“Regardless of the way you were conceived, your mother loved you. I’m sure of it. Anyone can look at that picture in the library and see it in the loving way she’s cuddling you in her arms.” You don’t see that when you look at the pictures of my mom holding Adam and me. She looksmiserable.
“I’m sickened by what he did to her. Ashamed that I’m the result of his vile act against her. But mostly, I hate that you know how damaged Iam.”
I move over and sit on top of him, forcing him to look at me. “You are not damaged, Tristan Broussard. Not even a little. You areperfect.”
He breathes in deeply, his chest expanding and then slowly deflating. “Not only am I the son of a rapist, I’m the result of incest. A brother raping his sister. That’s beyond fuckedup.”
“Your parentage doesn’t defineyou.”
“But it must to some degree.” His hands move to my hips, gripping them tightly. “I saw you, wanted you, took you against your will, and forced you to stay and be my submissive. Normal people don’t do things likethat.”
I can’t believe that he used the wordnormal. He hates that word, but even more, he hates comparing himself to what the world sees asnormal.
“Look at all of the wicked things I enjoy doing to you,bebelle.”
“You don’t do anything that I don’t want you to do. I love everything that we experience together.” I can’t imagine going back to ordinary sex. And I can’t imagine sex with anyone else now. Tristan is the only man I want.Ever.
His hands follow my bent legs to my knees, and he rubs the other sides of my thighs up and down. “You’re young and beautiful and sweet and innocent, filled with so much light. You’re like an angel… and I enjoy hurting you. Your pain feeds my addiction. What does that tell you aboutme?”
“I enjoy the hurt, Tristan. I craveit.”
“You enjoy the hurt because with it comes pleasure. I’ve conditioned you to enjoy it. That makes me a monster, just likehim.”
I once thought Tristan was a monster. But I was wrong. So verywrong.
I lean down, pressing my forehead to his. “You are not a monster, and you are not like him. Don’t you dare give that anotherthought.”
“Oh, bebelle.” He sighs and a deep groan rumbles in his chest. “I’m not looking forward to it, but I have to confronthim.”
“I’ll go with you if you like.” I want to support Tristan in any way that he feels he needs me. His seeing that I am here for him and that I’m not going to run because we hit a bump in the road is essential for ourrelationship.
“I don’t want you there in case things gobadly.”
“Go badly how?” I’ve seen Tristan’s temper. It isn’tpretty.
“That all depends on how he responds. And if he has anything else derogatory to say aboutyou.”
“You plan on defending myhonor?”
“I will always defend your honor, bebelle.Always.”
Always implies that we have a future. A future beyond pulling thatkey.
We agreed on allowing fate to determine our time together. But what if we want more? More beyond the repayment of mydebt?
I do. I want more. A lotmore.
But doeshe?
2
Tristan Broussard
I findmy father working in his office. I stand in the doorway studying him before he notices me and damn, I see how much I look like him. It isn’t only the light blue eyes and dark hair flecked with gray. We’re also the exact same height. Same body build. Although his is thinner and grayer, my hairline is identical to his. Our hands are even the same shape. What I don’t know is how I didn’t see the abundance of similaritiesbefore.
Most people weren’t aware that my uncle had adopted me when I was a baby. They often commented on our similarities, saying how much I looked likemy father. It’s not unheard of for a boy to favor his mother’s brother. I believed that was why we were so similar, so I let the comments go without further thought. But it all makes sense to menow.
Fuck, I have considered this man to be my father for my entire life. And now, I learn that he really is but could never truly claim me as hisown.
