But the bastard who raped me took…
Too damned much.
“Sometimes I wish he was dead,” I admit. “But then I have a nightmare or”—I dare to meet his eyes again—“there’s a man I want to get closer to and the terror takes over and I know that it wouldn’t matter if he was dead or in prison, he’d still be here.” I tap my temple.
The rage in Colt’s gaze…it sends my pulse skittering.
But his voice, when it finally comes long moments later, is gentle.
So damned gentle I want to crawl into his lap…and then swat at his chest, reminding him that I’m not fragile.
Except, I kind of am.
No.
Not kind of.
I’m fragile. I’m breakable. I’m?—
“A survivor,” Colt says gently. “You’re here. You’re alive. You’ve built a life, friendships. You didn’t let it destroy you, starfire.”
I inhale. “It doesn’t feel that way.”
He nudges my foot with his. “But that doesn’t change the truth.”
“The truth that I’ve never had an orgasm that I didn’t give myself?” I blurt. “That I’ve never felt pleasure from a man’s touch because I was a fucking virgin before he raped me and now I’m too scared to try again?”
He freezes.
Then he bursts to his feet.
It’s so sudden I flinch back, my head colliding with the cabinets.
“Fuck,” he hisses. He lifts a hand, eyes mournful. “Kylie, I—” A sigh. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”
Then he’s gone, striding from the kitchen and into the hall, the front door closing with a firm click behind him.
Closing my eyes, I drop my forehead back against my knees.
Well, I royally screwed this up, didn’t I?
Dinner and conversation and feeling lighter than I had in years to…
Huddled in a ball on the kitchen floor, trying not to cry.
Yup.
Go me.
Sighing, I sit there for a few more moments, waiting until the stinging in my eyes subsides. Then I gather my strength. Prepare to stand.
I have papers to grade, a lunch to make for tomorrow.
An appointment to make to get my tire?—
“How can I help?”
Gasping, my head flies up, and I see Colt standing in the doorway.
