by Jaci Burton
“It’ll help. You carry a fear around with you that closes you off. Do you have any friends on this island you can talk to?”
“No.”
“Then talk to me.” Trust me. Please, I know I don’t deserve it, but trust me.
“I was beaten,” she answered quietly. She avoided eye contact and offered a nonchalant shrug.
“Obviously. By whom?”
“My ex-husband.”
Tony fought to keep his own breathing under control as a raging desire to kill the man burned within him. “Once?”
She shook her head.
“How often?”
“Frequently.”
He closed his eyes for a second, unable to fathom what kind of pain she’d gone through. When he opened them again, she was looking at him.
“How long were you married?”
“Five years.”
“And did he beat you from the beginning?”
Her lips curved into a cynical smile. “No, he didn’t start right away. He waited until after the honeymoon.”
Rotten, fucking, no good sonofabitch. Tony filed a mental note to somehow, someway, find out who her husband was and make sure he paid, one way or another.
“How did it happen? Didn’t you have any signs that he was an abuser?”
“No. He was very sweet to me from the moment we met. The monster didn’t show his claws until after the honeymoon.”
She spoke as if she were in a trance, turning her gaze somewhere out in the distance toward the ocean. And her body no longer shivered. Instead she stood ramrod straight, her expression cold.
He wanted to wrap his arms around her and pull her against him. Then kiss her and make love to her until he melted the ice.
“Why didn’t you tell someone?”
“I tried. My parents refused to believe that someone of his background could possibly hurt me. They told me I was being childish and immature, and that whatever had happened needed to stay private between me and my husband.”
“You’re from a prominent family?”
She nodded, but he’d already surmised that. “I met him at my debutante ball. He was the perfect catch. All the girls wanted him.”
“But you got him.”
She smirked. “Of course. I was young, naïve and believed in love at first sight. I was also aggressive back then, and went after what I wanted. And I wanted him.”
“How old were you when you married?”
“Nineteen.”
Jesus. Barely out of her childhood and thrust into the arms of Satan.
“Did he abuse you sexually?” Tony couldn’t stop the questions from pouring out. Suddenly he needed—had to know everything about her. About that bastard. About what he’d done.
Now that she’d opened the floodgates, Morgan seemed to want to talk about it. But she’d started to shiver again. Before she could answer his last question, he suggested they step out of the pool and dry off.
He handed her a towel and her robe, careful not to touch her. He’d made a promise, and no matter how much he wanted to hold her in his lap and soothe away her pain, he wouldn’t.
Not unless she asked.
Tony opened a bottle of wine and poured a glass for both of them. Morgan drank hers down quickly, seemingly unaware of what she’d swallowed.
She hadn’t answered his question about sexual abuse, and he figured he’d let the wine calm her. And if she didn’t want to talk about it, he wouldn’t press her. Not tonight, anyway.
“I used to have fantasies,” she said, startling him. She’d been silent for a while and he figured she didn’t want to talk anymore tonight.
“What kind of fantasies?”
A hint of a smile crossed her face. “Sexual. Kinky, actually.”
“Really?” Despite knowing better, he couldn’t prevent the interest in his voice.
“Yeah.” She finally met his gaze, her blue eyes warming, the ice melting.
“How kinky?”
“Spankings, being tied up, things like that. I told David about them, at his urging of course. He’d seemed so open, so interested in knowing how to please me, what turned me on.”
Now there was the loaded-with-sexuality-Morgan he knew existed under her cool exterior. Fire and passion lurked inside her. And, dammit, he wanted to see it.
“On our honeymoon, David indulged me. Tied me up, treated me gently, but gave me my fantasies. He even spanked me.”
“Did it excite you?”
“Very much. Made me wet. Made me come—hard.”
Tony sucked in a deep breath, thankful he’d tossed on a pair of shorts after they’d left the pool. Not that the shorts hid his erection. But the thought of Morgan enjoying that kind of sex, the images running through his mind of her spread-eagled and tied to the bed, whet his sexual appetite like no other woman before.
“I haven’t had sex since I left him.”
Holy shit! “And how long ago was that?”
She shrugged. “Three, three and a half years. I bought Paradise Resort with the money from my divorce.”
“Why haven’t you had sex?”
“I was scared. After he’d lulled me into feeling secure, into telling him exactly what I wanted and how, he turned the tables on me. He used my fantasies against me.”
“How?”
“Spankings became beatings. Being tied up became chains, collars, gags and cuffs. Sex became pain.”
Fuck! How could she have survived years of that kind of torture? “I’m sorry.”
She inhaled deeply. “It’s over now.”
Somehow, he didn’t think so.
“How did it end?” Tony felt sick, wanted her to stop telling him things he could so easily visualize. He couldn’t bear thinking of her being treated as she had.
“David started bringing other men over.” She must have caught his horrified expression, because she held up her hand to stop him from commenting. “He let them do the same things to me. One night they beat me so badly the doctor he brought in couldn’t stop the bleeding so they had to rush me to the hospital. The police arrived and questioned him. He pleaded with me not to say anything.”
Somehow it didn’t surprise him the guy had been a coward.
“He told me I could have anything I wanted if I didn’t tell. So I made him draw up divorce papers, giving me enough money to get away from him. I changed my last name and left the States, leaving no trail behind me. Before I left, I told him if he ever came near me again I’d tell the newspapers the entire sordid story.”
“That took a lot of guts.”
“Guts? Hardly. If I’d had guts I’d have left him after the first time he hit me. Instead, I stayed and endured it all those years, hoping somehow he’d tire of the game, or maybe realize that he was hurting me. Anyway, by the time I ended up in the hospital I’d had enough. I wasn’t going to be a whore for him. It was bad enough I’d let it go on as long as I did.”
“He had a hold on you, Morgan,” he said, reaching his hand out to smooth the hair away from her face. Despite his earlier vow not to touch her, he couldn’t help it. She didn’t even flinch. It was as if telling the story to someone had been a catharsis for her.
He let his hand linger, then slide down and caress her cheek. Her eyes met his.
“I want a normal life again.”
“I know you do.”
“I want to feel like a woman again, instead of an empty shell. I need to feel that life force surging through me like it did before he ripped my joy away.”
So infuriated with her ex-husband he couldn’t speak, Tony just nodded.
“Help me,” she said, her eyes pleading.
“Anything.” He’d move mountains for this woman, although he didn’t know why she mattered so much to him. All he knew was he wanted her to heal. He wanted to see the real Morgan Brown. “Tell me what you need.”
A glimmer of a smile traced her lips. “I need sex.”
Chapter Six
If not for the pain stabbing thro
ugh her, Morgan would have laughed at the shocked expression on Tony’s face. But reliving every moment of that nightmare chilled her, made her feel empty, lifeless.
But it had also helped. She’d never told anyone that story. Not anyone but her family, and they hadn’t believed her, hadn’t come to her rescue. She had no further use for them.
But Tony, a complete stranger, had listened. Encouraged her to get it out, tell him everything, no matter how repulsive.
Only he wasn’t repulsed or disgusted by her. He’d believed what she said to be true, no matter how outrageous. He was sympathetic, but didn’t show signs of pity. She wouldn’t have been able to handle his pity. He let her speak, let her tell the story, but didn’t judge or blame her.
Somewhere deep down inside her, a tiny spark of life flickered.
She desperately needed to feel alive again—to feel whole, complete, in every way.
Especially sexually.
He swallowed. “Sex?”
“Yes. Will you help me?” It was time to put the past behind her. If she didn’t, David would win. Even though he no longer physically controlled her, he continued to pull her strings as if they were still attached. Well, no more. It had to stop now.
“Hell yeah,” he said, practically leaping out of the chair. That made her smile. Then his expression turned serious. “I mean, of course I’ll help you. But are you sure?”
The look of concern and tenderness on his face nearly brought her to tears. But she had no more tears left to cry. She’d left them all in Boston over three years ago. “I’m sure.”
She took another long sip of wine to fortify her courage. Just talking about sex again made her break out in a sweat. The thought of actually doing it, of trusting a man enough to let him touch her, might reduce her to a complete puddle of liquid.
But when she looked into Tony’s dark brown eyes, she trusted him. She didn’t know why—she shouldn’t. And yet he’d made it so easy for her to tell the story she’d never told anyone. Maybe it was because he was a journalist and adept at getting people to reveal their secrets.
She hoped to God she hadn’t been wrong about him, that she wouldn’t find her story plastered all over the newspapers tomorrow morning.
“Tell me what I can do to help you,” he whispered, gently stroking her cheek.
Grateful for the warmth coursing through her at his touch, she smiled. “I don’t really know. I just know it won’t be easy. You don’t have to—“
He touched her lips with his fingertips. “I want to do this. I want to help. You need to see that not every guy is a prick like your ex.”
She nodded. “We’ll have to start slow.”
“You call the shots. Tell me what you want.”
“Touch me. Not sexually. Just touch me.” She’d missed the simple pleasure of human touch, so afraid of anyone’s hands on her that the simple act of shaking hands with her guests had made her shudder. But no more, she was through with being afraid.
He stood and held out his hands to her. Inhaling deeply, she slipped her hands in his and waited for the typical rush of revulsion to hit her.
It didn’t. Tony’s hands were warm and so much larger than hers. Instead of making her feel overpowered, she felt safe. She allowed him to pull her to her feet. Slowly he stepped toward her until his body was inches from hers, and yet not touching. Then he gently folded his arms around her back and pulled her into his chest.
A moment of panic cut off her next breath, but she fought past it. Her heart pounded when she rested her palm on his chest. His own slow, steady heartbeat comforted her, and she laid her head on his shoulder.
When he rubbed her back with light strokes, she didn’t flinch.
“Is this okay?” he asked.
“Mmm hmm,” she mumbled, afraid to break the spell, afraid to think too much. If she did, she might bolt and run. She didn’t want to ruin the moment. She was being held and touched again, and it felt so right.
After a few moments she leaned back so she could look at him. “Kiss me.”
His eyes sparkled and he graced her with a devilish smile. He dipped his head, lightly brushing his lips across hers. She felt the whimper in the back of her throat and let it out.
“Sweet,” he whispered against her mouth. “Like berries.”
He tasted of wine and man. Powerful and potent. Her blood roared to life and soared through her, pumping energy and desire between her legs, moistening her, readying her for him.
Not yet. Oh, God she wanted to, but not yet. Just this, Tony kissing her, his hands playing softly against her back, the silk of her robe rubbing against her aching skin, was almost unbearable in its sweetness.
“Touch me,” he said as he lifted his head, his dark gaze penetrating her.
His pulsing erection pressed against her mound and she could have wept from the pleasure. Not once since he’d touched her had she pulled away or felt afraid.
She slipped her hand between them, her fingers pressing into the muscles of his chest. Rock hard. So was his stomach.
And lower. She palmed his erection over his shorts, delighting in his sharp intake of breath. He was huge. Hard and hot and ready.
“I’ve wanted your hand on my cock since the first moment I met you,” he rasped.
A glimmer of the control she used to relish flamed to life inside her. That feeling of power when she held a man’s shaft in her hand and knew that he wanted her, that he wanted to shove it into her as far as it would go.
That invincible feeling was a lifetime ago. She knew she had no control, she never had. It had all been an illusion.
She dropped her hand to the side and made to turn away, but Tony grasped her wrist. She let out a shocked gasp, adrenalin rushing through her. But he only smiled and kissed the pulse point at her wrist.
“Your touch felt good, Morgan. Don’t stop.”
He released her wrist and laid her arm back at her side. She realized then he really was giving her the control. If she wanted to turn and walk away, he wouldn’t try to stop her.
Which only made her want to stay, to continue her exploration, to find out where it could lead.
She looked up at him, saw the restraint in his clenched jaw and rigid posture, knew what it cost him to let her play like this. And she trusted him. He wouldn’t hurt her, she knew it. He wouldn’t touch her unless she asked him to.
“I want to feel your cock in my hands,” she said, then leaned over and pulled his shorts down. His rod sprung forward into her waiting hand.
She closed her fingers around it, felt its life force pulsing against her palm, and stroked the length of him.
He sucked in a breath and let out a low moan. He looked like a wolf, his head thrown back as if preparing to howl at the moon overhead. Then he dropped his gaze, his eyes holding her.
And she stroked again, then circled her thumb over the tip of his erection. Silken drops of pre-come spilled over her fingers. She drew her fingers to her mouth and licked the salty fluid. Tony’s eyes never left her face, his gaze focused on her mouth.
“You taste good,” she said, licking his essence off her fingers before grasping him again and squeezing his shaft.
Morgan leaned into him, resting her hip against his thigh as she stroked him from base to tip. The heavy feel of him in her hands was a powerful aphrodisiac. Her desire poured between her legs and down her thighs.
“You smell like sweet sex,” he said, alternately watching her hand and looking at her eyes. “The fact you’re turned on makes me even hotter.”
“I’m wet,” she admitted. Which was an understatement. She was soaked, primed and ready for his shaft.
“I know. Do you know how hard it is not to drop to my knees and lick that juice from between your legs? To hear your cries and whimpers as I love you with my tongue?”
She quickened her strokes. “Yes, I know how hard it is, “ she teased. But his words seared through her, making her ache for his hands, his mouth, his shaft. And she’d have them all
. Soon. Very, very soon.
“I want you to come with me,” he said, his hips jerking forward to propel his shaft between her hands.
But she wasn’t ready for him to touch her like that. “I…I can’t. Not yet.”
“Yeah you can. You can come for me, and I won’t touch you.”
He removed her hand and led her to the chaise lounge on the deck. He lay down on his back and looked up at her.
“Sit on me,” he said. “Straddle me and rub your pussy against my cock. Ride me until you come.”
Her legs buckled and she felt weak, whether from fear or excitement she couldn’t tell. All she knew was the invitation was too good to pass up. She throbbed, she pulsed, she was wet and near to coming already. It wouldn’t take much to send her right over the cliff.
Tony gripped the sides of the chaise, letting her know that he wouldn’t try to touch her. Hesitantly she dropped the robe, her heart soaring at the look of male appreciation in his hot gaze. His eyes raked over her body, settled on her breasts until her nipples hardened as if his look were a caress. Then he glanced lower, between her legs, and smiled when his gaze met hers again.
“You have a gorgeous body,” he said.
She knew she had wide hips and her butt was a little bubbly. She did have nice breasts, though, and was glad he appreciated her womanly body. “It’s okay,” she replied.
He frowned. “You don’t believe me. Baby, you’ve got a woman’s body. All curvy and full, just the way I like it. If I wanted to fuck a woman who looked like a twelve-year-old boy I’d go search out a fashion model. I wanna fuck a real woman. I wanna fuck you.”
She reveled in the sweet ache of joy at the honesty in his words, and stepped toward him. He didn’t move or speak as she spread her legs. He tilted his head to the side and peered between her legs, then when he looked up at her he licked his lips.
A promise. She couldn’t wait.
Leaning down, she straddled him, anticipating the moment when her wet pussy would touch his rigid penis.
She settled on him, her aching lips opening to surround him. Even though it wasn’t as good as having his thick shaft buried deep inside her, sliding against him like this hit her clit in just the right way. Sparks of pleasure snaked through her and she shuddered against him.