Page 101 of Lesson In Forgiveness

Warm, callused hands caught her upper arms, holding her steady. “Stop, Tabby. Stop panicking, it’s okay. This isn’t—”

On a cry of rage, she whirled, freeing herself. In a one-two strike, she smacked her forearms against Grit’s, knocking them aside, before slamming both of her palms into his chest. The impact radiated painfully through her bones from fingers to wrists to elbows. “If you want to fuck, be a man about it.”

“Tabitha,” he said gently, trying to appease her, “calm down.”

She heard her teeth snap together in warning, felt her lips peel back in a snarl. Angry, black energy thrummed through her, the kind she experienced when in the middle of a particularly gory kill. The kind that drove her to do bad, bad things to even worse men.

When she lunged for him, Grit’s expression altered swiftly, hardening into a reflection of his own deadly headspace. He met her halfway, colliding with her body without hesitation, knocking her off balance. When she bounced off all those goddamn muscles, he didn’t stop.

Tackling her onto the bed, he let his full weight come down on top of her, pinning her under him so effectively, she struggled to find a way out. His forearm pressed across her throat, jammed firmly under her chin as she growled like a feral wolf and tried to savage him with her teeth. “Stop.”

Didn’t he understand that she couldn’t?

Kicking better than any mule, she drummed her heels against his legs, using her boots as a weapon until he shifted his knees and rendered them useless. One big hand captured her wrist, leaving her with only one limb free.

“Little tiger,” he crooned. “Stop.”

She tried to clap her hand against his ear; he turned his head so her palm slapped the side of his neck. When she raked her nails down his skin, he hissed loudly but didn’t retaliate. Nothing she did got any reaction from him; that was when she knew she’d lost.

Still, she fought. Squirming, bucking, thrashing as though demons writhed under her skin. She fought herself, waged war on him, until she couldn’t drag in a full breath. Body burned out, mind mentally exhausted, she went limp.

“Good girl.” Grit sighed in relief. “Take a minute to process, Tabby. Breathe.”

There was a horrible buzzing noise in her ears.

“That’s her version of a panic attack?” Evander asked calmly.

Grit rested his cheek against hers, his beard acting as a cushion. “Yeah. Once it gets its teeth into her, she can’t stop until we reach this point.”

“Talk about living in hell,” the other Dom said in a pitying tone.

“Welcome to our world.”

Tabitha tuned them out, closing her eyes. The vibration of Grit’s voice was soothing, persuading her to relax. When her breathing finally slowed and her heartbeat returned to normal, she was almost asleep.

The heavy weight on top of her disappeared. She felt an arm curl under her shoulders, easing her into a sitting position, then something super soft and comforting wrapped her up in a cocoon. She was lifted for a few moments, then her bottom settled onto hard thighs.

“Drink, little tiger.”

“Huh?”

The plastic rim of a bottle tapped her lower lip. As if on cue, she opened her mouth and almost choked on the first sip of refreshingly cool water. She drank greedily, then dropped her head wearily to his shoulder.

“Ready to listen now?” Grit murmured.

“Mmmn.”

“We’ve taken some big steps to get here, right? This is the last hurdle, Tabitha. I know it’s not easy for you to trust me, and the fact you do is… humbling. Having Evander here is a precaution; think of him like an old security blanket at the foot of the bed.” Grit rubbed his cheek over the crown of her head, filling her with a sense of contentment. “Maybe you don’t need him, but he’s right there within reach if you do.”

Her gaze flicked over to the big guy where he perched on the edge of an armchair tucked into the corner. In washed-out jeans that were almost white and a white T-shirt, he was a non-intrusive entity. Only the dark blond of his hair and beard, the color of his eyes, made him stand out from the clinically white walls.

Evander leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his fingers linked together. “This is where I tell you I have no doubts about Grit as either a man or a Dom, Tabitha. When you use your safeword, he’ll stop because we have rules in BDSM and that’s pretty much we all abide by if we don’t want to be put in the corner with a red hot bottom.”

The image of Grit standing with his nose to the corner of the room, his ass hot and red and on display, brought a timid smile to her lips. “I’m not going to use a safeword.”

The kindness in his eyes didn’t lesson, but the authority in them sharpened, along with his voice. “You will, because Grit is going to make you use it.”

“That’s not—”

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