Page 116 of Resist

“Why’s that?”

“Because your body tensed up, your fingers started twitching like you were trying to make a point, and because you’re thinking so hard I swear I can hear you.”

“Whatever,” I murmur and tug on his mussed-up hair.

“You want to talk about it?”

“No.” I part laugh, part shake my head.

“That doesn’t sound very convincing to me.” He turns his head so that his chin is on my belly button, but his eyes find mine through the near-darkness of the room.

“Mmm.”

“Does it have anything to do with why you left the other night?” And when my breath catches, he knows it somehow does. He just nods ever so slowly, his eyes compassionate. “Well, I’m just going to turn my head here and face the wall. Maybe if I’m not looking at you, you won’t feel so self-conscious, and you’ll tell me . . . although you can’t get more vulnerable than lying naked with someone, but . . . who am I to say that?”

I can hear the playfulness in his tone. I can appreciate the fact that he’s trying to give me a chance to talk to him, to explain the why behind all of my actions.

Do I want to tell him and ruin the incredible moment we’ve shared? No. Absolutely not. But for the sake of whatever this is here between us, whatever I could have sabotaged and ruined with my secrecy, I know I need to.

“I know I owe you an explanation.”

“It can wait.”

And that simple comment, letting me know I can do whatever I need to do on my own time, is enough that I want to tell him.

“No, it can’t. And it’s silly that I’m letting it affect me . . . us, but when you’re slammed with something so unexpected, it kind of messes you up for a bit.”

“Mm-hmm.” It’s all he says, his way of letting me know he’ll listen while I talk. He runs his finger over the birthmark just on the inside of my wrist and traces it softly as I build up my courage.

“I told you that my uncle was mean, but I didn’t quite understand it fully. Maybe I did. Maybe I just didn’t want to acknowledge the truth.” I sigh, and his fingers find my hand resting on the bed and link with mine in reassurance. “All I knew was that as soon as we could, Samantha got us out of that house in the dead of night. We rode the bus as far as the Greyhound line would take us with the money we had and a few things we had of his to pawn.”

“Where did you end up?”

“Atlantic City.” I can feel his body jolt ever so slightly in recognition of where I went that night. “There were things I didn’t know, things I couldn’t remember, and Samantha opted not to tell me. She tried to protect me from them all. What I didn’t realize is what extents she went to in order to do that.”

“She loved you.”

“She did,” I muse. “What you don’t understand is that sex has always been mechanical for me. It’s always been an unpleasurable necessity. If I thought I liked a guy, I’d have sex with him, not because I wanted to, but because I knew that’s what you had to do to keep a boyfriend. It’s so hard to put into words.”

“I get it,” he murmurs. “It’s what you thought everyone did, and so you did it because if you didn’t, then—”

“Then there was something wrong with me.” My voice is barely a whisper.

“Vaughn—”

“No, it’s okay.” I run my nails through his hair and continue. “There is definitely a lot wrong with me . . . but ironically not the things I thought. You see, that first night in the hotel with you—”

“As Saxony.”

“Yes, as Saxony. Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?” I laugh.

“It’s not ridiculous if I’m lying here between your thighs talking to you right now.”

“True.” I take in a deep breath. “There was something about you . . . you made me feel. You made me want. You made me desire. You made me want to have sex and an orgasm. And oh my God, I’m blushing even saying that out loud.”

“Don’t blush. You’re inflating my ego.” He chuckles, trying to add levity to my truth.

“Whatever.” I tap him on the head, and he kisses my abdomen. “Just as I realized that there was so much more to this sex thing, I had these flashbacks. My uncle’s hand on my mouth.” Ryker’s body tenses, and when he turns to look at me, I keep my hand on his head and murmur, “Uh-uh.” I need to do this without him looking at me. “His weight on me. I freaked . . . as you know. I accused you of being a fumbling jerk, and all the while I was racking my brain trying to figure out where these memories came from before I ran from the hotel room. I mean, the dread in my stomach told me what I couldn’t remember. It scared the shit out of me and made sense all at the same time. I got home, scrubbed my skin off because I could feel him on me . . . and then I scoured the diaries my sister left behind for any clue to support these sudden memories.”