I’m perverted, broken. Something is deeply wrong with me, and it’s not just because of the masked man’s attack.
My body only finds this thrilling pleasure in moments of violation. My instinctive fear response makes me wet when I should be screaming for mercy.
Consensual sex has always been a painful experience for me; I’m too tense to accept a man, and my inner muscles won’t soften to accommodate a cock. But when I’m forced…
I shake my head, throwing off the terrible thoughts and disentangling my hair from Dane’s grip.
He releases me so quickly that I think I must’ve imagined the tightening of his strong fingers as part of my perverted fantasy. He allows me to step away and gasp in a breath of cool air.
“What’s wrong?” His low rumble is a touch gravelly this time, roughened by a dark emotion I don’t fully understand. Frustration? Disapproval? Residual lust?
My gaze fixes on the red abstract painting again. He might see some of the sickness in my soul if I allow him to look into my eyes.
“Sorry,” I murmur. “It’s too public here.”
I fumble over the almost-lie. It’s not entirely untrue that I don’t want to have a full panic attack in the gallery. But Dane will think I’m talking about disliking public displays of affection.
“What if I want people to see?” he counters, his voice dropping to the deep register that seems to thrum through me. “What if I want every man to know that you’re with me?”
Anxiety tightens my muscles, even as my core pulses for him.
Dane clearly likes control, and that prospect intrigues me as much as it scares me. I could so easily melt for this man, but he’s far too cultured and refined to understand the darkest parts of me.
Gathering my wits, I force my lips to curve at the corners.
He lifts my hand and brushes a featherlight kiss over my knuckles. The gesture is almost reverent, and my heart skips a beat. His intense attention is gratifying and more addictive than anything I’ve ever experienced, even though I’m still reeling from the awful flashback of the attack.
“More later,” he promises.
Desire is still pulsing between my legs, and sweat beads on my brow. I crave more time with Dane, but I need space to breathe without his alluring scent threading through my senses. The horrific, cloying scent of amber cologne still seems to saturate the air, warring with his.
“I have to go,” I announce. “You don’t need to walk me home.”
He frowns. “It’s dark. I’ll escort you.”
“It’s East Bay Street,” I counter. “And my walk home is well-lit. I’ve never had a problem before.”
“You were robbed this afternoon,” he reminds me. “I’ll feel better if I know you’re safe.”
My heart flutters even as my stomach turns. I want to be a good match for this protective, white knight of a man. I have to master my sick reaction to our kiss before I can spend more time with him.
“I really need to go. I have that early shift.”
A muscle barely flutters in his jaw, but it smooths quickly.
“All right,” he concedes, even though his eyes are still burning with dark green fire. “But I want you to text me when you get home.”
My brow furrows. “Why?”
He blows out a soft sigh and offers me that indulgent smile. “Is it so difficult to accept that I want to know you’re safe? I want to take care of you, Abigail. Let me.”
My heart tugs with longing. No one has taken care of me in years. Possibly ever, if I examine the truth too closely. I’ve been on my own for so long, resolutely standing on my own two feet. The prospect of leaning on Dane for support is terribly tempting.
“I can take care of myself,” I say, but the assertion isn’t sharp with resentment. I’m touched by his concern, even if I can’t allow myself the moment of weakness. “But thank you for caring about my safety.”
“I never said you aren’t capable of taking care of yourself,” he replies smoothly. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I want to. Trust me, Abigail. I will never hurt you.”
I glance away from his x-ray gaze, hiding my secrets from him.
