Page 80 of What Comes Around

A silence settled between us, softer this time. He reached out and brushed a strand of hair from my face, his touch gentle now, almost reverent.

“Ashley, you were a virgin at twenty‑six.” His voice wasn’t judgmental. Just curious. Careful. “Why?”

I hesitated. I knew the real answer. I knew exactly why I was the way I was, the shadows of a life I had lived before, the things that were done to me, the things I survived. Why certain things lit me up. Why certain kinds of touch made my pulse spike.

But I couldn’t tell him any of that.

He didn’t need that darkness. He needed the version of me that existed now.

So I gave him the version that was true enough.

“I didn’t feel attraction for a long time,” I said quietly. “Not the way other people did. I thought maybe I was asexual. Or broken. Something like that.”

He didn’t push. He simply waited.

“But then I got older,” I continued, “and I started reading things. Romance books. Stories where the men were… more forceful. Not violent. Intense. Confident. In control.”

His eyes darkened slightly.

“And I realized I liked that. The idea of someone being rough, but only because I wanted it. Only because I could stop it at any time. Consensual, but… not.”

He didn’t interrupt. He didn’t look away.

“I didn’t know how to explain that to anyone,” I said. “So I didn’t. I just… waited.”

Knox’s voice was quiet when he finally spoke. “You’re not broken.”

I looked at him.

He held my gaze. “You’re not strange. You’re not wrong. You’re just wired a certain way. And you’re not the only one.”

My breath caught. “What do you mean?”

He leaned back slightly, his expression rawer than I’d ever seen it. “I have fantasies too. Ones I never acted on. Not with anyone.”

“Why not?”

“Because they require trust,” he said. “Because if I choose wrong, it could ruin my life. One misunderstanding. One person twisting it into something it isn’t. One accusation. I can’t risk that.”

His jaw tightened. “I’ve never met anyone I trusted enough to let go with.”

My chest tightened again, this time with something warm and terrifying and real.

He looked at me. “What we did tonight… that wasn’t even close to the edge for me. And I could tell it wasn’t for you either.”

I swallowed. “It wasn’t.”

His voice dropped. “Tell me.”

I hesitated, then spoke quietly. “I like it rougher. I like… resistance. Being held down. To say no when I mean yes. Fighting back. But only when I can stop it.”

A slow, dark understanding settled in his eyes.

“You want to give up control,” he said. “I want to take it. I want to overpower, to hear resistance and know it is invited. To see fear and know it is pretend. To hold someone down, but never actually hurt her.” His jaw tightened. “And I have never let myself go there, because I did not trust anyone not to use it against me.”

My pulse jumped.

He reached out and cupped my jaw, his touch gentle.