Page 57 of Tempting Fate

I don’t want to—I can’t—drag him down with me…

Attentive as ever, Zeke steps away from me, but rather than let me move past him, he drags me to a sitting position at the end of the bed.

Frowning, I ask. “What are you doing? Just let me go?—”

“Is your face still sore? How are your ribs?” Zeke ignores me, instead posing his own questions in a firm voice. “What about your knee?”

“I’m fine,” I snap. Drawing my eyebrows together in apology, I explain, “The painkillers Charlie gave me have kicked in… but it’s not the pain I can’t take… it’s what’s in my head.”

“Good. ’Cause I’m gonna give you somethin’ new to fixate on. Lay back, sweet thing, spread those legs for me.” I shake my head, my fear a tsunami, inundating me, drowning me. Allowing Zeke to touch me sexually feels impossible so soon after Alex resurrected my slumbering demons. “You said you can feel him. You can hear him. You can smell him.”

As he paraphrases my words, I nod.

“Well, let me get rid of him. We’ve been through this before… let me erase his touch from you, stop it messin’ with your head any harder. Metukà shelì, this is probably selfish as fuck, but I can’t watch you disappear back inside yourself again. I can’t handle you flinchin’ away from me every time I touch you, not like you did five years ago.”

Zeke’s reminder of how I was in the early aftermath of Alex’s abuse breaks my heart. I tried hard to keep everything inside of me and pretend I was fine, but once I was out of hospital and my body was healing, my mind had nothing to distract it anymore. I retreated inside myself, unable to connect properly with anyone because I felt dirty, undeserving, and damaged beyond repair.

I flinched in fear whenever anyone came near me.

Feeling worthless, I didn’t want to exist.

Alex’s voice was a poison that infiltrated my head and infected my every thought.

The Shamrocks moved on once my rapist was jailed. A new rhythm came over the club. Most of the safety restrictions were ended. My father’s promised truce with the Maddison’s seemed legitimate. Everyone got on with their lives, vague references to the ordeal dulled to a whisper whenever my presence reminded them of it, until that stopped as well.

For the club, Alex’s sentence was a conclusion.

For me, it was the beginning of a new battle.

I started cutting, determined to physically drain Alex’s poison from my body.

Zeke noticed my retreat inside myself. He saw the difference in me, despite my attempts to hide it. He was patient, he was kind, he was tough when I needed him to push me. Despite his reputation as a hard man, he’s the one who arranged therapy for me.

It still took more than a year, multiple sessions with my team of doctors, a soul-searching trip away with Zeke on our Harleys, three bloodstained backslides in my attempt to stop slicing my skin with razors, mixed martial arts training with Slash, shooting lessons with Toker, meditation with Fret, girls nights with Nadia and the small group of old ladies I trusted, a bunch of deep and meaningfuls with Sander, among too many other things to list, before I was able to resume my normal life.

Pursuing a physical relationship with Zeke took even longer.

And that’s why I can’t go back there either...

I refuse to lose everything good in my life to Alex a second time.

Once my mind embraces my stubborn rejection to succumb to its dark thoughts, I lean back. My shoulders rest on the mattress. My legs hang off the end. I concentrate on the pitted white ceiling above me.

When Zeke nudges his knee between mine, I part my thighs.

Calloused hands slide along the inside of my legs, from my knees to the soft crease where my thighs end. My hips lift of their own volition when Zeke curls his hands around the waistband of the boxer shorts that I’m wearing and gathers the material in each palm. There is infinite gentleness in his touch as he tugs them down my legs. I’m bare beneath, my lower body exposed as my love strips the material from one ankle and then the next. I hear the muted thud as he drops to his knees on the carpet. His shoulders force my thighs all the way apart. A shudder runs the length of my spine, carving an indelible trail through me with the same slow precision my man uses to draw his fingertips along my legs. He plants a kiss on every emerging bruise, drags his teeth over the undamaged skin, licks my grazes and cuts.

Acknowledging my pain, then soothing it.

“This pussy,” Zeke murmurs when he reaches the apex of my thighs. “This pretty, pink pussy… it’s all mine.” His nose is warm as he drags it along my slit and inhales. “Smells like home.” He flattens his tongue and traces a path from my clit to the opening. Spearing me once, twice, three times, he licks me deep. “Tastes like forever.”

A juddering surge of pleasure ripples through me.

Goosebumps break out all over my skin.

“Every part of you, sweet thing, belongs to me. Say it, metukà shelì, admit that you’re mine.”

“Yours.”

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