Page 47 of Lesson In Forgiveness

“Well damn, adorable and feisty. The perfect combination.”

Something like pain creased her forehead, adding cute furrows to her smooth brow. He heard her breath hitch as she inhaled. When her cold fingers lifted to his cheeks and held them, he forced himself to stay still.

Tabitha wriggled uneasily on his lap until her core rubbed against the bulge in his pants. A shudder tore through her, triggering an aftershock of trembling he felt resonate inside him.

She stunned him by touching her mouth to his, her lips quivering as she initiated a kiss all on her own. Hesitant, sweet, so unconfident in her advances that he struggled to believe she’d ever snared her victims by seduction.

One move, an involuntary twitch, and she’d skitter away.

The half-erection taunting him became a fully-fledged hard-on when her tongue traced the seam of his lips. A moan rumbled lightly in his throat, startling her, but she rallied valiantly against her nerves to take a little more.

Hands fisting beside his thighs, Grit gave her the freedom to explore. Not an easy choice for a Dom, not when he fought the urge to seize her by the hair, tilt her head back, and plunder her sexy goddamn mouth like a savage.

Yet that freedom allowed her to run her fingers through his hair, raking over his scalp before she tightened them. Clever girl, using her firm grasp to limit his movements.

Seemingly encouraged when he didn’t take control and force her hand, Tabitha attempted to deepen the kiss, her breath huffing nervously down her nose.

This wasn’t a woman who’d kissed her first love behind the bleachers at a ball game or indulged in make out sessions in the back seat of some young punk’s car. She didn’t know how to take the lead in this particular dance; all her first experiences had been stolen from her—Dominic’s desire to dominate her hadn’t taught her anything but to be afraid.

Because saying anything would halt this miracle in a heartbeat, Grit kept silent. Slowly, he parted his lips, kissing her back tentatively, little more than firm pressure and a hint of tongue. Guiding her without words, leading her without wresting the control from her hands.

Her tolerance lasted thirty seconds, but by God, they were the best thirty seconds of his life. Feeling her quiver on his lap until something snapped in her head and she jerked away, panting as though she’d just ridden him to the finish line, with sweat dotting her hairline.

Wild blue eyes met his with bewilderment before she dropped her forehead to his shoulder with a thud, shuddering as he lifted his hands to stroke the damp length of her spine through the shirt. “Trusting people isn’t in my nature. They’re pawns to move around, sources of information, future victims. Ready to stab you in the back the moment you let your guard down. Never have I ever given anyone a piece of me, not of my own free will.”

“Am I worthy of such a gift?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“I think you’re the only one who is.”

Her words struck him in the chest, more effective than any fist. Somehow, through the course of her midnight stalking and their short time together, she’d allowed herself to bond with him. A fierce bond that obviously gave her a sense of safety, yet wasn’t strong enough to grant him her full and unabashed trust.

Only a week ago, a month, the idea of being shackled to her in such a way would’ve been—to put it mildly—horrifying. Emotionally and psychologically tied to a candy-cane psychopath? Unthinkable.

Now? He was learning she was far more than he’d believed—a complicated, twisted maze of intricate insecurities, phobias, wit, strength… the list was endless, and he was of the mind that no matter how much time he spent with her, he’d never unravel her down to the core.

She was exceptional.

Flattening his hand over her chest above her breasts, Grit eased her back and took in every nuance of her face. Lips parted, breath rushing through them in hurried gusts. Lines of strain around her mouth and eyes; arousal and stress clashing together in her gaze.

“I’m honored, little tiger.” A smile threatened to come when her eyelids lowered shyly. While she didn’t identify as a Little, he’d spent enough time with Alicia, Sierra, and Callie to understand she possessed similar qualities. “Do you believe me when I say I’m proud of you?”

Was that a flush of pleasure or embarrassment staining her cheeks? “Yes?”

Grit laughed and ran his hand through her hair. Soft and so damn white, like snow threaded through with fine strands of gold. “So suspicious, Tabitha, or are you just unused to praise?”

“People don’t usually praise me,” she admitted softly. “More often than not, I get cursed out or screamed at. Dominic would only tell me I’d done good if he approved of a kill.”

“Approved how?”

She shrugged. “Level of torture, information extracted, blood spilled.”

“The more the better?”

“Nothing was too extreme for his tastes.”

Grit’s lip curled in disgust. Judging by Dominic’s treatment of his own children—the girls in particular—everything about that asshole had been extreme. Extremely fucked up. “Well, get used to being told you’re a good girl on a regular basis, little tiger. I like the way your face lights up when you hear those words.”

She made a quiet sound in her throat.

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