“You were a child,” he repeated, more forcefully. His jaw was clenched. His whole body vibrated with anger, with energy, but I felt just the opposite, strangely deflated. I had almost, almost been able to keep this a secret from myself. If I just didn’t think about it, I didn’t have to know the truth.
“That’s why I told on him. To punish him for going to other children instead of me. I knew…I knew other kids were getting hurt, but I said nothing. Not until I was jealous.” I spat the final word, disgusted with myself. Bitterness thickened my voice. “He knew, too. My dad. That was what he said to me the last time I saw him. In jail. ‘I should’ve killed you too.’”
In the span of a second, Hennessey grabbed me. Crushed me against his chest, his arms hurting, his chest comforting. Oh God. I was so fucking crazy. He was never going to want to be with me now. I’d lost more than just my fake sanity. I’d lost him.
Still, I closed my eyes and let him hold me. I pretended he’d stay with me after this. I pretended he wouldn’t tell the Bureau I couldn’t work there anymore because I was insane and awful and broken inside. It would be a relief, in a way, for everyone to finally see the monster within. A relief to admit it to myself.
Every time I’d dreamed of someone hurting me, it hadn’t been because I didn’t know how it would feel. It was because I did know how it felt, and I wanted to have it again. The fear and the pain. It had become a drug for me in my formative years, and the addiction had never gone away. Never would.
I’d pretended to be normal for years, wished for it, but even as I stood in front of a man who could give that to me, I’d ruined it. A man who had built his career, his life around putting people in jail wouldn’t want a woman who had let a criminal go unchecked for so long. Being a child didn’t excuse me. Being a victim didn’t either. But just for tonight, I wanted to pretend. Another form of lying, but it was all I had left.
I moved against him, the slightest undulation to change the shape of our embrace. My breasts were already against his chest, tucked between my arms, and I rubbed them on him like a cat, marking him with my scent.
Turning my head, I kissed his chest, reveling in the coarse hairs that tickled my lips. He was strong where I was soft, rough where I was smooth. Distilled into the essence of masculinity and reformed in my arms, hard and pulsing. I wanted to hold him like this forever, to map every hollow and callus on his body, but there wasn’t time for that. This wasn’t a leisurely exploration; it was an invasion, quick and fierce, before he changed his mind. I placed open-mouthed kisses on his nipple. He jerked against me.
“Samantha, we don’t have to do this.” His voice sounded strained, on a razor thin edge.
I glanced down at the bulge, its shape and girth clearly visible beneath the thin fabric of his pants. “But you want to.”
His eyes flashed. “I’ve always wanted to.”
But he wouldn’t. First because I was his partner. And now? Because I’d been hurt, beaten. Normal men didn’t want to fuck a woman like that. I was too broken for rough sex, wasn’t I? If anything, they could make love or cuddle or… No. I didn’t want some diluted version of him. I might be broken, but that didn’t mean I wanted him to hide the worst of him. I craved the worst of him.
“Please,” I begged. “Carlos…he took something from me. Let me do this with you. Be normal.”
He sighed. “This isn’t normal, Samantha. It’s messed up.”
“I’m messed up!” I shouted, angry now. “What the hell else am I going to do?”
Silence. His expression was pained.
All I could do was push and push. And all he could do was take it. “Should I go on match.com? Do I mention my recent run-in with torture and rape in the bio section or wait until the first date to tell them?”
“Jesus.”
“Well, what do you want me to say? No one wants someone fucked up and broken. You don’t either. So where does that leave me? Should I go find someone like Carlos? At least they’ll still fuck me.”
He looked fit to strangle someone. Me, probably. His expression was molten lava, burning hot and terrifying. Excitement thrummed through me. I wanted this. Pure emotion, unfiltered.
What do you remember?
I wanted to remember this.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Get on the bed,” he said.
A tremor ran through me. Fear? Desire? I couldn’t tell the difference anymore.
“Get on the fucking bed.” His voice sharpened, but even now, I wasn’t sure he would actually go through with it. Maybe he’d tuck me in and leave me here, as if I really had died under Carlos’s hand. As if I’d died when my father should have killed me. All my life, trying to see if I was even still alive.
But I went. I lay down on the bed, and he followed, standing beside me. There was no place to hide, spread out on cool sheets. He stared down at the silvery lash marks on my breasts and swallowed. Did they disgust him? He bent and placed a kiss on my nipple. I shut my eyes. Another kiss landed on a half-healed bruise, and I flinched.
“Does it hurt?” he asked hoarsely.