Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 129408 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129408 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
Because it was real.
“You’re beautiful,” I rasped, looking into his ocean eyes, communicating the same thing as he had to me. I didn’t just mean the V pointing to his amazing erect penis. Or the powerful thighs. Or the sculpted biceps.
No, it was that thing inside him. The soul that wasn’t all good, like I’d thought it was. The flecks of black that rippled through it somehow made it more than pure innocence and goodness could.
He reached out to trail across my collarbone and then downward, tracing down the side of my body until he reached my panties on my hip.
“Been dreaming of doin’ that for as long as I care to remember,” he whispered.
I swallowed the sandpaper of desire at my throat from not just his touch but from his admission.
That I wasn’t the only one battling this, thinking about this for years.
The desire that threatened to overwhelm me was polluted the second his finger hooked into the edge of my panties, intending to bring them down.
My hand was a blur as it moved to circle his wrist in a violent grip.
Even though I was strong, that movement in itself wouldn’t have stopped Luke. But the gesture did.
His hand stopped moving and his eyes locked on mine.
Filth settled over me as I remembered the last man who forced his way in there. The knowledge that my most private place wasn’t my own. I wasn’t my own gatekeeper anymore. I didn’t have control over who went inside my body.
I nearly collapsed under the weight of the memory. Of that realization.
There had never been a wider chasm of how dirty I was and how clean Luke was. Because I was now. Because of the choices I’d made in a man, in a life, I’d dirtied myself, inside and out.
Luke went granite as I spiraled and started to shake.
I waited for anger, fury, as I could taste it in the air. And even though I was used to anger and fury, I was terrified of the onslaught. I’d never survive it. I’d shatter in a thousand pieces if I had to face that.
So I braced to be shattered, and then he pulled me gently into his arms. Like he knew how close I was to breaking. Like he would never let that happen.
And I let him. I burrowed into the safety of his embrace.
“He didn’t r-rape me,” I stuttered, my voice weak and foreign.
Luke’s body was marble beneath me.
“Just so you know. He didn’t rape me,” I repeated, either to Luke or to myself, I wasn’t quite sure. “He didn’t quite… get there.”
Then my body, like my voice, started to shake.
He kissed my hair. “You’re okay, Rosie. I promise. You’re okay.” He stroked my back, his touch light. Then, carefully, he pulled me back just enough so our eyes met. “I know what he did made you feel like you’re not clean. Gave way to some fucked-up reasoning that it’s somehow your fault. I’m here to tell you, to promise you, that none of that shit is true,” he said. “I’m here to remind you that you’re beautiful and clean on the inside. Always have been. Always will be.”
He let go of me with one hand to open the shower door.
“I’m gonna get you clean on the outside first,” he said, walking me into the shower with my panties on.
The hot spray burst onto my chilled skin, shocking it numb for a second until Luke stood under the bulk of it, pulling me into his arms.
We stood like that for a while. I didn’t know how long.
Then he cleaned me.
On the outside, at least.
And that was the only place he could.
Because no matter how certain he’d sounded before, I wasn’t clean on the inside. Not after what happened. Not before, either. And before the story of us was concluded, I’d be tarnished more than ever.
Chapter Eleven
I awoke feeling like shit. Not an unusual occurrence since I liked to party hard, and partying hard meant hangovers.
And I also had experience of being punched, being in a car accident, and almost being blown up—and I knew waking up the day after was not fun.
But that morning was like all of those experiences packaged into one. Everything hurt. My eyeballs hurt. My ribs screamed. My cheek was on fire, the skin stretched uncomfortably tight over the bone, pulling at my face.
But that wasn’t the worst of it. It was the wounds inside that worked to push against my lungs, chain me to the bed with the force of my pain.
My shame.
Kevin’s fingers were inside me once more, shredding me, dirtying me, defiling me.
I clenched my teeth against the tears that wanted to fall, the scream yearning to escape from my throat.
I didn’t for a lot of reasons, a big one being the smell of coffee and the sound of life coming from the direction of my kitchen. My kitchen rarely had sounds of life coming from it, unless it was the blender making margaritas. And since Bex moved out, there was never sounds of life coming anywhere that wasn’t from me.