Page 73 of Seeking Two Lovers

I glanced around the table covered with our dirty dishes and empty orange juice glasses. “No,” I finally answered, unable to give him my eyes.

“Why not?” Of course the fucker would push. He’d seen my unease, had probably sensed it before I named it in my own damn mind.

Grey was aware of a lot of the shit in my head—but I had kept some from him.

I felt confident in our friendship in that he wouldn’t be disgusted and kick me to the curb, but laying myself completely bare would bring pity I had no wish to see on his face.

For the first time, a deep-seated yearning pushed against my reluctance to open up fully and reveal every last horrid piece of me.

I wanted Grey to know me inside and out. Craved it desperately.

Regardless of Lily and the situation among the three of us, there could be no barriers between us, and that started with the truth I’d kept from him.

“Those boxes he locked us in.” I swallowed hard, forcing myself to lift my head.

Grey nodded, already aware of how Abraham Quell dished out punishment on those who failed to follow his teachings.

“After our discipline…” I rubbed sweaty palms over my boxers that had ridden up to cup my shriveled cock, my brow furrowing.

Grey leaned forward, elbows onto the table, palm outstretched. “Hand. Now.”

I laced my fingers through his and was able to fill my lungs again.

“They took us into the temple and showered us with love to show their forgiveness.” My throat tightened against the breakfast gurgling in my stomach.

“Love.”

I nodded at Grey’s quiet statement.

“Was it sexual?”

Unable to find my voice, I jerked my head in a nod. Tremors rippled over me, and I shuddered hard enough he got up, yanked me to my feet, and wrapped his solid arms around me. One along my lower back, the other hand grasping my nape, keeping my cheek tucked against his shoulder.

Grey clutched me to his hard, bare chest, and I burrowed into him like I’d done dozens of times before.

Eyes wide, I refused the darkness to suck me down, my focus on the coffee pot atop the counter beside us.

“Both of them?” he asked quietly, no trace of pity in his voice.

Only anger.

“Yes,” I whispered, wetness hazing my vision.

“Fuck.” Grey squeezed me tighter. “Tell me everything,” he demanded. “I want it all, B. Let me help you carry this fucking burden. Please.”

The pleading in his tone was my undoing.

I started at the beginning, the first time I’d been tossed into the black prison of metal that sat atop bare ground and reeked of sweat, piss, and shame.

I’d been eight years old.

22

GREYSON

Fondled at age eight.

Sucked at nine.

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