Page 84 of Lesson In Forgiveness

He used his free hand to scrub his face. “Little tiger, there’s nothing I want more. I know you’re mine—you do, too. There’s no question in my mind that you belong with me. I also know how much this is going to hurt you on a level that isn’t easy to heal.”

“I’m not weak.”

“Far from it. Strong women earn their power, Tabitha, through blood and tears. Dominic stripped you down to the bones and gave nothing back. That isn’t what you’ll get with me.” When a light flicked off at the front of the plane, he offered her a rueful smile. “I won’t refuse you, but I will protect you. From yourself if needs be.”

“It’s just s-sex, Grit.” Shit, her voice caught unexpectedly.

He reached down and released the catch on her seatbelt. As the straps slithered over her hips, he flicked his hand toward the rear of the plane. “We’ll play it your way for now, little tiger. Go then. Find the bed, get comfortable. I’ll be with you in a few minutes.”

Okay, that was smart. Some time on her own to wrestle everything despicable into a box and bury it where fear couldn’t unearth it again was a good idea. Still, she hesitated. “You’re not coming with me?”

His eyebrow lifted subtly. “I didn’t exactly come prepared for sex, Tabitha. I need to see if Atticus has condoms on board.” His lips quirked. “By the way he and Alicia keep procreating, my guess is no.”

Safe sex, yes, that would be wise. Tabitha’s hand clutched her throat, kneading the stiff muscles down her neck. There wasn’t an ounce of sass left in her; trepidation was all she felt as she stood slowly, her legs unsteady.

When Grit’s expression changed, she walked away before he lectured her on making choices, the right choices for her. Her breath shortened with each step down the aisle, almost strangling her by the time she reached the doors at the rear.

Storage closet on the left, bathroom to the right.

Trying to muster some dignity, she set her hand on the knob in front of her and pushed the door open. Of course, Atticus would have the biggest bed in the world on his goddamn plane—after all, he was a giant in his own right.

Her heart threatened to evacuate her chest as her eyes roamed over the wooden spindles in the head- and footboards. The covers were drawn back to expose the sheets, and everything was either blue or cream.

Fuck, she was in over her head.

No, she told herself sternly. She was not in over anything; she had a phobia, a horrible and debilitating flaw that needed to be dealt with. It was time she tackled the issue, and she would do so with pride. She was not going to cry or beg or be anything but calm, controlled, and coherent.

No babbling, she thought as she took a step toward the bed. No riddles, no stupid rhymes.

Get comfortable, he’d said. How exactly did someone do that when it felt as though ants were crawling under her skin, through her veins, spreading anxiety like wildfire?

What did he expect from her? He was a Dom, so obedience was undoubtedly high on the list. Once, it had been her comfort zone—all she had to do was what she was told, and she wouldn’t be whipped or pounded on until her bones came close to snapping.

Did he want her fully dressed so he could remove her physical defenses himself, or naked so that she exposed all her vulnerabilities from the start? Just her bra and panties, a mixture of submission and defiance?

Tabitha chewed her lip as she stared at the sea of cream sheets. There wasn’t even a wrinkle in them, it was like they’d been ironed on to the mattress. Pristine, unsullied.

She pressed her fist to her stomach. It wouldn’t be so bad, she tried to convince herself. Maybe if she stripped and laid naked on the bed, he’d just… get on with it. Pain was no stranger to her; she knew how to balance it, but if it got too much to handle, she’d take herself away from it.

Thinking of how the Avalon women presented themselves for their Doms, she wondered if laying down was the right thing to do. Would he prefer her on her knees? Standing? Doing a fucking handstand?

Jesus Christ, why was this so complicated?

“There’s a lot of thinking going on in here.” The unexpected rumble of Grit’s voice almost buckled her knees. Her time was up, and she was open and unguarded. Her breath hitched as the door snicked closed quietly. “Gray isn’t a good color on you, little tiger.”

Tabitha clenched her jaw to stop her teeth from chattering.

“We don’t have to do this.”

She wanted it over with. Memories were her worst enemy; if she couldn’t erase them, maybe replacing them would work. “It’ll be okay. I’m not changing my mind.”

Grit sighed. She felt his presence behind her, then his hand curled around her nape possessively, his thumb stroking the rigid muscles in her neck. “Stubborn little tiger. So brave even when you’re fucking terrified.”

“A-Am not.”

“Perhaps you’ve convinced yourself you’re not,” he mused softly, “but it’s not the truth. Look at your hands, Tabby. Shaking so hard, it’s affecting all of you.”

Damn it, she usually had better control than this. “I’m fine. Just nervous.”

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