Darkest Before Dawn

“Because you deserve so much better than me,” he said honestly. “I don’t know if I can be what you need. You deserve to be treated gently, like the treasure you are. You deserve for that gift to be cherished and respected, and I’m not a good man. I’m selfish. I have no experience with virgins. And I would hate myself if I hurt you. I would despise myself. It would kill me if I hurt you, Honor.”

He closed his eyes at the absurdity of such a statement. He had hurt her. And he would hurt her again. He would give her to a man who would hurt her endlessly. Who would then give her to men who would degrade and torture her until she prayed with every painful breath for mercy and for death. Never had he hated himself more than he did in this moment. He despised who and what he was, when before he’d merely accepted it as a necessary evil in order to do his job. To try and make the world a better place. Sacrificing Honor in no way made anything goddamn better.

“You’re wrong,” she said, lifting her chin, daring him to defy her. “You wouldn’t hurt me. You would be gentle and sweet. And you’re also wrong about this being a gift from me. It would be a gift from you to me. This time, I’ll not ask for another thing from you. I swear it. I won’t make you feel even worse for what you must do when we both know you have no choice. But tonight . . . Tonight is ours to do what we want. No rules. No mission. No saving the world. That’s for another day. But tonight I want to feel something other than fear and hate and pain.”

Her eyes became haunted, as his surely must be.

“I don’t want to be alone tonight, Hancock,” she said, in a low, embarrassed voice as though she hated revealing a weakness. That she needed someone to comfort her and touch her even for just one night.

“You will not beg me for anything,” he said harshly. “I would give you the world if I could, Honor. I swear I would. If only . . .”

He closed his eyes, slamming shut the wishes and if onlys, knowing that path led only to unfathomable pain.

“Don’t,” she said, her voice filled with sorrow.

To emphasize her statement, she pushed a gentle finger to his lips. Unable to resist such temptation, he flicked his tongue out and sucked the tip of her finger into his mouth.

“No one is ever guaranteed a tomorrow,” she continued softly, tamping down the emotion, knowing it hurt him. And tonight she was determined they both forget their pain. Just for a few stolen hours.

“But we have tonight. Bristow is no threat. Your men will guard you well. Please, grant me this last request, Hancock. I would like to know how it’s supposed to be. I don’t want to die without ever knowing pleasure.”

“You’re so sure I’m capable of being this fantasy lover,” he said in a near growl.

She shook her head, her eyes flashing. “Fantasies are for people who can’t see or touch what it is they want. I don’t want a fantasy, Hancock. I only want you. And as I’ve never done this before, I’ll hardly know if you do it wrong,” she added ruefully.

“I won’t do it wrong,” he said gruffly. “I’d never touch you with anything but tenderness, as much as I’m capable of anyway. I’m not a gentle man. I’m rough and demanding. I don’t trust that I can be what you need right now. What I want would probably send you screaming and crawling under the bed.”

Her eyes widened, but not in fear or even shock. There was definite curiosity. And interest. Her face became flushed and her eyes took on a hazy glow that told him she was aroused by what he’d said, how he’d said it.

He hadn’t intended it to be arousing. He’d wanted to scare the holy hell out of her so she’d rethink this insanity. But the selfish part derived great satisfaction that she’d responded as she had, her lips parted in silent invitation.

God, the things he’d like to do to her mouth.

He put a tight clamp on the coarse, base ideas running circles in his brain and making his dick so hard it felt as though the skin would simply split under the pressure.

She deserved a gentle initiation. Not down-and-dirty fucking. He closed his eyes, swearing at his choice of thoughts. The idea of other men holding her down, raping her like mindless animals made him sick. His erection lost its rigidity and bleakness entered his soul.

“Tonight,” she reminded him, as though she had reached right into his mind and plucked out his thoughts.

She rotated and rose up over him, leaning into his chest, bumping her nose into his in a charmingly clumsy manner. But damn it, she had no business putting any strain on her stitches or further aggravating her injuries.

As carefully as he could and making sure she didn’t take his gesture as rejection, he eased her over onto her back and arranged her to his liking, inspecting every angle to ensure that he would cause no hurt to her wounds.

“You will lie back just as I have you,” he said in a husky voice he didn’t recognize. “You will not hurt yourself, tear your stitches or otherwise worsen your injuries.”

She swallowed visibly, her eyes glowing brightly with excitement, her lips full, cheeks flushed with desire. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen in his dull, colorless existence.

“I will be as gentle, tender and patient as a man ever was in making love to a woman,” he vowed just as he lowered his body over hers, fitting his mouth to hers.

He was careful to keep his weight from her slender body, not wanting to hurt her in any way. He couldn’t offer her anything. He couldn’t grant what they both desired most. But he could give her this one gift she asked for. He would make love to her and show her what it was like between people who . . . cared. The word whispered insidiously inside his mind, forcing him to acknowledge that on some level he did care deeply for Honor Cambridge.