Page 70 of Unexpected Heroine

Either he doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. He simply keeps kissing me, gently making love to my mouth.

I don’t want that, though.

I need it rough so I can pour all my conflicting emotions into him.

Each time I try to intensify the kiss, he slows me down wordlessly with a slight retreat of his lips or by moving my hand somewhere more PG.

A whimper of frustration escapes me.

Why does he get to be in control of everything?

Better question . . . why am I this lustful?

After such brutality, I assumed my libido would have shriveled up. My sex drive should be cowering in a corner the same way I did in that nightmare house.

Where’s the fear and revulsion? Shouldn’t that be driving me instead of this desperate urge to have him inside me?

“I want you,” I moan into his mouth, then grip him harder and pulse my hips so I’m dragging myself over him.

Although I can’t formulate the words, I suspect what I’m truly seeking is for our connection to return, the one that was severed involuntarily. I also need to know he still wants me.

More than anything, though, I need to know I can still do this. I refuse to go back to the old version of Lettie, who feared her sexuality and let shame control her.

If I can do this with him right now, I’ll know I’m still me.

Especially with him being someone different—quite literally—it’s even more crucial for me to reestablish who I am and who we are as a couple.

And I want to shut my brain off and feel good for five fucking minutes. Is that too much to ask?

He breaks the kiss, skimming his lips along my cheek until he gets to my ear. “Easy, sugar,” he whispers. “Slow down.”

“I can’t.” I recapture his mouth and keep begging between kisses. “Need this. Need you inside me. Need you to soothe my chaotic thoughts.”

He kisses me back, giving in to my pleas. But he’s being too sweet and gentle.

I want a good hard fuck.

“Be rough with me,” I instruct him, then return to ravaging his mouth with my tongue.

He recoils. “You can’t mean that. Just let me hold you.”

Fuck holding me.

He must see the objection in my expression because he continues. “I don’t think you’re ready, sugar. It’s too soon.”

Is he right?

He presses his forehead to mine and strokes my back while I attempt to think clearly despite this all-consuming arousal.

Is this how I’m processing my sexual trauma? I haven’t had the time or inclination to research what to expect, so I don’t know how to fight off these urges. And self-control has never been my strong suit.

Besides, I want to give in to the lust and feel good for a change.

He does not get to decide what I can handle.

I won’t force him, though. Consent goes both ways.

Maybe I can ease him into the idea, though.

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