Chapter 36
Thirty-Six
My fists are clenched so tight it hurts. I’m lying next to her, gripping the sheets like they’re the only thing keeping me grounded. I don’t know exactly what those bastards did to her—but whatever it was, they deserve to bleed for it. Badly. Goddamn it.
“Lay,” I rasp, swallowing hard. “I just… I need to—” How the hell do I tell her I need to touch her without hurting her? I’m scared to even breathe too loud.
“It’s all in my head, Ky,” she whispers. “I want it out… but my body’s not listening.” She exhales shakily. “Please. Just… touch me. Slowly.”
Her eyes flutter closed, and my fingers—trembling, cautious—trail down her arm and slip beneath the sleeve of her shirt, brushing against the soft curve of her collarbone. I inch closer, press my lips to her jaw, barely a kiss. She lets out a long breath.
“I’m here, sweetheart,” I murmur against her skin. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
Slowly, her body turns toward me, her hand sliding over my side and down my back. Shivers run down my spine as I pull her closer to me. “I’m so glad you’re back, that you’re okay. I want you to be okay, Lay.”
Her face, especially her eyes, holds only sadness; I see it in their dark-brown depths.
“I will be,” she whispers. “I’ll be okay.” A stray tear runs down her cheek and I kiss it away.
“I love you so much.” My voice is barely audible, but I know she hears me from the way she closes her eyes.
Suddenly, she sits up straight. Her hands go to the hem of her shirt and then she pulls it up over her head. As she lies back down, she pushes herself against me. “Please, touch me, Ky.”
I press my lips to her collarbone and drift down to the hollow at the base of her throat.
She moans softly as she says, “Let me forget, Ky.”
I claim her mouth, and when she opens to me, I tease her with a slow stroke of my tongue against hers.
A low growl rumbles from my chest as I lose myself in her—every kiss, every breath pulling me deeper.
My hands trail down her back, sliding along the curve of her sides until they find her breasts.
She exhales sharply, arching into my touch, pressing herself into my palms.
I brush my thumbs over her nipples, feeling her body respond, her head tipping back to offer me her neck.
I kiss the warm, flushed skin there, slow and reverent, tasting her. “I missed you,” I whisper against her throat, before tracing a path of kisses down to her chest.
I take one nipple into my mouth, gently sucking the sensitive peak, and her fingers tangle in my hair, tugging softly. When I move to the other, a quiet moan escapes her lips—breathy, needy—and it’s all I can do not to lose control.
She’s as wrapped up in this as I am, and God, that makes it even better.
My hard-on presses against her thigh. Slowly, I let my mouth wander down, kissing a path between her breasts to her navel, where I dip my tongue in briefly and let her gasp.
“You’re so beautiful,” I sigh against the waistband of her pajama bottoms. “Lift your hips for me, baby.”
She does what I ask, and I ease the fabric down over her hips, slow and careful. But the second my fingers brush the inside of her thighs, she goes rigid.
Fuck.
I pause instantly, then lean down and press a soft kiss to her hipbone. I feel the tension bleed out of her by inches.
“Layne?” My voice is quiet, rough. “Tell me what you need. How do I make this okay?”
“Keep going,” she whispers, voice barely there.
I lift my head and look at her. Her eyes are squeezed shut, lips tight, a deep frown carved into her forehead.
“No.”
“Go on,” she says again—firmer, but her voice cracks, and panic edges in.
“Layne, no.” I sit up straight, take her arm gently and tug, needing her to see me. “Look at me.”
When her eyes finally open, it’s like she’s being haunted. Whatever she’s remembering—it’s tearing her up inside.
I cup her face in my hand, my thumb brushing over her cheek. “What did they do to you?” I ask, voice low and shaking. “Please, baby. Talk to me.”
I study her face, every flicker of emotion, every shadow. I’m right here. And I’m not going anywhere until she knows that.
Her lashes flutter, and when she blinks, tears spill over. “We were hanging there…” Her voice is rough, like the words are tearing their way out.
I don’t say a thing—just nod, afraid that if I speak, she’ll shut down again.
“That guy…” she swallows hard, voice trembling. “He grabbed Norah. Said something about her breasts. How big they were. And after Jen… Vanderberg…”
She breaks. A sob shakes through her, and her hand drifts down, covering her stomach—then lower, over herself. The second her palm rests there, her whole body crumples. Her shoulders fold in on themselves, and a raw, broken sob rips from her chest.
The fury hits me like a freight train.
I launch off the bed, pacing the room like a caged animal. My fists clench at my sides, and I want to break something. “Goddamn it,” I growl through my teeth. “Is that all they—”
But she’s not even hearing me.
She’s curled into herself, shaking, her hands clutching at the sheets like she’s trying to disappear. Her head hangs low, hair hiding her face, and I swear I can feel her pain in my own chest.
I’m back at her side in an instant. I sit down, wrap my arms around her, pull her in tight and hold her like I can shield her from every memory, every nightmare.
“You’re safe now,” I murmur against her hair. “I’ve got you. It’s okay.”
Her voice is so small, I almost miss it. “Are you mad at me?”
I go still.
“What?” My heart stutters. I pull back just enough to see her face and gently tilt her chin up with my finger.
“Mad at you?” My voice cracks. “God, no. Never.”
Her lip trembles. “But… if I hadn’t run… maybe it wouldn’t have happened.” She wipes at her cheek, smearing tears. “He was touching me… and I didn’t stop him,” she whispers, like the shame is swallowing her whole.
I stare at her, completely wrecked. And I want to find that motherfucker who made her feel this way and end him.
“No,” I say, voice fierce but low. “You didn’t do anything wrong. He did. Don’t you dare carry that weight.” I pull her back into me, tighter this time, like maybe I can hold all her broken pieces together if I just don’t let go.
“Lay… maybe you shouldn’t have run, but I should’ve told you more. That’s on me too.”
I exhale hard and pull her against my chest, holding her like she might disappear if I let go.
“And what he did? That’s not your fault.
None of it is. You were hanging on a fucking meat hook—what the hell could you have done?
” The words burn in my throat as they come out, my jaw clenched so tight it aches.
I swallow the fire rising in me, but one question claws its way to the surface. “Did he…” My voice breaks. “Did he go inside you? In any way?” I can’t say it out loud. I can’t. If he touched her like that—
I don’t even know what I’d do.
But Layne needs me here, not lost in rage. I breathe in, force myself to focus.
“No,” she whispers. “The other guy told him not to mess with the merchandise. Then someone came in whispering about you guys. Jen started screaming and then he shot…”
She swallows hard.
Ericssen.
That bastard. That sick fuck also touched them—Norah, Jen, Isobel. Layne. I shut my eyes and breathe through the storm threatening to break loose inside me.
Not now. This isn’t about vengeance. This is about her.
“Jesus, Layne,” I whisper, voice raw. “If it’s up to me, no one will ever touch you like that again. Do you hear me?”
Before she can answer, I lift her wrist and press a kiss to the inside of it. Slowly, reverently, I trail kisses down her arm, giving her every second to pull away if she wants to.
When I reach her breasts, I take her nipple into my mouth, licking and sucking gently, letting her set the pace, giving her space to stop me at any time. I move to the other, giving it the same attention, and her moan cuts straight through me.
“I won’t hurt you, baby,” I murmur against her skin. “If you want me to stop—just say the word.” I suck a little harder, and she gasps, her hips lifting.
Releasing her with a soft pop, I meet her gaze. “But I know you like this,” I say, my voice low and steady. “And I’d never do a damn thing you don’t want.” I brush my tongue over her other nipple and gently nip it, feeling her body respond.
Then her hands frame my face, firm and sure. She forces me to look at her. “Let me forget,” she says again, and before I can speak, she kisses me—deep and full of need.
Everything else fades.
It’s just Layne and me. My mouth on her skin, her breath in my ear, her body pressed to mine.
There are moments when she stiffens, like shadows brush across her memories, but I slow down, shift, follow her lead.
I roll us gently so she’s on top, giving her control, giving her space. “Take what you need, baby,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “Take me.”
Because right now, this isn’t about what I want. This is about showing her she’s safe. That she owns this moment.
And I’ll give her everything—on her terms. Always.
Her throat bobs as she swallows, and then her hand slides slowly down my chest. Lower. Until her fingers wrap around my shaft, and I groan, head tipping back for just a second before I lean in and press a kiss to her throat.
My tongue grazes her skin, tasting the salt of her sweat, and she exhales—a deep, aching sound that tells me she needs this as much as I do.
She shifts, steady and careful, and then lowers herself onto me. Inch by inch, she takes me in, her body trembling as she sinks down until I’m buried deep inside her.
It hits me like a wave—hot, overwhelming, home.
Her warmth surrounds me, grips me, and I moan, loud and unfiltered.
“Fuck, Layne,” I rasp, voice shredded with need. “You feel so damn good.” My hands find her hips, sliding down to cup her ass, guiding her as she moves.