She didn’t want it to take too long, though, didn’t want to chance the possibility that she would mentally spiral when her body was responding so well. It was a balance, a delicate one. That goofy smile had helped. Only he would know that.
He moved his finger slowly in and out of her, using his thumb to circle lightly in the spot that made her press toward his hand, seeking more. She parted her legs so he had more access. His scent surrounded her, mixed with a masculine-smelling deodorant and nothing more. She’d know the smell of his skin anywhere. She knew the flavor of his fear, too, and the tang of his blood. But she wouldn’t think about that now. She refused to see his face as it’d been when they were dragged down to hell. She realized she’d closed her eyes with pleasure, and they flew open now. He was watching her. “You’re fine,” he reassured. “Everything’s good. You’re so wet, Noelle. Everything about you is perfect.”
She was wet. She could feel it, feel the way his fingers were gliding in and out, using the slippery evidence of the desire he’d stoked. Her body was still her own. No one had committed her to a life of sexual aversion. She could heal. She was doing it now.
“Now,” she said, pulling gently on his shoulders. She didn’t want to allow the shadows to collect, didn’t want to take that chance.
“I can do it this way,” he said, his fingers continuing that slow glide.
But she shook her head. She needed him to come over her, needed him to enter her with more than his finger. She needed to surrender, to know she could.
He looked briefly unsure, but did as she asked, removing his hand and kissing her as he leaned over, bringing his body on top of hers and supporting himself with his knees. “Guide me in,” he said. Noelle reached down, grasping his hard length, surprised by the silkiness of his skin. She marveled at it, using her hand to slide over it, mesmerized by the way the skin moved so easily, up, down. She might want to investigate that further later, with her hand and maybe even her mouth. The thought made her giddy.
Evan let out a pained laugh. “If you don’t stop that, this is going to be over in a minute.”
She smiled. What he was saying was that there was a goal, and his pleasure wasn’t the whole of it. Sweet Evan. She looked in his eyes, and she knew she loved him. In that very moment, she realized she did. And it might be sick and twisted, based on things love should never be based upon. But regardless, she loved him, and that love was right there, warming her heart as she guided him into her body.
I love you, and it’s why, when this is over, I’ll let you go.
Again.
His eyes went slightly hazy, and she watched the pleasure that contorted his features. That look. God. It was beautiful. She drank it in and found more pleasure of her own, just in witnessing his.
That was a wonderful realization, too, to know that she could find her own pleasure but also that she took satisfaction from witnessing that of the man she was with.
He felt different. Much different from the two times he’d been inside her before. Being this turned on made it feel natural. Right. She’d almost thought he didn’t quite fit before, but no, he was perfect. She lifted her leg, experimented with different positions as he moved leisurely, sweat breaking out on his brow. The skin of his back was damp, and she caressed him, enjoying the feel of him inside her and beneath her palms, loving his mouth on her breast and the way he trembled when she squeezed her internal muscles. There was so much about sex that she’d never even known.
He seemed to sense the moment she began the slow climb, bringing his hand between her legs and massaging her gently so that her blood flowed faster as her stomach muscles began to tighten.
Evan was breathing hard, his head hung, muscles so tense. He was holding on.
Then everything tightened as a wave of pure bliss crashed over her, and she gripped his shoulders, digging her fingernails into his skin and crying out his name.
She could tell he was coming, too, and for a moment they hung suspended together before floating back down to earth. She felt blissful one moment and bereft the next, tears flowing from her eyes as she laughed. Her laughter turned to weeping, and still she gripped him. He was fine with both her joy and her sorrow. He didn’t need to question either. He simply held her through it. In that moment, Noelle didn’t care if it was right or wrong. It just was.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Evan was relieved that she let him stay. He almost thought she wouldn’t. They’d hurt each other this way before. And though he thought they had a clearer picture of what they were offering each other this time, he couldn’t really be sure. He’d meant what he’d said about feeling a sort of rebirth when they’d escaped those cages. He was relearning everything. His boundaries, his emotions, his comfort level. His identity. His place in the world. His view of humanity. He was constantly spinning. Reeling. And being with her, spending the night with her in his arms, was the first time in so long that he’d felt grounded.
They ordered room service and ate in bed. Then they made love again. And again. He took such immense pleasure in watching her explore her limits, both physical and emotional. And he found healing too. He’d been victimized as well. He’d worried that he’d carry visions with him that would haunt him during intimacy. But that wasn’t the case. She was all that he saw. He lived that night only in the present, and it helped patch together his wounded soul.
The third time they had sex, she didn’t cry. “No tears,” he said, rolling over and bringing her with him.
She laughed down at him, her face going serious. “No tears,” she confirmed.
“You’re better now.”
“That easy?”
He nodded. “Should I send my bill?”
She laughed and socked him lightly on the shoulder.
In the deep of night, they woke, fingers hooked, eyes fluttering open as they stared at each other. He didn’t know where he was, only that his hand was stretched and she was holding him the way she once had. The memory fell over him like an oily rain. The cage. The cold. The fear. The feelings of that place, that time, all came pouring in. Noelle gasped, pulling her hand away and sitting up, her back to him. Evan swallowed, leaping up and reaching for the lamp on the bedside table. He was unsteady, and in his flailing, the lamp clattered off the table and onto the floor, the bulb smashing.
The room remained dark. So dark. Too dark.
Am I still there? Was I dreaming that I was free?
Evan heard Noelle’s quiet keening and felt his way along a wall, his fingers encountering a switch. He flicked it upward, and the room was bathed in blessed light. He was sweating. So hot. Breathing hard.
Just a rented room, the bedsheets rumpled. But it wasn’t that rented room, the one where he’d piled furniture in front of the door. The one where he’d peeked through the curtains expecting to see a man in red shoes walking down the dusty street, a caricature of a smile stretched across his hate-filled face. That nightmare had haunted him once, but he hadn’t dreamed it in a while. Hadn’t even thought of it for so many months. Until now.
Noelle sat on the edge of the bed, her arms crossed over her bare breasts, eyes wide as they darted around the room. He could see on her face that her mind had taken her to that cage, or that motel, or even perhaps that room on the second floor that he’d tried so hard to wipe from his brain.