Page 91 of Lesson In Forgiveness

A few light taps were sufficient to flood her brain with happy hormones. Even as she relaxed around his digits, her toes scrunched up until they threatened to cramp. She jerked, physically restraining herself from crying out as he teased her, coaxing her muscles to clamp down on him.

God have mercy. It was the only thought she was capable of as her head rolled back into the mattress. How did he understand her body so well when it felt as though she barely knew it at all?

Smack.

A sharp sting of pain on her labia shocked her back into the moment. It throbbed for several seconds, fading into tingling warmth. “W-What?”

“Eyes,” Grit reminded her.

“I have two of them,” she shot back. “They’re blue and—oh!”

Her empty channel filled suddenly, the tilt of her hips adding extra pressure. She tried to arch, to buck, but she was caught in a web of her making and his. A babbling stream of nonsense erupted when his mouth joined the fray, lapping around his fingers, as they pumped steadily in and out of her sex, sucking on her clit until the ache in her belly morphed into tingles, radiating under her skin.

“Mmmn,” he muttered. “Not quite as reluctant to come this time. C’mon, little tiger, give it up. I can lick this pussy all damn day; I don’t care if the plane lands and we’re sat on the tarmac for hours waiting for you to come.” His teeth nipped her clit, wrenching a cry from her. “Give me it, Tabitha.”

Thrust, suck, nip. Thrust, suck, nip.

She found the rhythm in her head, panicking when she realized it was getting faster. His hand worked between her thighs, pumping steadily into her wetness, pounding his fingertips against her G-spot every time he pushed in. The heat of his mouth surrounded her tender bundle of nerves, soothing the quick, fleeting pinches of pain from his teeth.

“I can’t. Grit, I can’t, I—”

She choked as the fullness in her pussy lessened. One thick finger was all she had to squeeze down on, and it wasn’t enough. Her senseless protest cut off short, disintegrating into a breathless wheeze when his wet fingertip probed her exposed anus. “No, no, no, no!”

Circling the dark star, Grit tsked softly. “Come, Tabitha.”

Shaking, she released her legs, letting them fall over his shoulders. Grabbing handfuls of his hair, she tugged. “Not there, please not there. Sir, it hurts. It always hurts.”

“Safeword or come—those are your choices.” He pushed gently, easing through the tight ring of muscle to the first knuckle.

The burn was intense, the same horrible ache she remembered from years ago. It ignited beneath her skin, setting her alight. Sobbing his name, she rocked her hips as best she could, driving his fingers deeper into her as pain and pleasure bloomed into a raging beast she couldn’t control.

He bit her clit, immediately sucking hard on the tender bud, and massaged her G-spot until she felt herself splinter at the edges. Bit by bit, she unraveled into an unholy mess, pieces of herself scattering near and far.

Her scream was high and frantic, devolving into keening cries as her body twisted and writhed, seeking more pleasure even as she wanted to bolt from it.

Eyes rolling back in her head, she surrendered, letting everything he gave her flow through her like a tsunami. Washing her clean, stripping away doubts and pain, cleansing her fear. Fighting her way through the current until she was too exhausted to struggle to safety.

There she floated, barely aware of him leaving or coming back with a cloth to clean her up. Drifting as he carefully removed the cuffs and rubbed her wrists. Tumbling back down to earth as he tucked her under the covers, easing in behind her to wrap her up in his arms.

He held her through the tears, through the uncontrollable trembling. He stroked her belly with a light hand, telling her what a good girl she was, how she made him so proud. When she regained her faculties, she allowed him to hold a bottle of water to her lips while she drank small sips, wondering what the hell he’d done to her.

She wished she didn’t have to cry after every orgasm—she was two for two, and it was mortifying. Poor baby, she thought bitterly, abused so thoroughly by her father and repressing a massive chunk of her life. Denying herself the freedom to adopt a sexual identity of her own, isolating herself away from prolonged contact with society.

“Stop thinking, little tiger.” Grit’s arms tightened around her. The length of his dick was cradled in the seam of her buttocks; his chin rested on her shoulder. “We don’t have long before we need to return to our seats for landing. Flick the switch on your mind and give it chance to rest.”

Wouldn’t that be nice? Her system was wired for survival, not rest and relaxation. Even after the orgasm he wrenched from her, she felt like an idling engine, just waiting for a foot to stomp on the gas pedal and send her hurtling forward.

He began to hum, something low and melodic, as his hand dropped to her hip, stroking down her thigh to her knee and back up again. Not to arouse; just the opposite. He knew how to play her to draw out the softness in her, how to undermine the killer and seduce the woman.

As her mind slid into the almost hypnotic rhythm of the lullaby, she felt something shift inside her, cracking open the ice around her heart—ice he’d started melting the day he’d treated her as a human instead of a killing machine.

She fell asleep with his scent surrounding her, wrapped in his arms, with her heart unguarded for the first time in her life.

*

Grit

Evander’s crew worked fast.

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