Chapter 23
The gentle way he touched me bespoke of reassurance.
His fingers glided along my skin, igniting want and need in their wake.
He pushed a little deeper, past the resistance of my innocence and into the center of my heat, and I knew I was dreaming…
dreaming of the night Ian made love to me for the first time. The one and only time.
I cried out, overcome by him filling me, pressing into me, devouring me.
Never before had I dreamed so vividly in life-like detail.
His skin slid against mine, hot and damp, and something beyond the physical touched me.
Maybe it was the way he trembled as he grasped my hands and held them to the mattress, as if he needed to hold on to something to keep from coming apart.
We hadn’t needed words. The brush of our lips, the tender union of tongues, the claiming sensation of his thrusts—the way we came together said more than words ever could.
The dream evaporated, and as the light of day seeped behind my lids, I recalled how the morning after—so many years ago—I’d ended up puking.
I’d puked every morning after that for a few weeks.
My eyelids fluttered open, the dream still a tickle at my conscious mind, and he was looking straight at me.
The previous evening came flooding back.
Oh my God…had I really begged him to take me to his place?
Or even worse…had I let some random stranger stick his tongue down my throat?
“I’m sorry about last night. I shouldn’t have called you.” I should have called a cab and fallen into bed alone, but now here we were, seven years later.
“Don’t apologize for calling me. I’m glad I was there. You weren’t exactly in the best part of town.”
I avoided his eyes and inspected the nasty scrapes covering my knuckles. “I was in a bad place, and I’m not talking about the area of town.”
“You don’t deserve what he’s done.” He rolled to his back and sighed. “I wish I knew what to say or do, but I don’t. I don’t know how to handle this…”
The memory of what Gage had put us through hit me square in the chest, and I wondered if the impact would ever lessen with time. If I could withstand the humiliation of that, then last night shouldn’t bother me. “We should talk about it.”
“I know.”
I didn’t know what to say either. He’d basically been raped—if not by force, then by threat—and I couldn’t help but obsess over the fact that he’d managed to reach orgasm with Katherine.
That alone was messed up on so many levels, as I’d learned firsthand how someone could coax pleasure from an unwilling participant if they put some effort into it.
I closed my eyes, but the memory of them together still burned like a scorching brand on my mind and heart.
His torment had shone from his gaze, but then he’d shuttered his expression and had moaned right along with her, if only for a moment.
“I don’t want you to feel ashamed about it, Kayla.”
Had he pretended it was me? Maybe that was the one question I wanted answered, only I didn’t know how to ask, so I remained silent.
“I hate that you paid the price for saying my name, but I don’t think I would’ve been able to…
do what he demanded if you hadn’t.” He rolled over and faced me, close enough to breathe the same air.
“I thought of you and that was enough to send me over the edge. I want you to know I wasn’t with her—every part of me was with you. ”
I couldn’t resist kissing him. To hell with the consequences, to what was right and wrong. Getting involved with him was cruel and irresponsible, but I couldn’t fight the draw of him. He was my safety net, and I was falling headfirst toward concrete.
I hoped he was strong enough to catch me, because in that moment I was fresh out of strength.
For a few stolen moments, we lost ourselves in each other, our mutual moans the only sounds louder than my thumping heartbeat. Trapped underneath his body, I found freedom. We finally came up for air, and he dropped his forehead against mine.
“Kayla…” His breath caressed my lips, and I parted them, wanting more of him. “I want you so badly right now.”
“I want you too. That hasn’t changed from last night.”
He closed his eyes. “But sobriety has brought back reason.”
Sobriety had brought back a lot of things. “Yeah.” If we gave into our desire now, I might never know for certain, and I couldn’t move on with him until I knew it was for the right reasons.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand, and one glance told me it was Gage.
I questioned why I didn’t just ignore the call—I had called in sick for a few days, after all.
But the reasons were complicated, a mess of convoluted truth I didn’t want to deal with.
Power still tipped in his favor; in the way I submitted to him, in the way I was compelled to answer simply because he called.
And with four terse words that formed a demand, he had me sliding out of bed.
“Come into the office.”