“Damn it, Carly!” he growled, shoving his hand into his pocket and coming back with a condom. He ripped it open with his teeth, then pushed his hands between their bodies to release his erection. After a bit of fumbling, he grunted and pulled back, setting her down on the floor. “Here. You do this,” he ordered, then braced his hands on either side of the door by her head. “Hurry Carly.”
She looked down at her hand to see the condom there, then looked at his erection. “You’re going to let me do it?” she whispered, licking her lips as she stared at his jutting erection.
“Not any longer,” he snapped, taking it out of her hand. In moments, he’d stripped her of her clothes, then tore his off as well, unconcerned with buttons or zippers. There was some ripping involved but she found herself stretched out on the bed, both of them naked as he rolled the condom down his shaft while watching her. “Spread your legs for me, love,” he ordered.
Normally, Carly wouldn’t have the courage to follow that kind of command. But watching Ryker like this, she couldn’t stop her legs from moving wider, feeling powerful and feminine as he stared down at her with fire in his eyes.
When he entered her this time, it felt as if he fit her perfectly, making everything right again. Then he started moving, shifting against her, sliding in and out of her heat and Carly couldn’t hold back. She lifted her hips, meeting his thrusts and pulling his hips closer, harder, faster. In almost no time at all, she felt her body splintering apart, the waves of pleasure so intense, she couldn’t even scream his name. All she could do is cling to him as he followed with his own climax right behind her.
When he collapsed against her, she rolled over with him, startled by how incredible it had felt. She opened her mouth to say something, but the words wouldn’t come.
But she smiled as his hands tangled in her hair, soothing both of them as their bodies calmed down.
“Never thought I’d enjoy an ice storm so much,” he murmured, then rolled over to kiss her, starting all over again.
Chapter 10
Carly bit her lip as Ryker pulled into her driveway. She didn’t want to leave him. They’d spent the last three days in bed, making love and laughing, watching really bad movies on the sad cable stations the hotel offered, eating burgers and nachos from the lone restaurant, and laughing about how bad the food was.
She’d texted Jayce and Oz, letting them know that they were okay, but the ice storm didn’t let up that night. It took the road crews until late Saturday to get the roads salted. And then Sunday, neither Carly nor Ryker had been in a hurry to leave. They both had clean clothes, courtesy of the gas station that supplied sweatshirts and leggings for her and a pair of sweatpants for him, plus clean underwear.
“You’re going to be able to catch up on your sleep tonight,” he said, toying with a lock of her hair.
Carly nodded, biting her lip to stop herself from bursting into tears.
“I’m sure Lucifer will be happy to have you back.”
Another nod, and she glanced at the window, seeing Lucifer pacing back and forth in the window. She was sure that Oz or Jayce had come over to take care of her cat. They were good brothers and wouldn’t have hesitated, even though they weren’t fond of her kitty. They were both dog people.
“Maybe,” he started and she looked at him, blinking rapidly and hoping that he couldn’t see the tears in her eyes in the dim light. “Maybe we should make this a week-long thing instead of just a weekend,” he suggested. “I don’t know about you, Carly, but I’m not ready for this to be over.”
Carly’s heart did that thumping thing and her eyes widened as hope filled her. “A week?” She thought about it for a fraction of a second. “I think a week would be good. I mean,” she searched for the right words, trying to justify being with him for a week, “I’m not dating anyone right now. And you’re not either.” As soon as she spoke the words, she looked up at him. “You’re not, are you?” she gasped, the possibility hurting more than she thought possible.
“No, Carly. I’m not dating anyone. I haven’t been with anyone for a long time.”
“Oh,” she replied, looking down at her hands before looking back up at him. “I think a week might work out pretty well.”
With that, he leaned forward, kissing her gently before nibbling her lower lip. “Invite me inside, Carly,” he commanded.
“Come inside, Ryker,” she replied, smiling and feeling giddy all of a sudden.
“I hope that you have fruits and vegetables,” he groaned as he stepped out of the car, coming around to her side and taking her hand so that he could spin her around and press her back against the side of his car. “Because I think I might go into cardiac arrest if I don’t have some sort of proper nutrition soon.”
Carly laughed, feeling light headed. “If my memory is correct, I have the makings for a healthy salad and lots of apples.”
“First things first,” he warned, taking her hand. “I need to check out your bedroom before we do anything else.”
Carly laughed, unlocking the door to her house and letting him inside, fully on board with his plan.
They didn’t make it to the bed. At least, not initially. Ryker started kissing her right there in the foyer. He had her clothes off after they’d moved the three steps to the stairs, upon which he set her down on and, with his mouth and hands, gave Carly her first climax. By the time they made it up to the top of the stairs, his clothes were off. And yes, the bed might have been more comfortable, but the wall was more convenient. When he entered her this time, she could barely catch her breath. His long, hard thrusts took her right over the edge.
For so long, Carly had thought the wall was just a wall. Not so anymore!
By the time they both stumbled to her bed, the next round was slower, more teasing and with a lot of gasps and laughter.
Eventually, they made it downstairs for food.
Chapter 11
Charlotte stood up and extended her hand as the man walked into her office. “Thank you so much for coming in, Mr. Bertrand,” she said, smiling at the man as he shook her hand. “I wanted to talk to you separately from our sessions with your daughter, Emily.”
The man rubbed his jaw and looked out the windows, obviously uncomfortable and nervous. “I don’t know why you want to talk to me, doc. My daughter was the one who was…hurt.” The father sighed and rubbed his face with both hands. “But…whatever.”
“Sometimes, it’s helpful to speak with parents alone. Just to explore different perspectives.”
Bruce nodded and shrugged. Charlotte knew that he was trying to dismiss what had happened to his daughter and talking about the rape only brought the pain back to the forefront of his consciousness. But she also knew that he was failing miserably at his attempts to pretend as if nothing had happened, if his unkempt appearance and pale features lined with raw emotion were any indication.
“Come on into my office,” she urged, leading the way. Bart, bless his darling soul, stood up from his doggy bed and jumped up on the sofa as soon as Bruce sat down. Bart was a trained therapy dog and he seemed to understand when someone needed comfort. It was a win-win situation, since Bart loved humans, and Charlotte’s patients sometimes needed to pet Bart. It seemed to detach their emotions from the conversation more easily, allowing them to say things that they normally wouldn’t. Bart’s heavy, solid body leaned against her patients and his fur was silky and smooth, giving the patient a physical sensation of snuggling that they might normally reject. Then there was Bart’s adorably ugly face which made people smile when he looked up into their eyes, begging for love.
Automatically, Bruce started petting Bart and the two seemed to relax together.
“What’s up, doc?” Bruce asked.
Charlotte smiled, sitting to the side of the man versus directly in front of him. Men were more comfortable, more open when the person talking was sitting beside them. Women needed the eye contact and so Charlotte sat directly in front of her female patients.
&nbs
p; “First of all, I’d like to assure you that, anything you say to me, will not go any further. Emily will never hear your words unless you’d like me to convey them to her. So whatever you say, won’t go beyond these four walls.”
“Right,” he grunted.
“I suspect that Emily isn’t the only one in your family that is dealing with a trauma, Bruce,” she offered softly. “As Emily’s father, how do you feel about what happened to her?”
Immediately, Bruce’s features crumpled as the pain he’d been repressing slipped. His hand stopped stroking Bart until the sweet canine nuzzled his hand. That seemed to pull Bruce out of the moment and he regained a bit of control, lifting his head up, sniffling slightly, then nodding. “I want to kill the bastard who did this to her. How…How could a boy…a teenage boy…rape my daughter? She’s so beautiful and sweet and…!” He stopped, bowing his head into his hands as his emotions choked off the words.
Bart leaned against Bruce’s body and Charlotte gave the man a moment.
“There are disturbed people in this world,” Charlotte finally replied.
“But Emily!” he burst out, shaking his head. “If she’d just…”
Ah! This is exactly what Charlotte was hoping for. “You think it was her fault?”
Bruce looked over, startled by Charlotte’s words. “What? No! Emily didn’t do this to herself!” He sighed, rubbing his face as his frustration became harder to suppress. “Maybe if she hadn’t been wearing that short skirt, she might have been safe. Or jeans! Why the hell hadn’t she worn jeans that night! Jeans would have protected her!”
Bart nuzzled Bruce’s hand and the stroking started again, soothing Bruce.
Charlotte’s heart ached for the man. “So, if your daughter had been wearing the right clothes, you think the man wouldn’t have raped her?”
Bruce closed his eyes. “No!” He rubbed Bart’s body as he bowed his head. “Maybe.” Another long, pain-filled moment. “Yeah.” He opened his eyes and looked at Charlotte. “Did Emily bring this on herself? Did she set herself up for this …” he couldn’t finish the thought. He swallowed audibly. “Did this happen because Emily wore that dress?” He sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “I told her mother that it was too short! I told her that it wasn’t right!”
Charlotte mentally sighed and leaned forward, opening a file folder that had been sitting on the low table between them. “Here’s a picture of a woman wearing a pair of jeans, sweater, jacket, and scarf.” She laid the picture down on the coffee table. Charlotte let Bruce look at the picture for a moment. “Do you think that this woman is dressed appropriately? Safely?”
Bruce sniffed again, his jaw stiff. “Yeah. If Emily had been dressed like that, she wouldn’t have been raped! That asshole…he thought that my baby girl was…fair game!”
Charlotte’s eyes softened. “This girl was raped that same day, Bruce. Wearing exactly that. This picture was taken right before a school event. She hadn’t been drinking. She hadn’t encouraged anyone. She’d been dating the same man for three years. And yet, she was raped by a stranger that noticed her at that event. He followed her home and raped her.”
Bruce was silent for a long moment, processing that information.
Charlotte set another picture down in front of him. “What about this woman? She’s wearing a suit, low heels, conservative purse. Her hair is pulled back. She looks professional.”
Bruce didn’t say anything for a long moment. But after staring at the picture, he looked up at Charlotte, swallowing hard. “Did she…was she…?”
“Yes. This woman was raped that afternoon when she came home because her daughter was sick. She left work early, picked her infant daughter up from day care, put her baby into the crib for a nap, and was about to change her clothes when someone knocked on the door. This woman was raped in her house wearing exactly these clothes.”
Charlotte set another picture down on the table. This was a picture of a young woman, smiling over her shoulder, her blond hair flowing out behind her. The woman wore a filmy, summer dress that stopped midway down her upper thighs, was low cut and, because of the sun behind her, her figure a graceful silhouette through the material. The woman looked happy and carefree.
“Was she…?” Bruce asked, his voice rough, eyes wide in horror.
Charlotte smiled gently. “No. She is not the survivor of a violent crime, Bruce. This woman went to a bar, had some beers with her friends and all six of them made it home unscathed, despite the fact that she was wearing something light, fun, and sexy.”
Bruce sighed, leaning back against the cushions, stroking Bart’s back thoughtfully. “What’s your point?”
Charlotte leaned forward. “My point, Bruce, is that Emily didn’t ask to be raped because she wore something short and pretty. The world should never, ever, blame a rape survivor. We shouldn’t tell women that they should be indoors by a certain time, that they should cover themselves from neck to ankle in order to be safe. Women shouldn’t be afraid to wear fun clothes for fear of being attacked.” She let those words sink in. “We should tell rapist that they shouldn’t rape. Period. Rape is not an issue of sexual desire. It’s an anger issue. It’s a power issue. It is about men who want to subdue a woman and don’t respect her right to not be violated. Period.”
He thought about that for a long moment, staring at the pictures in front of him. “So you’re saying that my Emily would have been raped no matter what she wore that night?” he asked, his voice ragged now.
“No,” Charlotte said gently. “I’m not saying that at all. What Emily needs right now is for you to blame the man who raped her. And to stop blaming Emily for getting raped.”
His eyed widened in horror. “I didn’t say that!”
Charlotte nodded. “Every time you blame her for wearing a short skirt, you are telling her that she brought this on herself. That it wasn’t the fault of the rapist. He had no control because Emily was pretty and wearing a skirt that wasn’t long enough or demure enough.” Charlotte’s voice tightened. “Rapists are criminals, Bruce. The man who did this to your daughter wasn’t consumed with lust. He was consumed with rage. He was consumed by the need to hurt your daughter in the most basic way possible. Rape isn’t about sex. It’s about power. It’s about hurting another person.” She sighed. “Women do not ever, ever, ask to be raped. Women shouldn’t be punished for walking down the street.”
Bruce swallowed, closing his eyes tightly. Bart crawled onto Bruce’s lap, leaning his heavy body against the man’s chest. Bruce’s arms closed around Bart’s body as sobs shook him. Charlotte didn’t say anything for a long time.
“You want to blame someone for your daughter’s pain, Bruce. Don’t you?”
“Yes!” he groaned. “Yes!”
“Blaming someone would help you make sense of your world again. The authorities can’t find the man who raped her. And it’s hard to blame a faceless man, no matter how evil he is. But Emily is right there. Every morning, she’s right there in front of you.”
His wet eyes opened at Charlotte’s words. “I don’t…!” He shook his head. “Please tell me I haven’t been blaming her for this!”
Charlotte wanted desperately to help the man, and she needed him to direct his anger in the right direction. “I think that’s something you need to discuss with Emily, Bruce. You need to talk to her about the comments that you’ve made and hear her words, understand how she’s receiving yours.”
Bruce shuddered as another wave of pain hit him, but he rallied valiantly, shaking his head. “I can’t!”
Charlotte smiled gently again. “You can. For Emily, you can do anything, can’t you?”
“Yes!” he sobbed. Bart snuggled even closer, rubbing his rough snout against Bruce’s cheek. Bruce rubbed Bart’s ears, holding the dog closer.
For several minutes, Bruce sobbed, shaking his head and rubbing Bart’s silky fur. Charlotte waited, knowing that he’d come through this. When she knew that he could hear her words again, she said,
“You’ve suffered a trauma as well, Bruce. Your little girl has been violated. If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to help you get through this too.”
He nodded, his tears falling silently now and his hold on Bart relaxed slightly. Bart continued to lean against his chest, a heavy, solid weight that centered Bruce, helped ground him as he sorted through the emotions zinging through him.
“I’ll talk to her tonight,” he promised. “And yes. Please help me.” he nodded.
“Good.” Fifteen minutes later, Bruce had another appointment for the end of the week. He and Charlotte had talked about what he could say to Emily, how to open up the conversation so that they could start the healing process. Charlotte suspected that most of the healing would be done in her office over the next few weeks. Most people were hesitant to wreak further damage once the dam of feelings broke. But for today, it was a good day.
Watching Bruce walk out to his car, walking slowly with his shoulders curled inward, Charlotte sighed. The family had a lot of grieving to do before they started the healing process. Lifting her cell phone, she texted Carly. “How’s the confidence course coming along?”
Chapter 12
Carly beamed as she stepped out of her car the following Saturday. The confidence course design was finished, thanks to Ryker’s brilliant suggestions. She’d ordered the supplies, which had been delivered over the past few days. As she rounded the corner where Ryker, Oz, and Jayce had agreed to put the course, she froze.
They’d mentioned to friends that they were building a confidence course but the guys hadn’t asked for volunteers, thinking they could do it themselves. And in truth, they probably could! They were strong and able to lift heavy objects and could cobble together whatever they had on hand when they needed something done. Carly had anticipated maybe five or ten people would be here to help out, which would mean that the course would be finished in a day. But standing in front of her wasn’t five or ten people. There was a crowd of people here! Jessa, with Liam strapped to her chest, was handing out cups of coffee and donuts, Charlotte, holding Bethany, stood next to Jessa and was handing out something else, but Carly wasn’t sure what it was.
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