Page 83 of Lesson In Forgiveness

Grit eased back. “Little tiger—”

“Get back here.” She attacked his mouth a second time, forcing herself to do more than just crush their lips together. She kissed him the way she remembered her father had—thrusting her tongue into Grit’s mouth in a mimicry of sex, trying so hard to separate reality from memory, until she was splintering apart.

When he pulled away again, she didn’t try for a third attempt.

“Good effort, Tabby Cat.” Concern furrowing his brow, Grit leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her damp forehead. When the jet’s engines kicked into gear, he quickly strapped her in before taking his seat and securing himself. “Should I be worried about that?”

“It was just a kiss.”

He linked his fingers with hers. “A kiss is never just anything when it comes to you. Not that I don’t appreciate it, but fear has a taste to it, little tiger. I hate knowing you’re terrified. I’d like to know what triggered it.”

She pressed her lips together.

“That mine was pretty fucking sexy,” he continued, ignoring her silence. “Green looks damn good on you, even though you don’t have to be jealous.” As the jet began to taxi, he bent down so his lips brushed her ear. “If the stewardess strolled in here naked with a bow tied around her waist, I’d still only have eyes for you.”

Some of the sick, nervous energy dissipated. “Really?”

“Only for you, little tiger.”

Her lip trembled. Biting it, worrying it as the plane finally picked up speed and launched into the sky, Tabitha mulled over her options. Finally, she found the courage to speak. “Is there a bedroom on this thing?”

“In the back,” he said slowly.

She nodded, feeling her throat constrict. “I need to bite the bullet, Rory. No, hear me out,” she croaked when he looked like he was about to argue. She knew he understood she was serious when she used his real name. “I hate being like this. I fucking hate that I’ve found a good guy, a nice guy, and I can’t… be normal. I want to be normal for you, to be able to give you sex. She could,” she muttered bitterly, flicking her hand toward where Felicia had stood. “She’d have no problem fucking you wherever, whenever you wanted.”

“Probably not,” Grit agreed amiably. “But then, she hasn’t been in your shoes, Tabitha. When someone hasn’t been tortured, raped, brainwashed, it’s far easier to take things like intimacy for granted. Do you think she’d have survived Dominic?”

“No.”

“Exactly. Felicia is the kind of woman who believes she’s a strong, empowered female because her genetics gave her good genes and she knows how to flaunt them; because she understands sex, how the game is played, how to win.” His voice lowered an octave so it was deep and resonant. “I prefer strength of character, little tiger. A body honed by battle, scarred yet beautiful. Sharp wit, sharper tongue, cunning brain. I’ve been waiting for you, Tabitha.”

He said it so simply, she believed him. The conviction of his words gave her the courage to take the next tentative step. “I’m here. You’re here. There’s a bed. I’m going to get a stiff drink, and then we’ll go do… it.”

He shot her a look that was sympathetic and patient. A bad combination, in her experience. “Think about this, Tabby. I mean really think about it. There is nowhere to run when you panic. When,” he repeated gently, “not if. We are on a plane, high in the sky. We’re not alone.”

Tabitha nodded, understanding there was no escape and that she was risking public humiliation in front of the jet’s crew if she freaked out. “Two stiff drinks then; I’ll be paralytic so it won’t matter.”

“No.” He grasped her hand in both of his, squeezing until their warmth penetrated her cold fingers. “Consent is imperative, little tiger. You can’t give it or take it away if your brain is swimming in alcohol. A drunk fuck can be fun, but fun isn’t what you need right now. A positive experience is about all we can hope for.”

A positive experience. She turned those three words over and over in her head as she struggled to catch her breath. It dawned on her that they were openly discussing having sex. Not a month from now, not in a few days, but imminently.

Summoning her inner brat, she flashed him a cocky grin. “Joining the mile high club is positive, right?”

“Tabby… shit, we’re going to regret this,” he murmured, lifting her hand to his mouth. He kissed her knuckles, obviously trying to figure out a way to dissuade her from leaping into the fray this way. “All right, we’ll try. That’s all I can give you.”

A giggle wanted to choke her. A kernel of distress lodged under her breastbone, warning her that the attempt might be more than her heart could take. She swallowed hard enough her throat clicked audibly.

As the plane began to level off after its ascension, Grit set their joined hands on his thigh. His expression was calm, yet she sensed the tension growing in him. Unsurprisingly—this was one hell of a responsibility she was dumping on him. “What’s your safeword, Tabitha?”

“Rory.”

He grunted in approval. “You will use it, do you understand? I know your body now, how you react, when you’ve reached your limit, so I’ll know if you’re pushing yourself beyond what you’re ready for and I will put a stop to it if that happens.” He bounced their hands lightly on the thick muscle as he gathered his thoughts. “The only pressure here is what you put on yourself. I don’t care if my dick doesn’t get wet or if we only get as far as stroking your perfect cunt to an orgasm. Don’t force yourself into something you’re not comfortable with doing.”

Tabitha attempted a smile; it fell flat. “Do you always try and talk women out of fucking you?”

“I don’t make a habit of it, no. But then, none of them were you.”

Why did he have to be so sweet? “Are you talking yourself out of fucking me?”

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