Page 54 of Petty's Crime

Her hand raises my chin, forcing me to face her. “Let me get this straight. You didn’t want sex with Britney, but she took it anyway?”

I wrench my head away. “I didn’t even want to sleep in the same bed. She came to me while I was on the couch. But I… I couldn’t stop. Didn’t stop. I must have wanted it.” My mind didn’t, but that didn’t prevent my cock from doing the job.

“Oh no, Petty. Your body just had a normal reaction. If you didn’t want her, she took something without your consent. Petty, she—”

I cover her mouth with one of my hands, guessing what she’s going to say, but not wanting to hear it. It doesn’t happen to men. It doesn’t happen to me. Even half-awake I should have been able to stop. Giving it a name would exonerate me when I don’t deserve it. “Don’t say it.”

But she twists her face away and says it anyway. “She raped you.”

Taking hold of both her hands I squeeze them tightly and look at her angrily. My face has reddened and my voice is harsh. “Men can’t be raped.”

“Of course they can.”

“Not me.” I extricate myself and get to my feet, walking to the wall and putting my forehead against it. “Not me,” I repeat.

CHAPTERSEVENTEEN

RoseLyn

Isit up straight, completely stunned. Whatever I expected Petty to say, it wasn’t what he’d just said. He’d had a nightmare about something so bad it triggered an episode of PTSD. It could have had any number of root causes, a bomb while he was serving, bullets flying in some battle or other. But the real reason had shocked me. His wife forcing him to have sex when he neither wanted nor consented to it? When he’d said no, she hadn’t stopped.

What kind of woman does that?

I feel my forehead creasing as I contemplate further. Under other circumstances it could be a reason for laughter, a fully grown male woken up for sex. But I’d just witnessed his reaction to his nightmare. He’d been thrashing, fighting an unseen enemy, whimpering as though in pain, which shows that, for him, this situation is very far from a joke. While he’s denying the label I put on it, it can’t be described as anything other than rape. And like anyone, to be a victim of that, it’s truly devastating. It lessens it none that he’s a man not a woman.

I force myself to speak calmly. “If something was taken from you that you didn’t consent to, then yes, Petty, you were raped.”

He suddenly swings around, his eyes blazing. “I came, RoseLyn. I fuckin’ came. So how the fuck was that rape?”

Although I’m lucky enough never to have been in that position, I know enough about the subject to tell him, “Some women do as well. It’s the body’s automatic reaction. Doesn’t mean you wanted to, or that you enjoyed it.”

There’s something about Petty’s stance which makes me think he’s trying to understand, both what his wife had done, and his extreme reaction to it. It gives me the confidence to continue to talk it out. I want him to say it again. “Did you tell her no?”

His breath leaves him on a sigh. “I tried. She ignored me.”

So why didn’t he push her off? He’s not a small man. He’s over six foot and muscular. Unless she’s some kind of female bodybuilder, I’ve no doubt he could overpower her.

There are so many questions I want to ask. Like why, when he so obviously doesn’t like her, is he still with her, or more accurately, why he let her come back? How did he get with her in the first place?

Getting up from the floor, I sit on the bed, and pat the comforter beside me. “Come talk to me, Petty.”

“It’s the middle of the fuckin’ night.”

I shrug. “I doubt you’re in the mood for sleep right now, and I’m certainly not.” It’s not like we’ve got a long drive in the morning, just a plane ride then a short journey home. Petty’s shown me a different side of him during this visit, and I still don’t know which is the mask. Tonight he seems vulnerable, but is that the real him?

I wouldn’t have dared initiate a personal conversation with him as he was before, but now? If this is my chance to help him, then I’ll take it. Once we return to Vegas, I suspect his shields will go back up.

He’s wavering, looking at the bed, then at me. To lighten the mood I raise my arms. “I promise I’ll be hands off.”

He snorts. “You’re not her.”

That gives me an opening. As he weakens and comes across, sitting, but with a few feet between us, I take advantage. “How not? Tell me about her, Petty.”

At first he shakes his head as if he’s not going to say a word. He even looks at the door as if wondering if he can escape out of it. Then he tenses and meets my eyes.

“You promise you won’t tell anyone what I’m about to tell you?”

“I promise,” I earnestly respond.

---