“Do I seem turned off to you?”
She shakes her head, her hips tentatively moving against my own. “No.”
I grab her hand and move it over the right side of my ribs where there are two indents deep enough to pucker the skin. “Do I seem ugly to you?”
She blinks as her fingers poke at the stab marks. “Of course not.”
Come on, Ellie, use that big brain of yours to make the direct parallel.“Beauty isn’t found in perfection, Eleanor, it’s found in the story of survival written in your soul. You have a good heart and dedicate your life to protecting others, against the odds. Do I wish you’d never experienced the pain and trauma? Of course. I desperately wish I could’ve shielded you from all of it, but you’re the woman you are today because you survived.So no, I don’t think you are ugly. I think you are extraordinary.”
She stares at my face, harder and more intense than I’ve ever experienced before. It flays me to the bone, stripping me bare of any armor, but I don’t fight it. She weighs me up, coming to whatever conclusion she needs. Either she will want me for all that I am, or I will spend my life persuading her I am the right person for her. Either way, she is mine. It’s too late for us now; there’s no turning back.
“Tell me why you call me Eleanor, Ellie, and trouble.”
My lips curl upward. Ever the analyst. If she doesn’t understand something, she simply asks. It’s refreshing, if not a little jarring. “Eleanor is when I need your attention; it’s formal, a quiet demand for you to listen to my words and break you out of your spiraling thoughts.”
She purses her lips as she remembers the different occasions I have used her full name and nods, accepting my explanation.
“I use Ellie when I’m teasing. It’s a little more playful. A softer, more friendly familiarity between us. An unspoken understanding. Friendship.”
“Are we friends?” she wonders.
“We are.” She sucks in a breath as I lift my hands and dig them into her hair before pulling her down so our lips are almost touching. “As for trouble, well, it’s unlike anything you’ve been called before. It’s my way of reminding you I want to do things to your body that make you scream my name. A little secret between us, because you enjoy causing a little chaos in my world.”
She melts against me as soon as our lips touch, like putty in my hands. I have this sense of pride that I, Hunter King, am the only one capable of making her mindless with desire. She’s been clear she’s had partners, albeit lackluster, but finding pleasure in those encounters is something she has not experienced before. Everything she’s experiencing with me is completely new, and my heart twists knowing we’ll get to share so many firsts.
She pulls away and leans her head on my chest, over my heart. I sweep my hands over her back, feeling at peace with her in my arms despite the heaviness of our morning confession. “Are you okay?”
Her fingers trace over the tattoo on my chest. I’m waiting for her to ask me to bare my soul. She’s done the same for me, so it’s only fair, and for the first time, I want to share my shameful burden with a woman.
“We weren’t allowed to feel pleasure,” she whispers, her fingers stilling against my tattoo.
I force myself to stay absolutely still as she reveals a little more of her history, of what has shaped her into the woman she is today. Abuse doesn’t rule you, and you don’t have to let it define you, but acknowledgement of its impact on your life is the only way to repair the damage. Until last night, she hadn’t found a way to move past it. The weight on my chest is suddenly twice as heavy as my fingers dig into the strength of her back.She trusts me with her mind and body. Now I have to work on her heart.
“We were punished for any perceived attraction and had daily lessons from a young age that sex, for the woman, was a way to bear children while it was an act of pleasure for the man.”
I hold her a little tighter, sharing my strength if she chooses to need it. “You don’t have to talk about it, but I am here to listen without judgment.”
“I’ve never told anyone, not even Gail, the full extent of what happened.”
“These are your experiences, Eleanor, your private thoughts. Only share what you feel comfortable with. But in my experience, verbalizing the memories is a great way of excising them. It’s the last step of accepting that something horrific happened, but you survived.”
“I want to tell you,” she whispers. “But I think I need to do it in small doses.”
So she doesn’t get overwhelmed. I understand, and I wonder if she realizes the monumental step she’s taken trusting someone with this raw wound.
Charlie jumps back onto the bed and slides in next to me before laying his head on my shoulder and staring at Eleanor. She lifts her hand from my heart with a small smile and gives him some ear scratches which he laps up. It’s a perfect bubble, one I’m desperate to stay in for as long as possible.
My phone rings with a distinct tone that makes my heart stop in my chest. If it was anyone else, I would ignore it, but while the woman in front of me needs my support, the one on the end of that call needs it even more. I already failed her once, and I swore to myself I’d never do it again.
I keep Eleanor pinned to my chest as I reach to the bedside table and grab my cell.
“Hunter King,” I answer.
“She’s having an episode, Mr. King. We need you to come in.”
I squeeze my eyes closed. Bad fucking timing, but I will always answer this call. “Give me an hour.”
I end the call and Eleanor lifts her head and rests her chin on my chest. I want to explain and let her in, but I need a little more time first. And I have to prepare to see the only other woman who holds a piece of my heart.
