About halfway through, we shift to the couch after clearing the dishes and making a bowl of popcorn sprinkled with powdered sugar—Lake’s favorite salty, sweet snack.
“I don’t think I said it, but thank you for coming, Saint.”
She cuddles into my side without another look, and we watch quietly as another round of snow begins falling outside the window behind the TV. I’m not accustomed to such intimate moments like this, but I imagine that if Lake finds her reason to live, there will be many more nights like this in our future.
The movie comes to an end, snow continues to fall, and the glow of the fire plays across Lake’s flesh like my own personal show. “There’s a hot tub out back.” She freezes at my words, her scarred flesh coming between us. “I set up some feed around the property to draw some wildlife. I thought you might enjoy that.”
Turning sideways, she sits on her knees to get a good look at me and says, “You’ve seen my scars already.” I nod. “I don’t have to hide from you.” I confirm for her again. “Will you go in naked with me?” Was not expecting that.
“I will.” Choking on the words, my dick begins to creep up, and I resist the urge to punch it down. She doesn’t need that right now.
“Sex terrifies me.” Understandably. “But you won’t hurt me.” I’d kill myself before harming Lake. “I want to feel your body…a man’s body…in a pleasurable way.” I’m not about to argue, but I wonder if she’s ready for that.
“We can do whatever you want, sweet haven.” She holds all the control.
She nods and gets to her feet. Her eyes gloss over in a way that worries me. Is she really focused on her request, or has the fear penetrated her bravery?
“We don’t have to,” I say as I stand.
Shaking her head, Lake places her hands on my chest, and the pleasure from the basic act is like a balm to my soul. “I don’t have a lot of desires, Saint. Let me have this. Please.”
It’s the subdued “please” at the end that does me in.
CHAPTER 10
Lake
Am I pushing myself too far?
Possibly.
But I’ll never know my limits if I don’t test them, and there’s no safer person for me than Saint Rivers. I’m so tired of constantly being afraid. Worried my captors will show up and cause more harm. Frightened that my loved ones will find me as disgusting as I find myself. The only way to change my mindset is to be the change I want to see.
While Saint readies the hot tub, I’m in the bedroom staring at my naked reflection in the mirror. Finally taking my therapist’s advice and choosing one thing I like about myself. The scars may be a horrid reminder of that night, but before then, I used to appreciate how I looked. This cluster of moles on my hip used to make me smile.
Focusing on them before sweeping my eyes from my feet to my head, I analyze everything in between. My peach-painted toenails with little palm trees on the big toes that made me happy to do them. The dimples in my knees that are less pronounced because it’s been challenging to keep weight on. My thighs now have a gap between them, which isn’t terrible, but I remember when they used to rub together, and I’m not sure how to feel.
The small patch of curly blonde hair hiding my sex is neatly trimmed and not too thick. I wonder if Saint will touch me there, or if he’ll hate the hair? Don’t men like it shaved?
Shaking the thought away, I force myself to ignore the scars on my stomach and chest, instead zeroing in on my perky breasts. No matter what, they’ve remained a solid C-cup. Sitting high on my chest, my nipples peak from the chill in the air, pointing in a slight upward curve as I realize they’re almost the same color as my peach nail polish. The areolas are what I consider a large circle. Is that enticing to men? Or do they like smaller? I wish I knew more about what men desire. Although Saint is the only man I’ll ever worry about. Because even if I can’t have him, I’ll never want someone else.
Glimpsing upward, my collarbones are pronounced, and I think about getting a tattoo. Maybe some leafy vines with black birds in flight, signifying freedom from my past, even if I don’t feel it yet. My eyes then drop down to the scars, and I wonder if tattoos would cover those up as well. Could that be a way to create beauty out of the ugliness I’m faced with every day? Saint has hundreds of tattoos. I think I’ll ask him about it.
With a slight turn, I inspect my booty. Perky like my breasts, but not as large. Is it too much? I don’t think so. Even post-assault, men have admired my body. Thing is, I never wanted their attention. I didn’t even want Saint’s, but over the last couple of years, watching my best friends and family find love amidst their perceived flaws has made me want that too.
The love and devotion. Respect from a partner who knows the trauma I’ve been through and has no trouble accepting me as I am. I realize Saint can and will give me that. He always has. I was just too wrapped up in my grief to accept it.
Lifting the knitted robe Saint gifted me a few years ago for my birthday, I slide it on, tie it up, and slip my feet into the matching slippers.
I hear Saint enter through the back door, below the loft. How did I miss a hot tub? It might have been in the cabin description, but I wasn’t paying attention to anything but getting away.
Ambling down the stairs, the living room fireplace still blazes, the snow continues to fall, though not as heavily, and the rest of the cabin is quiet except for the noises Saint makes. My mouth waters as I spot the steaming cups of hot chocolate and fudge he’s carrying before he notices me.
“Saint?” He stops, turns, and his forest-colored eyes roam the length of my body. Seeing me in things he bought for me brings pleasure to his face. “Do you need help?”
“No,” he groans.
“I’d like to help.” I haven’t done anything for him since he arrived. He’s done all the cooking and planning.
