Page 32 of Lesson In Forgiveness

Despite her repeated mental orders not to take the bait, she croaked, “Three hundred and eleven.”

“No wonder your hair’s this color. That level of fear is detrimental to your health.” Dropping the humor, he shook his head slowly. “This is a predicament, Tabitha.”

“W-Why?”

“Because I hate seeing you afraid and knowing I’m the cause. If I move, all you learn is that panicking sets you free; we both know that’s bullshit. An enemy isn’t going to be considerate of the circumstances when he’s where I am now. He’s going to take advantage of it, drinking in your fear like it’s a fine wine.” He ran his nose along her jawline, inhaling as though he could smell her terror. “This is your fatal flaw, little tiger. This is what gets you killed despite all your training and skills. We need to work on that.”

“N-No.”

“Besides,” he continued without acknowledging her pathetic, stuttering protest, “I underestimated how nicely you fit me. So, I’m going to stay exactly where I am until you either pass out from the anxiety attack I feel brewing inside you, or you relax. Tough love, I know, but I’m sure we’ll manage.”

Nothing she said would get him to move, she realized. Stubborn as a jackass, this Dom was too much like her brothers—they were immovable once they set their minds on something. They got what they wanted, regardless of what it cost.

Maybe threatening to throw up would do the trick? Nobody liked vomit, for good reason. Emetophilia certainly wasn’t in her repertoire of bait fetishes, and she could only hope Grit wasn’t into it.

“Gonna be sick,” she wheezed.

Completely unconcerned, those oddly compelling eyes studied her patiently. He was taking stock of her breathing, her movements, her facial expressions and—she was willing to bet—her pulse. When his mouth quirked at the corner in an almost-smile, she knew she’d lost the gamble.

“Liar, liar,” he murmured salaciously. “Which part of you is on fire?”

“A t-threat is not a lie.”

“Semantics, little tiger.”

Tabitha stiffened as he lowered his head, his lips skimming her collarbone. It felt as though tiny sparks of electricity fired where they made contact. “Rory…”

“I like hearing my name in that breathy voice. Most people just call me Grit, but I’ll make an exception for you.” Kisses pecked up the side of her neck. “When I take on a new sub, I like to lay out three basic rules.”

“I-I’m not a sub.” Damn it, why couldn’t she stop stuttering like an imbecile?

“Maybe, maybe not. Coming here to me gives you an opportunity to find out. It’s okay to be tired of being strong all the time, Tabitha. The weight on your shoulders, your past, your career… walk on this path with me for a while and I’ll carry that weight for you.” Grit nuzzled along her jaw, finding a spot below her ear that sent a shiver rippling down her spine. “I demand three things from anyone in my bed.”

“Three, three, three said the mouse to the flea,” she muttered in a sing-song tone, then grimaced. Now was not the time for the random rhymes she often used as a coping mechanism to blurt out like verbal insanity diarrhea.

He chuckled and rolled the lobe of her ear between his teeth, a pleased sound emanating in his chest when her hips rose subtly of their own volition. “So, number one: honesty. No lies, no half-truths, no harmless little fibs. When I ask a question, I get an honest answer. Because I’m an equality kind of guy, I’ll give you the same respect.”

That gave him unprecedented access to her head, Tabitha thought with distress. All the memories she’d barricaded ten feet down, all the feelings she repressed because Dominic’s progeny weren’t allowed to feel… everything she came from and was would be an open book for him to poke through at his leisure.

“Number two runs on the same tracks as number one: communication. I’m guessing talking wasn’t big in your family, right? And working on your own, living independently hasn’t opened up a lot of avenues for you to communicate openly and…”

“Honestly,” she whispered.

His lips curved against her neck. “Exactly. Consider those avenues wide open, Tabitha. There’ll be no closing yourself off, shutting down, hiding where you think I can’t reach you; I will always find a way to get to you. When you’re in pain or afraid, it’s my job to help. The only way I can do that is to listen.”

The scratch of his beard over her skin turned her tense muscles to putty. Without realizing it, the cadence of his voice and the gentle caress of his lips here and there were lulling her into complacency.

“Number three will be the hardest for you,” he warned her. “Can you guess what it is?”

Following the path from the first two, she could, and he was right—it was the hardest thing for her to give. Yet on some level she had no control over, her fate was already sealed. She almost choked on the single word. “Trust.”

“Beautiful and smart. Good girl, hitting the nail on the head. I need you to trust me, Tabitha. No pretenses, no illusions. I need you to believe I won’t hurt you. That you’re safe with me no matter what I do or say.” He braced himself on one arm, reaching up to brush a lock of hair off her forehead. “I’m your rock, a shoulder to cry on, your voice of reason. Trust me to be all that and more.”

Dominic’s voice echoed in her head from the grave, turning low and menacing the way it always did when he was in lecture mode. I didn’t train you to be the best, only for you to surrender yourself to a man. Kill the fucker before he ruins everything I forged.

The internal struggle was far too real. She’d forever be a product of her father’s creation; there was no changing that. Years upon years of daily training, punishment, and verbal lectures ensured she would never be normal.

But she’d learned, hadn’t she, that when Dominic objected to something, it was because it went against his agenda, and she was all about defying him at every possible opportunity despite the fact he was dead and rotting.

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