Page 57 of Lesson In Forgiveness

“P-Please,” she whispered.

“Answer me,” he demanded quietly. “Am I hurting you?”

“No.”

“Am I scaring you?”

Fuck, she hated that question. Worse, she hated the answer. “Yes.”

“Why?”

Her gaze flicked over to Elias first, who was steadfastly watching the entertainment on the screen instead of the unfolding scene beside him, and then to the fort. Any minute now, she expected Callie to pop out of the entrance in a shower of popcorn to tell them to shush!

Grit’s thumbs skimmed her nipples, encouraging them to achieve their full potential. Each time the pads scraped lightly over the tips, strumming back and forth, something echoed between her legs. “Does getting wet scare you?”

“I can’t get wet,” she insisted through clenched teeth.

“We’ll see.”

Asshole. He was such a big, goofy, dumb asshole who wouldn’t take no for an answer because his pride was as big, goofy, and dumb as the rest of him.

Without warning, he pinched her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, tightening his grip until her back arched, the blanket sliding down several dangerous inches.

Whimpers caught in her throat.

“Be my good girl and drop the blanket, Tabby.” The hard edge to his voice was absolute. When she obeyed, vibrating from the ends of her hair down to her toes, he nuzzled the curve of her shoulder gently. “Is Elias watching?”

“N-No.”

“Perfect. You’re going to do everything you can to make sure that doesn’t change. I’m asking a lot of you, I know, but I’m about to ask for more.” Grit softened his voice, crooning his next words so smoothly, it took her several seconds to decipher them. “Touch your pussy, Tabby. Give it a nice, gentle stroke.”

Revulsion filled her. Her shoulder muscles seized to cramping point.

“Match your breathing to mine,” he reminded her. “In and out, little tiger. Gonna have to teach you how to fucking breathe when you’re terrified.” He waited until she choked in air, released it. “Give me your hand. Whatever you believe, it won’t hurt.”

He kept saying that, but how could he know? He didn’t have a vagina, a place inside him that was vulnerable to the whims of men, did he? No, his cock was on the outside, some virile symbol of masculinity swinging around like—judging by the feel of it under her tender butt—a mighty club.

The only way he’d ever feel her kind of pain was if she set her particular skills on him, and even then, it wouldn’t come close to the reality of it.

Being raped by Dominic under the influence of Rita’s drugs had been one extraordinary hell, but it was nothing compared to the times before, when she’d been scared and innocent and dry.

“Trust me, little tiger.” Grit rested the back of his hand on her flat belly, palm up, silently asking for hers.

Reluctantly, she offered her right hand.

Chapter Seven

Grit

He wished he was a mind reader.

It would make his life so much fucking easier to simply pluck the thoughts from her head instead of trying to guess. Her body was easy enough to read; she might think she’d covered her ass on that score, but she’d been alone too long to realize she telegraphed so much through her muscles, the way she moved and held herself too still.

Then there was her face. She controlled that admirably, her expression giving little away, but her eyes were the complete opposite.

He’d chosen this section of the couch for one reason—the mirror on the wall to the left of the TV. He doubted she’d taken any notice of it; Callie’s choice of entertainment followed by his undivided attention was keeping Tabitha’s brain exactly where he wanted it.

When she held out her hand, trembling and trusting, he took it and lifted it to his lips. He met Elias’s midnight blue stare, inclining his head just a fraction to let the other Dom know things were going as planned, then blocked him out.

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