Page 85 of Lesson In Forgiveness

“Hmm. All right then, let’s distract you.” With a squeeze of her neck, he directed her to face him. “Hold out your hands.”

His tone brooked no argument. That dominant tone, lower than his normal timbre, spoke to the years of training hardwired into her system.

She offered them to him, her heart stuttering mid-beat as he showed her the fleece-lined cuffs dangling from his fingers. “Going straight for the kink, huh?”

“Quiet.”

She couldn’t stop herself. “This is some psychological shit, right? The cuffs represent your hands; they’re supposed to offer security and safety, so it feels as though you’re protecting me.”

“That’s one aspect, yes.” Slowly, he unfastened one cuff and wrapped it around her wrist, tightening it until the fleece fit snugly against her skin. He slid a finger between the cuff and her wrist, obviously satisfied it wasn’t going to cut off her circulation. “I want you to wear them because they’re a tool of submission, Tabitha. I want you to remember I’m in control. When I tell you to do something, you do it. They bind your submission and your trust to me.”

She exhaled loudly as he secured the second cuff. “They mean I’m yours.”

He smiled. “You’re always mine whether these are on or not.”

Oh, that was kind of sweet. With the cuffs weighing her arms down, she waited for his next move. “Are you going to tie me up? Down?”

“No. They’re simply a reminder tonight, not a weapon.” Taking her face in his hands, he stared into her eyes until everything around them faded. “My name, my real name, stops everything. If I feel I do something that causes you distress, if I think you can’t handle this, we’re done for the night.”

“Grit, I need—”

“You need me to rein in this impulse to be normal before it damages you further,” he admonished quietly. “You’re smart, Tabby, one of the smartest people I know, but Dominic fucked with your head to the point where you’ll hurt yourself in an attempt to get over it. This is where you trust me to know when you’re going to break and stop before more damage is done.”

She dropped her gaze to the carpet. Blue, lighter than the covers. “Can’t you just fuck me and get it done?”

“No. I don’t want a broken toy to play with, Tabitha. I’m not your father.” He kissed her forehead. “I need a woman who understands her limitations, who craves what I do to her without fear. I need you.” Another kiss, ever so light, on her lips. “But you’re hurting and afraid, so it’s going to take time.”

Time was not her friend. “I’d rather—”

“Switch off that anxious brain and let me take charge,” he interrupted. “That’s a good idea. Get undressed, little tiger. I want you in bed in the next two minutes, naked with no backchat.”

Scowling, Tabitha considered giving him all the backchat, but the look in his eyes was altering. Shifting into the utterly-controlled steel gaze of a Dominant in his element. Shoulders slumping, she conceded temporary defeat and began to strip.

A condom landed on the covers, a shiny square package that immediately twisted her guts into a knot. She paused with her T-shirt halfway over her chest, shooting Grit a questioning glance.

He wasn’t going to have sex with her, but he’d brought a condom anyway?

“I said we’d try,” he said as he yanked his own shirt off over his head. “No sense in not being prepared.”

Shutting off the inane chatter in her head, Tabitha removed her T-shirt, then her bra. Her pants slithered to the floor before she remembered her sneakers, bending to undo the laces. As she toed them off and stepped out of the puddle of fabric around her feet, Grit was already down to his boxers.

“The next time we do this, I’m going to have the pleasure of stripping you myself,” he muttered, watching her with a heated gaze. “Panties off, little tiger.”

Breathing hard, she discarded the scrap of material serving as her last defense. Maintaining what courage she had left, she ignored the sheer masculinity of his body on display and completed the final part of his command.

“Good girl.”

The bed made her feel small. A lonely little starfish at the bottom of a vast ocean. While the sheets were soft and smooth beneath her back, they were chilly too. Feeling susceptible and hating it, she inched her hand down to snag the covers and pull them over herself.

Grit’s expression didn’t flicker. He just watched in that patient way of his, as though he was reading her, studying her, psychoanalyzing her. He folded his thick arms over his broad chest, standing with his legs set apart.

If she knew how to paint, she’d capture him just this way and title it: The Modern Warrior—Boxers, Bulges, and Brains.

Nerves took control of her voice again. “If you’re planning on getting into bed with those on,” she said with a nod at his boxers, “then it’s going to be hard to…” Swallowing hard, she made a circle with her thumb and forefinger on the left hand and used her right index finger to poke in and out. “You know.”

“Ah, the ubiquitous you know.” Grit sat on the empty side of the bed, dipping the mattress—a sign he significantly outweighed her; something she was already aware of, along with his size. “I’ll take them off when I’m ready. Perhaps I’m shy.”

“Shy, my ass.” Rolling her eyes at him, she huffed. “I’m not a virgin. I’m hardly going to run screaming to the cockpit, babbling about pant snakes and one-eyed monsters.”

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