Page 95 of Shadows of Recovery

His arms wrapped around her. "I love you too, Sophie.”

With Tristan by her side, she closed her eyes and drifted into a restful sleep, comforted by the knowledge that she was finally home.

* * *

Tristan also slept deeply.His body relaxed, and he dreamed. Sophie was being adventurous, painting kisses across his chest. Her lips suckled each nipple, bringing them to points. His cock grew hard. Her scent filled his nostrils as her wet warmth engulfed him.

Suddenly, he opened his eyes. It wasn’t a dream. It was Sophie. She’d straddled him and was riding his cock.

Reaching up, he placed a hand on each side of her waist, lifting her free. “Sophie, what are you doing?”

“Tristan, I need this. I need you.” Her voice was unrecognizable.

He stopped her. “Sweetheart, you’re not ready for this.” As much as he didn’t want her to stop, he did what he thought was best.

“Why are you doing this? I thought you loved me.”

“More than you know—and that’s why I stopped you. You and I will make love, but not like this. Talk to me, Sophie. You aren’t this woman. Tell me what you are so afraid to tell me.”

Her reaction was immediate and fierce. She screamed at him, her face contorted with rage and pain. Before Tristan could react, she bolted from the bed, running through the house in a blind panic.

"Sophie, wait!" He grabbed his robe and rushed after her. He found her in the living room, trying to get out the door, her body trembling with a mix of fear and anger. As he reached for her, she crawled away, her movements desperate and erratic.

Tristan dropped to his knees, crawling after her. "Please, Sophie, talk to me."

Matt appeared, moving toward her, holding a syringe. Tristan waved him off, his focus solely on Sophie. He remembered Chris's warning, understanding this was the potential setback he had to be ready for.

Tristan's voice was soft but urgent. "Sophie, tell me what you're feeling. Please, let me in."

She backed herself into a corner, her screams echoing through the house. Through choking sobs, she wailed, “He choked me until I passed out. I woke up, and he was inside me.”

Tristan kept his distance, listening intently.

“He wouldn’t stop. I told him to stop. For every patient he let me take care of, I had to take care of him. He showed me what he’d do if I didn’t behave. He put me on my stomach and …” She began to rock.

“But the last time. I begged him to stop. But he wouldn’t, and I… I… couldn’t stop myself. My body wouldn’t stop. During the assault, I... I climaxed," she choked out, her voice filled with anguish.

Tristan inhaled. For every therapy session she went through. For every confession of her agony, this was the most profound.

Damon Whitlock murdered her friends. He beat her. He threatened her. He tortured her. He raped her. He sodomized her.

But her biggest failing in her mind was he’d made her come.

Tristan wanted to scoop her into his arms and hold her. His heart shattered at her confession. He approached her slowly, his arms open.

"Sophie, listen to me. That was nothing but a biological response. It's something predators like Damon Whitlock rely on to manipulate and control their victims. It doesn't define you. It doesn’t make me love you less."

She stared at him, her eyes wide and haunted. "But it feels so wrong," she whispered, tears streaming down her face. “It was wrong. I didn’t want to. I swear.”

Tristan moved closer, his voice steady and soothing. "It's not your fault. It's a natural response to an unnatural situation.”

Sophie began to sob more, her body shaking with the force of her emotions. Her sobs tore through the silence of the house.

"It's okay, Sophie. I'm here."

She stopped crawling away. Tristan sat on the floor, opening his arms. He waited patiently. Her face was damp and blotchy. She took a deep breath that erupted in another sob and

crawled into his arms.

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