Page 139 of Saving Her

“I should’ve died in Greece.” She hiccups. “Those women should’ve killed me. They thought I protected them, but I caused them more pain. He punished them because of me. He made me untouchable and in return made them targets.” She rambles. Cries. Blubbers. “It’s all my fault. I hurt them. I’m responsible.”

“No, sweetheart. That was him. All him.” I tighten my hold as she crumples. “Don’t you dare blame yourself.”

“I should’ve died.” She snatches at my shirt, her nails digging into the material. “Why didn’t I die?”

I wish I had the answers. I’d give anything to snap my fingers and have this all be over—her suffering, her anguish. I’d trade places with her in a heartbeat. God, how I wish I could. “Thank fuck you didn’t. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Her knees weaken, her tears running rampant. She shakes with ragged breaths. Gasps. Fucking shudders as I hold her against me.

“I’ve got you.” I rest my cheek on hers, murmuring in her ear. “I promise I’ve got you.” I vow it on my life. No matter what happens, what she faces, I’ll be there for her. “You can trust me.”

Her suffering multiplies. Her legs give out. She collapses into me. Weary limbs and malleable flesh. The most perfect surrender.

I cling to her, keeping her against me as her tears soak my shirt.

“W-why would she do this?” she stammers. “Why would Abi give up?”

My heart breaks, a million sharp shards embedding into my ribs. “I don’t know.”

I haul her into my arms and step around the broken mess on the floor to take her to the bed, sit on the mattress and cradle her in my lap. There’s never been a more satisfying feeling than having her settle into me, her head nestled against my shoulder, her fractured breathing teasing my skin.

“Luca?” Her voice is weary, the delicate murmur filling my chest.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

She sighs, the heave of breath long and punishing. “I’m so tired.”

“I know, shorty.” Our heads rub as I nod. “I know.”

“I just want it all to be over.”

I stiffen. Her words are a hint to a clearly defined escape plan that follows where Abi led. And I get it. I understand the impatience to end the hardship. But understanding doesn’t mean my throat doesn’t tighten at the thought of her following through.

I feel for her. Not only possessive or protective. There’s more. So much more that it’s clear there’s no going back. I’ve fallen for this woman, with her compiling scars. Her triggers innumerable. Her suffering lifelong.

I want her. I despise myself for even thinking it. But I want her with blinding need.

Mentally.

Emotionally.

Physically.

The instinct to heal her suffering with sex is overwhelming.

It takes all my restraint not to tilt my face into hers and kiss the misery from her lips. To turn her cries into moans. To increase her breathing for reasons of pleasure not more fucking pain.

For a woman who’s been violated and tortured, the desire pumping through me is downright repulsive. And still I can’t shut it out.

I want her beneath me. Our limbs intertwined. Our skin covered in sweat.

I need to taste every inch of her. To lick and bite and suck.

Fuck.

I grind my teeth through the building lust, my battle continuing for what feels like hours, the silence only breached by infrequent sniffles and the occasional hiccup.

Maybe she’s right. Maybe I am a monster.

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