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Chapter 6
Natalie slid onto the table,the sweat from her body giving her no support to prop her elbows. Thankfully, Vincent grabbed her from behind, and scooped her in his arms. After a long day of working at the bakery and their steamy sex session, she needed a break.
“Stay here,” he said, placing her on the worn old sofa she’d bought from a second hand store when her old one gave out.
She sprawled on the couch, naked, and the rough fabric felt strangely smooth against her skin. Maybe she’d enjoyed their lovemaking so much, even her crappy furniture seemed better.
Enjoyed most of it, anyway. When he’d kissed and nipped her ass, she’d balked. A memory of Clint forcing entry in that area, even when she’d changed her mind a second too late after agreeing, had stabbed at her. He’d been drunk, and he’d always wanted to try anal sex with her. She’d ended up agreeing, but when she’d realized he hadn’t grabbed a condom, he didn’t have lube or hadn’t done anything remotely compassionate to make it better for her, she’d changed her mind. Too late, he’d said.
That had been the only time he’d taken her against her will.
She hadn’t made a fuss or put up a fight, except from trying to escape his grasp and asking him to do it the old-fashioned way, but he’d taken advantage of her.
“Are you okay?” Vincent asked, his deep baritone pulling her from her dark thoughts.
She cleared her throat. “Yes, what’s this?” she asked, glancing at the hand towel he’d carried.
He unfolded the towel, and placed it on her sex. It felt nice, damp and warm; he must have run some hot water on it in the bathroom. “It’s a quick way to clean you up before I make us dinner. Figured you can shower later. Do you want me to bring you a blanket?”
She shook her head. “You cook?”
He gave her a rueful smile. “I went shopping while you were at work. Got some vegetables and a New York strip steak. Figured I could do some grilling and offer you a night off from kitchen duty.”
She couldn’t remember the last time someone cooked specially for her. Her mom never excelled at it, favoring microwave dinners and junk food. Her father remarried a couple of times, but his wives never really bothered making special meals for her. Dina had her over sometimes, more out of generosity to share whatever she had for dinner with her. A hot man, in her kitchen, preparing a meal? Nope. Never happened before. “Sounds good. Thanks.”
He pressed the cloth gently on her pussy, and the firmness of his hand made a bubble burst inside her. Determined, he kept on cleaning the sticky stuff from her thighs without trying to make her even wetter. Not that it mattered. Her clit pulsed anyway, telling her she may not be up to it, but her body always responded to his touch.
When he stopped cleaning her, he grabbed the blanket and covered her. “Why’d you tense up when I touched your ass?”
She propped herself on her elbows. “Is that why you’re being all nice to me?”
He rolled his eyes. “I went shopping this morning before you came home,” he said, then shrugged. “Just curious. You need to know I won’t ever make you do anything you don’t want, Natalie. I respect your boundaries. I respect you.”
“Thanks.” She sat on the sofa, pulling the blanket over herself. She doubted this was a conversation she wanted to have naked. He always shut down when she mentioned Clint. Maybe now she should go ahead and tell him. “You’re right, I’m not very comfortable with ass play. Not that I don’t trust you. Vincent, ‘cause I do. It’s just… the last time, the only time I was taken back there, it hurt.”
Vincent opened his mouth, but no sound came out. His eyes darkened, and she slid her gaze down his body, noticing the tension stretching his muscles. “What happened?”
“He kept doing it, even when I asked him to stop. Until then, that had never been a problem. He didn’t try again, anyway, after this failed attempt,” she said, clasping her hands together in a silent clap, brushing her clammy palms. “I—
Vincent squinted. “He?”
“Clint. He was drunk. He apologized the next morning,” she added.
Vincent snorted, tapping his foot on the floor. “Hell, apologizing fixes everything, right?”
“It doesn’t. He was a good person sober, but when the alcohol took over… it all went downhill. There wasn’t anything me or Dina could have done to stop him. We tried taking him to AA, we tried having a therapist talk with him. Even Pastor Abbott. He didn’t listen to anyone—not for a long time, anyway.”
Vincent thrust his fingers into his hair, pacing the floor as if he were expecting urgent news. “I wasn’t here. If I had been—
“It wouldn’t have mattered. Can’t you see? I know in your head you believe your presence would have made a difference, but damn it, he was sick. You aren’t a cure.”
“No, but I’m a man. A strong man,” he said loudly, the virtual equivalent of a lion puffing his chest. “I would have made him—
“You don’t have that power. You could have what? Forced him into a rehab program, paid your ass for it, then the second he’s out, he drinks again? What then?”
Vincent sat on the loveseat across from her, his feet drumming on the floor. “Then I would have known, damn it. I’d have helped. Done something,” he said, burying his face in his hands. She clasped the sheet on her chest, dragging it with her, and surged to her feet. A few minutes ago she’d been exhausted, but now resolute, she felt energized and she walked up to him. She was done letting Clint have a say in her life, even after his death.
“Look at me,” she demanded, yanking his hand off his face. “You feel guilty because you’re a decent person. Maybe you shouldn’t have left them when he was younger, but one mistake doesn’t dictate your entire life. Why did you go anyway?”
