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“Uh…” I’m panting. I lick my dry lips, try to find my voice. “Rafe…”
He pulls his fingers out slowly, making me moan, and smells them. Oh God. He grunts, his lids lowering to half-mast, and his eyes go dark as the night.
He dips his face toward me again, his cheekbones flushed, as he settles between my legs. “Oh fuck…” He’s still panting, his erection rock hard where it rests against my belly. “I can’t…”
“Rafe?” It’s almost impossible to think when he’s pressed right where I’m still pulsing with pleasure, but the way his face twists up in what looks like pain can’t be right. “Are you okay?”
“Meg,” he whispers, his hips rolling in small jerks he doesn’t seem to be able to control. “I can’t.”
His teeth sink into his lower lip so hard I’m sure he’s breaking the skin. Suddenly, he lifts off of me and scoots back, then climbs off the bed and turns his back to me. He stands still, hunched over, his hands fisted at his sides, his breathing hissing in and out, too loud in the quiet.
What the hell?
My throat is dry as sandpaper, and hurts when I swallow. I have no clue what’s going on, but I need to do something.
I swing my legs off the bed and stand behind him. “Are you all right?”
His breathing picks up. A shudder goes through him. “I should go.”
“Why?” I clench my jaw, try to figure this out. “Why can you go down on me, but I can’t go down on you? Why can’t I touch you, like you did to me? What’s wrong with that?”
He shakes his head and at first I think he won’t answer me. But then he whispers, “It’ll fucking break me.”
“Break you, how?”
He bows his head, brings a fist to his chest. But he doesn’t make a move to leave.
It hurts to see him like this. “So what will you do instead? Go punch a wall?”
He says nothing, a muscle ticking in his jaw.
Dammit. He’s going to harm himself, punish himself for wanting—and I know he wants. He needs. I can see it in his actions, in his eyes, in his arousal. In his gentleness with me.
But he’s isolated himself, put a barrier between himself and those who care for him. Decided he can’t have pleasure. Only punishment.
And crap, I’m not the right person for this. I’m not a happy-go-lucky kind of girl, like he probably needs, someone to make him laugh and sweep him up in a dream of rainbows and unicorns, making him forget. I drag my own load.
But I do care. Much more than I thought possible. If pleasure can break him, then I think… I think breaking Rafe Vestri might be a good thing. Might be, in fact, the only way to save him.
My heart booms as I gather my courage and walk around him. Careful. Slow. Like you’d do when faced with a wild animal, a hurt lion in your path. His lashes lift when I stand in front of him, his eyes unfocused.
A moment of doubt and indecision—am I going crazy? Is this a mistake?—but I force it down and start undressing. I pull off my sweater and blouse, then unclasp my bra and let it fall. I push down my unzipped jeans and soaked panties, toe it all off together with my socks and shoes.
Baring myself to him. Giving myself over. Trusting. Wanting. Asking him to trust me, too. To let go, let his defenses fall.
Let me in.
His gaze slides over my body. It lingers on my breasts until they tighten painfully, then moves down to my belly, and lower.
“Fuck,” he breathes, and a tremor goes through him. His fists dig into his thighs and my eyes are drawn to the impressive bulge between them.
“You can’t live only on pain,” I whisper.
“Pain keeps me strong.” Another tremor goes through him, and his voice drops to a bass that I feel in my bones. “I can’t afford to hope.”
He’s breaking my heart. I take a step toward him, put my hand on his chest. His heart is hammering under my palm. I look up, meeting his eyes. “Trust me.”
“There’s no way out,” he whispers, Familiar pain clouds his gaze, the past crowding into the present. “I told you. You’ll break me.”
