“I’ll do better,” she promised. Losing Blade wasn't an option. Losing the rest of Delta Team wasn't either. If she had to pretend to be okay, she’d find a way to do it. There wasn't any other choice.
“No one expects you to.”
“I expect me to.”
Kicking open the door to his room, he carried her inside and set her down on the bed. Without speaking another word, he slipped off the fuzzy slippers she’d been wearing, then lifted her enough to tug her leggings down over her hips, pulling them down her legs. Taking her hands as though she was a child, he slipped her arms out of the sleeves of her sweater and then pulled it over her head, leaving her in just her panties. Taking her clothes, he carried them into his bathroom, and she assumed set them in the hamper before returning, minus his own clothes, tucking her under the covers, and sliding in beside her.
“Your arms.” She gasped when she saw the torn and bloody skin on his forearms. Had he been hurt and not told her? “What happened?”
“It’s nothing,” he said, brushing off her concerns as he climbed into bed beside her and settled her against him.
“It’s not. Tell me.”
He sighed, and she was sure he was going to refuse to answer, but then his hand began to stroke down the length of her spine. “Couldn’t handle losing you, darlin’.”
“You did this to yourself?” Trailing a fingertip along the smooth skin along the edge of the torn skin, her heart ached at the thought.
Blade shrugged. “Don’t want to live without you, darlin’.”
“I don’t want to live without you either,” she told him, pressing closer, determined to make sure her trauma didn't cost her this man.
“Your expectations for yourself are too high, darlin’,” he whispered as though he knew exactly where her thoughts had headed.
“They’re not,” she argued. “He only had me for a day. I should be able to hold it together.” Only she couldn’t, and proof of that was that her words ended on a choked sob.
Grabbing her under the armpits, Blade hauled her over so she was draped across him, her knees on either side of his thighs, his huge length, contained only by a pair of boxers, nestled against her center. Maybe it should have terrified her, given what Terry had done to her, but it didn't. The opposite, in fact. It reassured her, made her feel safe, because Blade had only given her pleasure, and he’d saved her from giving Terry Richards her first sexual experiences.
“It wasn't one day, darlin’. You’ve been held captive for more than half of your life. Dr. Gardner had me and my team for three years, and it messed us up. All of us. We all have nightmares about it, all struggle with anger. It’s why we’ve been pushing so hard for revenge. He had you four times as long as he had us. Four times, darlin’. I don’t think you’ve had any time yet to even begin to process the trauma you endured. There is no timeline to recover from trauma. I think deep down you know that.”
Those dark eyes of his seemed to see right down deep into her soul, and more tears welled in her eyes as she was unable to break away from the hold they seemed to have on her.
“I'm scared,” she whispered.
“Of what?” When she hesitated, the hands on her hips tightened. “Need you to be honest with me here, darlin’. It’s the only way we can get you the help you need to begin healing.”
“That if I don’t pull it together quickly enough, you're going to get tired of me because you're so strong and I'm so … not.”
A growl rumbled through the chest her hands were planted against, and then Blade’s hands were framing her face, and his lips crushed against hers, his tongue demanding entrance. Yielding to the kiss, Whitney let thought fly from her mind and instead focused only on the feel of Blade’s lips, his tongue, the fierce way he kissed her. So full of possession, and even though she’d basically been owned for over half her life, this ownership didn't feel stifling, it felt freeing.
“Do you honestly think most people could survive twelve years of being held prisoner? Spent some of their childhood, their entire adolescence, and into adulthood under someone else’s rule, and still have the ability to love and care about other people? Even after what I did to you.” Blade paused, drew in a deep, somewhat shaky breath, as he ran a finger along the healing wounds on her wrists. “You still gave me and my team everything you had to help us. You trusted me with your body, and you didn't give up on the knowledge that I would come for you.”
“I don’t know how to be a real person,” she admitted. “I don’t know how to get over what he did. I don’t know how to live freely. I don’t know how to believe that I'm not responsible for so many deaths when I am the one who originally created the drug.”
With another growl, Blade reclaimed his grip on her hips and spun her around, moving her body like it was nothing. Then his mouth was on her back, his lips and tongue worshiping every single mark branded into her skin.
Tears flowed freely, and this time Whitney didn't allow them to make her feel guilty or weak. Her tears were a real expression of all the years of pent-up pain that had been festering inside her.
“Make me come, Blade, please,” she whispered. After what had been done to her in that shipping container she probably should be terrified of the idea of anything to do with sex, but it was different with Blade. She needed him to cover her in his semen, wipe away the feel of that other man’s emissions on her skin.
Expecting him to protest, or at least confirm if she was sure, Blade just ripped her panties right off her body, leaving stinging marks behind on her skin. Whitney relished them, they made her feel alive and gave her an outlet for her mixed-up feelings.
He pushed inside her with a single thrust, and again she clung to the burning pain as her body stretched to accommodate him, letting it remind her that she was alive, in charge of her own destiny, and that she was choosing this.
Never again would anyone else control her life.
Fingers found her bud, playing with it, pushing her toward an orgasm. Blade’s thrusts became faster, harder, and she met him thrust for thrust. Pleasure built inside her, growing too big to contain, and then it burst into a fiery ball of white-hot liquid pleasure that consumed her.
Then she felt spurts of warmth squirt across her back and knew that even without her saying it out loud, Blade had somehow known that she needed to feelhissemen on her skin, and he’d chosen to put it on the marks that covered her back, a physical symbol of everything she’d suffered.
