Page 152 of The Perfect Love

She does, and I nestle between her thighs, then lean down to kiss her.

“How are you doing?”

“Okay,” she whispers.

Not the strongest vote of confidence, so I slip my hand between her legs and drag two fingers up her center, pausing to swirl them over her clit.

“Better,” she breathes. “More of that.”

I play with her pussy and her clit until she’s nearly riding my hand, then pull back and line myself up at her center.

“What—what should I say if I want you to stop? Like do we need a safe word?”

I bring my face right over hers, brushing a whisper of a kiss to her lips. “If you want to stop, you say ‘stop’ or ‘no.’ I want you to know those words have meaning. If you say them, I’ll listen and do whatever you ask.”

Another bit of her uncertainty washes away, and I take that as a good sign.

Trying to keep her from getting lost in her head, I run my lips over her neck, kissing and sucking, while I tease her nipples with my fingers. When she relaxes even more, I move closer, then slide my hands down to her thighs, gripping them firmly as I move closer. Even through the condom, I can feel the heat of her.

My tip grazes her entrance, and I—

“Stop.”

Chelsea’s voice is almost painful, and I instantly pull back. Assessing her face and finding her ghost white, I leap off the bed and rip the condom off, then fumble to get my boxers on.

“It’s okay. We won’t do anything else tonight. At all. Until you’re ready.”

I grab her sleep shirt and hand it to her. She takes it, but doesn’t make a move to put it on.

Fuck.

“I can go if you want.”

That’s the only thing that makes her move.

“No.” She throws her arm out to me. “Don’t leave.”

I pull my sweats and a tee from my bag and put them on, then look at her, still lying there naked, holding the shirt.

In her drawer, I find a pair of soft, little boxer short things, and cautiously, I walk over to the bed and climb on beside her. When she doesn’t move, I slowly lift one leg and slip the underwear over her foot, then do the same with the other before pulling them up, being mindful to keep my hands only on her outer thighs and hips. Then I pull the shirt over her head and help her put her arms in.

Not sure what else to do, I lie down beside her, keeping space between us, but gently resting my arm over her waist.

For a moment, she doesn’t move, but then her body shudders with a sob.

My heart fucking shatters, and I’m about to get in my car, drive to Syracuse and hunt down every fucker with blond hair and hazel eyes until I find who did it.

But then she rolls over, throws her arm around my waist, and buries her face in my chest, and I know my only place is right here, holding her.

“Why is this still breaking me? I knew it was you. I knew I was safe. But all I saw was him. I was right back in that moment, barely aware of my surroundings, trying to scream and fight him off.”

She sobs into my chest, and it takes real work to keep my rage contained.

Focus on her. What she needs.

“I don’t think it’s breaking you,” I whisper. “I think this is the first time you’ve come anywhere near this line, and you made it really far without those thoughts creeping in. That shows how much you’ve healed. Tonight wasn’t the right time, or the right way—or both. That’s okay. There’s no rush.”

“But I want to be with you like this. I want to be withyou.You make me feel safe and loved—incredible. I want to have that experience with you. Now I’m afraid he took that from me too.”

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