Chapter 17 #2
“Because I lost them,” she goes on, and I relax a little, even as my heart clenches at her forlorn tone.
“I think there’s a part of me that’s been desperate for someone to take care of me for a long time.
And the idea that I’ve taken that desperation and turned it into a sexual kink…
it makes me feel shitty. Like there’s something wrong with me. ”
“Harper.” I shake my head. “We all want to be taken care of, in our own ways. That doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you.”
She’s quiet for a moment. “My last boyfriend—Jeremy—was an asshole,” she finally says, and I go tense again. “He treated me badly. Everyone could see it. I could even see it. But I stayed. I put up with it. Because it was better to be with someone, even someone who mistreated me, than to be alone.”
“Did he hurt you?” I ask, my voice low, barely controlled.
“Yes.”
Fuck. “Physically? He hit you?”
She looks away, nodding once, and the world goes red and hazy around me.
“Hey,” she murmurs, her hand on my face. It’s only then that I realize I’m half-sitting, my hands clenched into tight fists.
“What’s his last name?” I demand. “Where does he live?”
She shakes her head, smiling softly. “Why? You gonna go beat him up in the middle of the night?”
“Fuck yes I am,” I growl. Beating him up doesn’t even begin to cover it. I’m going to rip his fucking hands off for touching her.
“Don’t worry,” she says, voice soft and very sad. “Mason punched him when he found out.”
“Mason should have done a lot more than punch him.”
“I didn’t bring this up because I wanted you to leave me here in your bed in the middle of the night,” she points out. “I brought it up because it’s part of what freaks me out about our relationship.”
Horror erupts in my belly. “You think that this…what we do…you think it’s like what he did to you?”
Her eyes widen, like she’s scared of whatever expression she sees on my face.
“No. You’re nothing like him, Nate. Nothing.
” I search her eyes, trying to understand this.
“It’s me,” she whispers, shame in her voice.
“Did I stay with him for so long because I wanted to be treated badly? And is that the basis of my desire to be dominated and spanked? That I want to be hurt? That I think I deserve it?”
She shakes her head. “But I also realize that you don’t treat me badly, not at all. You take care of me, even when you’re spanking me.” Her smile is sad. “And that kind of ruins my theory, you know? Maybe I don’t crave all this kinky BDSM shit because I’m fucked up and think I deserve to hurt.”
“You’re not fucked up.”
Her smile looks a little less sad. “But that’s what I’ve always believed, Nate.
I believed the only reason I wanted this was because I was so screwed up.
I mean, my entire academic career is based on trying to understand why I want what I want.
And then you come along and make me doubt everything I ever thought. So it’s all very confusing in my head.”
I cup her face in my hands, unable to untangle the chaotic mess of feelings rushing through me.
I hate that she doubts herself, that she feels so much shame.
I’m horrified by the idea that she might think, even briefly, that my punishments are in any way related to how that fucking asshole touched her.
So horrified that I wonder if I’ll ever be able to put my hands on her again.
Which in turn makes me feel guilty, like I’m validating her own fears and shame.
Like I’m agreeing that her kinky desires are wrong in some way.
But one emotion grows larger than all of those.
Her insistence that I’m the one making her doubt that she’s screwed up.
That thought brings warmth to my chest, makes me want to protect and take care of her and show her, over and over again, that there’s nothing wrong with her.
To make her see herself as the perfect woman I see.
“Harper,” I whisper, my voice rough. I swallow several times, trying to get past the lump in my throat.
“I’m glad I make you doubt the idea that there’s something wrong with you.
I promise you that I will always make you doubt anything negative you might be thinking about yourself.
I will make it my mission to show you what I see when I look at you. ”
Her chocolate brown eyes are wide and I can see the need in them. “What do you see?” she whispers.
I bring her face to mine, kissing her softly, before pulling back to look into her eyes.
“I see so much strength. So much beauty. I see someone kind and insanely smart, dedicated and ambitious. Someone funny and sweet and sassy.” I shake my head.
“Someone brave enough to be vulnerable. To take chances and face fears and take risks to figure out what she wants.”
I kiss her again, kiss away the tears now slipping down her face. “You’re all I see anymore, Harper. You’re always in my thoughts.” In my heart, I think, but I’m too afraid to say it. Because I’m not nearly as brave as she is. “You fucking consume me. You’re…” I swallow again, unable to finish.
“Nate,” she manages, her voice thick with tears.
But I don’t let her go on. Because I need to make sure that she believes me, and there’s only one way I can think of to do that.
So I kiss her again, pulling her close, letting my hands roam down her skin.
I show her with my body what I can’t seem to say in words—that I’ve fallen for her, that I’m in way over my head.
That she’s quickly becoming everything to me.