I exhaled, relieved. “But I am sorry. If I’d known that you could tell I was faking, I never would have.” I frowned. “For that matter, how did you know? Oh, god, can all men tell?”
He actually laughed, which went a long way to making me feel better. “I don’t know about all men. I don’t even know if I could tell with another woman. The topic doesn’t come up often. But with you I can tell because I watch you. Because I’ve seen you come three times now.” He lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “You matter to me, Kat. And so I pay attention.”
I blinked back tears, feeling somehow both humbled and special. “Oh.”
He brushed the pad of his thumb under my eye. “Tell me why.”
“I thought I just did.”
“No, not why you faked it. Why you had to. Tell me what happened to you.”
I looked away, focusing on the orange glow of the morning light that was just starting to seep through the window. “Nothing happened. I told you. That’s just the way I’m wired.”
“Bullshit.” He cupped my face with his palm and turned me back to face him. “For something that has the potential to give us so much pleasure, sex can sure as hell mess us up. Tell me how it messed you up, Kat. And don’t lie to me.”
I drew in a deep breath, not sure that I could talk about it. But this was Cole, and once I started to tell the story, it flowed easily.
“I guess when I said I’d never come with a guy, that wasn’t entirely accurate. I have once before.” I sucked in a breath and kept my eyes on his face. “I was ten,” I said, and saw him wince before he was able to hide the sting of emotion.
“Yeah, I know, right? When I was ten and Roger was sixteen, we spent a lot of time together. Our parents were dating—working the grift together, really—and so when we traveled, they’d share a room, and put me and Roger in a connecting room. They’d lock the door, of course. I didn’t really understand what they were doing, but Roger knew. And it got him worked up.”
“What did he do to you?” Cole asked, the words so precise they scared me with their clarity.
I didn’t want to remember. Didn’t want to go there. But it needed to be said, and Cole had a right to know what was wrong with me. And so I clenched my hand tight at my side, and began.
“I was clueless the first time it happened,” I said. “I’d gone to bed and Roger had stayed up to watch a movie—we didn’t usually stay in hotels where you could rent movies, and he’d been poking around in the R-rated titles. I don’t remember what he found. I don’t even know if it matters. All I know is that I’d fallen asleep. And then I’d awakened to this sensation—it was Roger’s fingers in my underwear.”
“What did you do?” His voice was slow and even.
“Nothing,” I said, my voice low. “I was confused and scared and I just sort of stayed there. I was on my back, just sleeping in a long T-shirt and underwear, and so I just pretended to still be asleep.”
Cole said nothing, but his body had gone tense, and I knew the signs of his temper. If Roger had been in that room with us, I’m not entirely sure he would have been able to walk out of it.
“Go on,” Cole said, once the silence had hung between us for what seemed like forever.
“He—well, you know,” I said. “He touched me.”
“Did he penetrate you?”
I shook my head, drawing strength from the way Cole was keeping his own temper in check. I could talk about this, yes. But only if I could keep emotion out of it.
“No,” I said. “But he did other stuff. He played with me. Explored me. I’m not sure if he was just curious or if he was trying to get a reaction, but I kept my eyes closed and kept my breathing steady, and just pretended I was asleep. But I wasn’t.” I drew in a shuddering breath. I hated these memories. Hated going there. But I wanted Cole to understand.
Beside me, Cole took my hand. He said nothing, but that steady pressure was enough to urge me on.