Page 50 of Taking

“He made me come.” My ragged whisper revealed my deepest shame.

Gideon’s chest stopped moving at my words, and I became overly aware of my nakedness. My body tensed, ready to pull away.

“Stay,” he stated harshly, his arms like a vise.

I shuddered—hard—and clung to him.

“He broke me, Gideon.” Tears slid down my face. Dripped off my chin as I sank into him once more, clutching at his shirt. “I-I can’t enjoy sex…”

“Unless you feel threatened. Feel pain.”

Nausea stirred to life in my stomach, and I nodded, biting my tongue to keep from puking. Sobbing.

“That’s not broken, princess.” Gideon shifted me in his arms, turning me around to straddle his hips as he rested against the headboard. His eyes glinted in the light as he caught my gaze.

“It feels broken inside,” I rasped through my tears, turning away, unable to look at his face.

He cradled my jawline in his calloused hands, leaned in, and licked the droplets from my left cheek. Softly kissed my quivering lips. Licked the other side free of tears.

Lifting my head tighter, he forced me to hold my stare, his eyes hard as flint. “You’re goddamn perfect.”

Warmth curled in my belly, spreading through my chest. I touched a fingertip to his lips, shushing whatever bull he wanted to spew in his postcoital contentment.

The slight freckles that had once sprinkled over his nose and cheekbones had disappeared. Probably from spending so many years indoors, out of the California sun.

I’d done that to him.

Me.

And in doing so, I’d left myself vulnerable to the real wolf in sheep’s clothing.

“He groomed me from day one,” I stated past the thickness in my throat, feeling a little bit steadier in my emotions. Even though my tears had ended, I needed to unload all the shit I’d endured. Maybe finally telling the whole story to the one I had failed would somehow ease the burden I carried. “I didn’t recognize what it was until years later. He weaseled his way into my head. Became my friend. Manipulated me into trusting him, his word, his promises.”

Eventually I had stopped fighting, and he called me his lover. Attempted to be gentle. He’d whispered promises of forever in my ear while I lay like a corpse beneath him, my stare fixed on a wall while he sweated and grunted atop or behind me.

Gideon sat in silence, his hands touching my hair, my neck, my arms, always caressing me as I relived the horrors of those days. He wiped away tears that fell with every recounted incident between his father and me.

Lloyd hadn’t ever given me the world like he’d claimed. He’d stolen. Taken what hadn’t belonged to him. Each and every time—even if he somehow made my body climax around him.

Rage filled Gideon’s eyes, and his muscles tensed beneath me, but he still held steady like a rock. Offering comfort.

I fueled his fire like he’d asked me to, not leaving out a single detail of his father’s sexual abuse, Mother’s continued disbelief, and my depression. How, on the day I’d turned eighteen, I’d hopped in my car and taken off with no friends, no connections outside of those in Mother and Lloyd’s circle.

Mother’s credit card supplied me with a cheap hotel room for the remainder of the school year since they didn’t come looking for me. And my life became my own. I’d ordered takeout when I could stomach eating. Read books from the library—bags of them to pass the time. Mother paid for it all and never reached out to me for reimbursement.

“Lloyd said she’s dead. Overdosed.” Gideon’s voice held no trace of pity or remorse, and I wasn’t surprised we shared the sentiment.

But would he agree with my thoughts over what I believed truly happened?

“She was a drinker, not a pill popper,” I said, closing my eyes and waiting, his heart a comforting thump beneath my ear.

“You think Lloyd’s responsible?” he asked, his tone guarded, even though his arms hadn’t tensed around me.

“I just know my mother, and she never would’ve taken her own life over fear of what her peers would say.”

He grunted an agreement.

“But I suppose it could have been accidental.”

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