by V. F. Mason
During the last week, she always wanted to hug me or pat me, but she never touched me after my outburst. “So, I’m good to go?” I ask, and she nods but then slowly sits on the bed, clearing her throat.
“Yes, physically you’re all right. But I’d like for you to see a psychologist, if you don’t mind.”
“A shrink won’t help me.” I need a police officer and a judge to put all those assholes behind bars. I know their names, their faces, the vile things they have done.
They deserve to rot in prison for what they do to women.
“I don’t know what happened.” The fire in the building started on the first floor, and they found me just outside it, bleeding, and they brought me here immediately. Even though my injuries indicated kidnapping and torture, my rape kit was clean, so everyone assumed whatever they wanted to.
Mommy dearest already came to inform me to keep my mouth shut, especially if I’m going to accuse people.
“You don’t?” Caroline put the card on the bed and taps it. “Here’s her number. She’ll always listen when you’re ready.”
This won’t be needed.
Everything will be all right once those bastards are behind bars.
* * *
New York, New York
Fall, 1980
* * *
Lila
Dipping a brush into the red paint, I splash it on the canvas and then mix it with the blues, creating a deep pool of blood, the red mixing with the black.
Slowly, the two merge, creating a mask that forever haunts me in my dreams but oddly brings comfort in my job.
Because I’m showing an image from within.
Dipping the brush again, I lean my head back between my shoulder blades and groan loudly as the soreness makes itself known.
I’ve probably spent too long on these sessions without taking a break, which is a necessity in a painter’s life. They can last from ten to fifteen minutes, allowing the artist to relax his muscles and come back to the canvas with fresher ideas.
Deciding to grab a cup of tea, I drop the brush and get up, shivering slightly from the gust of wind blowing in through the wide-open window. The purple curtains shift in different directions, the smell of lavender floating on the breeze.
“Oh my,” I murmur, pouring myself a full cup from the steaming pot next to me, and walking to the window, inhaling the smell of wet concrete after a rainy day.
Most people I know hate the fall weather, when it’s too wet and cold to stroll outside, yet not cold enough to put on winter clothes or expect snow.
But I’ve always had a soft spot for it, because creating art while raindrops bang on the windowsill and gloom surrounds the sky is… magical.
Or weird.
Not that I care either way.
Resting my head on the side of the window, I watch several people rush about franticly, searching for a dry spot to shelter them, but there are some who laugh and spread their arms wide.
Maybe because the rain has a tendency to wash away all the sins.
The husky voice from behind me snags me from my thoughts, sending awareness through my entire body. “A penny for your thoughts?”
And as always, my heartbeat speeds up when this beautiful man shows up in front of me.
But it has nothing to do with his looks and everything to do with his character.
For the past two months, he has been nothing but perfect, reminding me that good people still exist in this world.
Eugene has made it his mission to brighten my days, be it with movie nights, theater outings, or expensive art exhibitions. He even managed to get us tickets for a rock concert, front row, where Sorcha and I—Emilio and she went with us—had the time of our lives.
Not once has he asked for anything but for us to be friends, and besides that one kiss we’d shared near Emilio’s restaurant, our lips have never touched again.
He’s never made a move, and I don’t know how to ask for it after I’ve demanded space.
But the most beautiful thing about him?
He never asks about my past or wants me to explain myself, giving me the chance to experience all our moments away from my nightmares.
Eugene clicks his fingers, bringing me back to the conversation at hand. “Hey, pretty girl. Where did you go?” I open my mouth to reply, when I see a box in his hands. He sees my interest, because he raises it up and rattles it a little. “Guess what it is.”
“No clue, but I hope it’s not chocolate. Seriously, there is no place for that here.” I rub my stomach and he chuckles, the sound instantly breaking goose bumps on my skin.
Oh my God, control yourself, woman. But what is my body supposed to do when I’ve been giving him hints lately I’m ready to take it further, but he stays oblivious to them?
He puts his hand on his chest and sighs dramatically. “My heart is broken, lady.”
I point near my painting kit at the basket full of different candies and chocolate. “You bring them every day. At this rate, I can paint myself in different forms for the show, and it will be my view on modern art.”
He winks. “As long as you participate and have this smile on your face.” He taps on my nose before sitting on the nearest stool. “I don’t give a shit.” He watches me tentatively, as if expecting something from me.
But I don’t understand what.
He’s managed to convince me to participate in Rebecca’s show, promising he’ll control my father. And oddly enough, he has, because Dad hasn’t interfered at all.
Or maybe he is scared of my threat. After all, he very much likes his club in North Carolina.
Revulsion runs through me at those thoughts, and I shiver again. “You’re cold.” Eugene notices and removes his jacket, stands up, and throws it over my shoulders.
He grabs the lapels of it and cages me in, and I gasp, because we are so close together, gazing into each other’s eyes. “You always need to have a blanket here with you, since you love fresh air so much,” he murmurs, his eyes sliding from my eyes to my lips and zeroing his stare on them before sliding back up to face me. “Otherwise, you’ll catch cold, and then who will participate in the show that’s only two days away?” he asks, rubbing my cheek a little and sending prickles of electricity through my system.
“You’ll find another great artist, I’m sure.”
He cracks a smile, his mouth half lifting while he slides his thumb to my lips. “You are priceless to me.”
He leans forward, just inches away from my face, and for a second both of us share a breath. His presence awakens my entire body that longs to be soothed by him, and different images flash in my mind.
Like us entwined together in bed, or him going….
I blink, wanting to focus on the present and not miss his first move.
A move that will change everything between us.
But disappointment hits my chest like an arrow when he steps back, breaking the magic and once again leaving me cold. “I need to—”
“Go, right?” I finish sarcastically and dash to my drawing chair, dropping onto it harshly and grabbing my brush, without caring about the paint drips on the floor. “Well, be my guest.” I bite my tongue to prevent adding “don’t let the door hit you on the ass.”
If he is not interested in taking it further, then why does he act like my boyfriend?
So freaking unfair!
“Lila,” he calls, but I ignore him, using more force than usual to draw another red circle, so he calls again, “Lila.”
“I have to work. So, if you don’t mind….” I trail off, not once stopping what I’m doing.
A hand wraps around my wrist, stilling my movements, and he twirls me on the chair so we are facing each other again, him leaning over me. “Lila,” he repeats, and I lose it.
Maybe people who say sexual frustration is a bitch are right.
I get up and the brush drops to the floor just before I hit his chest. “Stop repeating my name. Lila, what? Don’t be upset that we are acting lik
e high schoolers?” Then a humorless laugh escapes me. “Pardon me. High schoolers make out. We don’t even do that. If you’re not interested in me, just say so. Don’t give me mixed signals.”
A stormy expression crosses his face, and his jaw clenches, and before I can blink, he pulls me flush against his chest, his hand on my lower back pressing me against… against… agai—
A hard-on?
“Feel this? This is how much I want you,” he says, fury lacing each word while he leans closer, our noses brushing. “I told you it will always be your choice.” My brows furrow, because I have no idea what he means, so he adds, “If you want it, then ask for it.”
Instantly, denial floods over me. “I won’t do any such thing.” He wants me to what? Beg for his affection?
No freaking way!
My cheeks flush just imagining spilling all my dirty desires to him. Can’t he guess?
“Until you ask, this won’t go any further.” With that, he lets go of me and storms out of the studio, leaving me standing in the wind so cold that even his jacket can’t protect me.
Because it’s connected with the fear of never seeing him again.
“Well, if this is your idea of fun…” Sorcha whistles, drumming her fingers on the table while I pour tea into cups. “Lila.”
“What?” I bark, hating that people always use my name as if I’m some kind of annoyed child.
“What’s going on with you and Eugene?”
“Nothing.” I munch on toast, glancing to the side and watching the latest fashion show on the channel she constantly has on. “Absolutely nothing.”
“Right,” she murmurs, taking a sip and exhaling heavily. “You know I’m always here for you, right?” Something in her voice niggles my mind, and I look at her, noticing worry etched on her face while she scans me from head to toe, as if searching for some injury or physical evidence of my sour mood. “No matter what, you can trust me.”
Frowning, I place my hand over hers and squeeze it. “Of course, babe. It’s nothing big.” I notice her sigh of relief but don’t focus on it much, although it’s odd. Instead, I surrender to my desire to discuss this stuff with someone and finally say, “Eugene told me nothing will happen between us unless I ask for it.” Sorcha pauses her cup midair and raises her brow, so I clarify. “As in sex.” She nods, and I’m instantly pissed. “You don’t find it stupid?”
She clears her throat and shakes her head. “Nope. I think it’s understandable, given your experience.” Silence follows her words, because it’s the first time in a long time she’s mentioned my past.
Or nightmare, as I call it.
Now it’s my turn to clear my throat. “He doesn’t know about it.”
“But he knows someone hurt you. He doesn’t want you to suffer any kind of trauma.” She puts her cup on the table and traps my palms between hers. “Lila, that man is crazy about you. But such an important step as lovemaking… you have to give him the green light.”
“Why can’t he make the first move?” I don’t understand why it’s so important to me, but aren’t guys supposed to be the chaser in a relationship? Wanting a woman like crazy while she dwells on it?
Does Eugene even want me a little bit, or doesn’t it matter to him if we have sex or not? “And do what, go all alpha on your ass?” She chuckles, although it sounds hollow. “Not with you, not now. He won’t touch you, unless you say yes.” She gets up, walks around the table, and kisses me on the cheek before wrapping her arms around me. “Make a choice, babe. But remember, no matter what you pick… you won’t lose anyone. Because we all love you.”
She leaves me alone in our apartment while the past months flash in my mind; for every horrific experience, Eugene was there to soothe it with his gentleness.
Slowly, piece by piece, he puts me together, allowing me to shine and enjoy my life to the fullest.
Asking him for sex will mean I’m ready to give him access to my body, to my vulnerability, because so many scars mark it.
Although they hadn’t raped me… those awful men left their imprint on me, forever connecting us.
Deep down, I’m afraid if he sees true Lila, he won’t want her anymore.
But fear cannot rule my life.
At least, I no longer wish for it to do so.
* * *
Him
So, she’s finally decided to be his.
* * *
Lila
Despite my soaking wet clothes from the pouring rain outside, I take a deep breath and knock on the apartment door in the exclusive Manhattan building.
My hair is messy and my makeup is probably all over my face, but I don’t care, because my heart beats so fast I feel like it may jump out of my chest.
In only seconds, the door opens wide and Eugene stands there in gray sweatpants, his hair still wet from a shower. His eyes focus on me, a question burning in them.
I’ve never been to his apartment before.
And oh my God, since when did he have such a six-pack?
Before I lose my courage and run in a different direction, I gulp breath into my lungs and blurt, “Please make love to me. I want it.” The minute the words slip past my lips, he yanks me inside, locks the door, and presses me against it, his rigid muscles digging into me.
He puts a hand on either side of my head while his intense stare sends fire through my skin. “Are you sure? Everything, no limits?”
I see his pulse beat rapidly in his throat, and it’s all I can do to control the desire to lick the place, tasting his skin on my tongue for the first time.
His eyes darken at my nod, but he makes no move toward me. Instead, he fires another question. “You know that if you ask me to stop, I will, right? Do you understand that?” Another nod followed by another question. “Are you absolutely sure you want to become mine tonight?”
He gives me so many outs, as if I might need one.
But the truth is… I don’t.
Because with all his questions, he proves to me he is the right man for me. My safety and comfort mean more to him, and isn’t that the definition of love?
Even if we’ve never uttered those words to one another.
“Yes,” I state, and something akin to growls and groans leave his mouth right before he slams it on mine.
And the world as I know it ceases to exist.
Something inside me shatters, like an invisible chain locked around me, and I gasp into his mouth while he explores mine, pushing his tongue deep and taking ownership of me.
With one single kiss, he forever puts a claim on me that no one will ever be able to erase, sending desire rocketing through me, awakening every hair on my body while arrows of need nip my skin.
My moan dies in my throat when he places his hands under my ass and hikes me up. My legs immediately wrap around his waist, and he swings us around, not that I care either way.
My hands circle his neck, and I bring us closer, needing to be close to him and inhale his scent, because as long as he is with me… no one else can enter this space.
Space where all nightmares die and only his love lives.
I snatch my mouth away from him, gulping breath as my lungs burn from lack of oxygen. He takes us farther and farther into the apartment until we reach a darkened room basking in the moonlight streaming through the balcony door. The curtains fly in different directions from the cold air blowing through the open window, chilling me a little.
“Shh, pretty girl,” he whispers, his voice husky and raw as if speaking brings him pain. “You won’t get cold.” Instead of answering him, I lace my fingers in his hair and smash our lips together again, craving the connection only he can give me.
I feel his hard-on digging into my core and twist a little, seeking its friction, but before I can fully enjoy it, I’m torn away from him and land on the bed, bouncing.
Huffing, I glare at him as he looms above me, even though my heart beats wildly in my chest. “Buzz kill,” I grumble, but then my breath hitches when I not
ice his stare, so intent, so dark, so…
Dangerous. Yet instead of wanting to run away from him, I long to run toward him so that in his arms I will find protection from every monster out there.
Shrugging off the weird feeling, I decide to make the first move. I remove my leather jacket, leaving myself only in a wool dress. I kicked off the shoes earlier while he carried me to the room.
Taking a deep breath while holding his gaze, I hike up the dress and quickly dispose of it, throwing it on the floor. I sit on the bed only in my lingerie and stockings, while goose bumps erupt on my skin.
Not because I’m naked for the first time in front of him, although that’s nerve-wracking as it is.
But because now there is no hiding my scars that will forever mar my skin.
I expect him to say something or flinch, something that would indicate his emotions on the subject.
But he does none of those things.
Eugene puts his knee on the bed and slowly picks up one of my legs, skimming his hand over it and sending awareness through my entire system. When his fingers hook on a stocking and rolls it down, bit by agonizing bit, his hot breath fans my skin. “Soft, your skin is so soft. It should be a sin,” he murmurs, placing butterfly kisses on my thigh as he slowly exposes me with each roll of the silk. “I want to do obscene things to this body, Lila,” he announces, bending my knee and then shifting his attention to the other leg, repeating the action, all while I buzz with desire so strong I’m afraid to breathe. “Ruin you and then put all your pieces together,” he says while bending my leg and resting between my splayed knees, his hot breath on my core. My stomach dips, anticipating his next move. “But tonight… tonight, I will show you what it’s like to belong to a man like me. I’ll be gentle.” Our gazes clash, and his eyes hold me prisoner. “But after tonight, don’t ask for mercy. I’m not going to give it to you.”