Page 106 of Lesson In Forgiveness

It had to be now, she told herself. Lately, it seemed whenever she was in a difficult position with Grit, it had to be this time. Strike while the iron’s hot, before her composure broke down and left her floundering yet again.

Taking stock of the situation, Tabitha took a deep breath.

Grit was bracing himself on his forearms, suspending his weight above her by a hair’s breadth—the rise and fall of her chest teased her nipples by brushing them against the soft hairs on his pectorals. His stomach pressed lightly against hers, and his pelvis settled into the cradle of her own as though he’d been designed for her.

The thick, heavy length of his cock lay on her mound, still sheathed in the condom. It wouldn’t take much to line it up and…

“Come on, baby, let’s get you dressed.”

Now or never. Speaking slowly, trying to keep her voice as calm and reasonable as she could, she cast aside the reprieve he gave her. “I can’t do this again and again, Grit. We get to here and I freak out, then we start all over again. Please, just do it.”

“Baby—”

Tabitha winced. She’d learned little tiger was his preferred endearment for her, one she rather liked. It implied she had claws and a touch of wildness. He used Tabby or Tabby Cat when he was feeling affectionate.

But he called her baby so rarely, usually when she was at her lowest or most vulnerable moments, acknowledging she was raw and exposed.

“Please. I was wrong; I didn’t want to look at you because I was afraid of what you’d see. I’m more afraid of the monster staring back at me from hell than I am of you.” Okay, that sounded really bad. Another example of her inability to communicate effectively when under duress. “I need this to be over with, Grit. Either I stay celibate for the rest of my life or you go against your instincts and fuck me like a twenty dollar whore.”

“That’s an extreme set of either/or scenarios,” he pointed out.

Saliva turned to ash in her mouth as he shifted slightly on top of her. The subtle alteration of his weight rested pressure on different areas and heat began to gather in her pelvis, a strong flush of warmth sweeping through her veins.

Don’t beg, she told herself. If he got so much as a whiff of desperation off her, he was too chivalrous to push her the way she needed right now. Her white knight wasn’t polished and gleaming, but when it was necessary, he was blinding. “Grit, please, can you not be your conscientious, by-the-book Dom self for like… five minutes?”

“I heard you,” he replied slowly, almost thoughtfully. “Although I got the impression you don’t like a more aggressive approach. I’m not sure I’m comfortable disrespecting your limits to this extent, Tabitha.”

For God’s sake, why did he have to be so fucking nice? Grinding her teeth in frustration, feeling the urge to wriggle free and run, she attempted to bait him into action instead; with jerky, hesitant rolls of her hips, she teased his cock, angling her pelvis until the shaft settled between her labia.

A low rumble of contentment reverberated into her. “Good girl, little tiger. Eyes on mine.”

Startled, she met his eyes and, seeing the calculation in them, realized he’d been waiting for her to make the first move. Before she could react, one big hand slid under her neck to grasp her nape firmly, fingertips finding the right spots to elicit an instinctive submissive response.

As her head tipped back into the pillow, she kept her gaze locked with Grit’s despite her eyelashes fluttering. She knew she should be struggling—after all, she was aware what was coming next—but she’d asked him for this, and the pressure on her nape was just right.

“Atta girl. Eyes on mine, little tiger. I’ve got you.”

Grit rocked his hips lazily, thrusting along her slit once, twice, before letting his cock find her entrance naturally. Pressure of a completely different kind bit between her legs, followed by the godawful burning sensation she remembered all too well, and the painful sting of tight tissues stretching open around something a lot bigger than expected.

She went rigid, unable to breathe as the crown breached her.

Grit groaned under his breath. “Fuck me.”

Holy hell, this was far worse than what her memories portrayed. It hurt, her pussy unused to this kind of attention. Distressed sounds eked from her throat, puffing out on tiny exhales from her straining lungs.

“Can you take a breath, Tabby? Come on, baby, take a breath for me.”

“Hurts,” she wheezed.

“I know. I know, little tiger. Not for long, I promise. Just breathe and let me in. It’s only me. Relax and let me make you feel good.” Eyes never leaving her face, he played her neck like a flute, fingertips tap-tap-tapping those exquisitely sensitive spots until her skin prickled with pleasure. “Stay here with me, Tabby. There’s only you and me; forget about everything else.”

Easier said than done when Dominic and every other man he’d let touch her were standing around like a critical audience, laughing at her ineptitude, relishing the damage they’d inflicted. It was hard not to let Grit’s face waver and transpose into her father’s, to keep the gentle rumble of his voice from taking on a darker, more menacing edge.

It was ridiculous really. Twenty years ago, she’d been the prize whore in Dominic’s duel-purpose stable, getting better and better with each mark until she was fluent in fucking and killing in equal measure.

Now she felt like a virgin all over again; uncoordinated, ungainly, unconfident.

Grit grunted softly. “Too many thoughts muddling up your head, baby. Can’t relax when your brain’s this busy.” His beard scraped her throat as he kissed her rabbiting pulse. “What’s it going to take for me to switch it off?”

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