Page 17 of Wild Runaway
Trish spins around in shock.
“I didn’t know it was still there, sorry,” she whispers.
The timidity of her voice makes my blood boil.
“Honey, you’ve got nothing to be sorry about. The man who did this to you is a monster.”
She looks down, and I hate the red blush of shame that appears on her cheeks. I want to purge her of this asshole for good. Get all the pain out of her and make her brand new, as clean and fresh as my kitchen.
I stand up slowly.
“Is there anything else I need to know about, anything else he did to you?”
Her gaze meets mine, and she holds it for a long time. Pain flickers across her face, and I hate that someone made her feel that. That she has these memories.
“I’ll show you.”
She hooks her thumbs under her t-shirt, and I catch her hands.
“You don’t have to show me if you don’t want to.”
We hold each other’s gazes, and in that look, I recognize trust. “I want to show you. I want you to see all of who I am.”
Her words floor me. And I’m speechless as she lifts her t-shirt over her head. I feel honored that this woman trusts me enough to bare her soul to me. I don’t take that lightly.
Trish’s body is amazing. Full heavy breasts and a curvy stomach. My breath hitches and my throat goes dry, but I’m not here for my own needs.
There are dark finger marks on her neck, and when she turns around, a bruise on her hip.
My blood heats. How could someone do this to a woman?
“Was this the first time?”
She shakes her head. “No, but it was the worst.”
The marks are under her clothing, calculated. He probably learned this from his father, who learned it from his father before that. Generational domestic abuse that’s somehow been normalized because that’s all they’ve known.
My fists clench, thinking not just about Trish but the thousands of other women suffering in silence.
“Can I touch you?”
She nods, and I trace the marks from her neck to her hips and thighs. With every bruise my finger crosses, I make a silent vow to protect this woman with my life.
“No one will ever hurt you again, Trish. Ever.”
Her eyes meet mine, and the vulnerability makes my heart break. This woman’s been torn apart, and I’m going to put her back together.
I pull her into my arms. Her body is soft and tender against my large hard frame. I’ve never understood how a man can hurt a woman. They’re smaller and softer, and we’re supposed to protect them, keep them safe.
Her body molds to me, and there’s a moment when the warm hug turns into something more. Her body presses against mine, and her hips move against me. My cock hardens and I step away, not wanting to add to her discomfort.
“Stay.” She keeps her arms tight around me and pulls my hips toward her.
Her head tilts up, and I look down at her wide eyes. Her lips part, and we’re both breathing hard. She’s vulnerable. She’s under my protection. I should walk away, give her space.
“Kiss me.”
Her plea holds me in place. My heart thunders against my rib cage as I look down at the woman in my arms. The first person to penetrate my heart, my very soul.
