrust of her hips. Fuck, what I’d give to follow her, lose myself in her like that, but as she starts to relax and I gently pull my fingers away from her sensitive flesh, I realize for the first time in my life that sometimes watching someone else get theirs can be almost as good as getting your own. Her face is free of tension and worry and brightly flushed, hair spilling around her head in a mass of waves. Hooded eyes lift to look at me and a soft smile lights her face, gratitude and pleasure clearly written there for me to see.
Grinning down at her, I whisper, “Feel better?”
She snickers and nods. “Oh yeah. So much better.”
Absolutely worth the wait.