by Eva Ashwood
My body shudders, precum leaking from me and soaking into my boxers. When Grace’s fingers move up to the button on my jeans, she looks up at me once more. She doesn’t say anything this time, but I can see the question in her eyes.
Slowly, my chin dips again, giving her permission to continue.
There’s a slight tremor in her hands as she undoes my button and tugs my fly down, but it’s nothing compared to the way my hips jerk and shift. I can’t seem to stay still. There’s too much sensation roaring through me, it won’t let me.
Then her fingers brush against the bare skin of my cock, and I let out a harsh grunt. My heart crashes against my ribs as she kisses the tip, her tongue darting out to collect some of the precum that’s still leaking from me.
“Grace.” Her name comes almost involuntarily, like it’s the only word in the English language I remember right now.
“I want to taste you, Ciro,” she murmurs quietly, her fist wrapping around me before she licks me again. “I want to put my mouth on you. I’ve wanted to ever since the night you touched me, when you licked me. I want to make you feel as good as you made me feel. Will you let me?”
“Yes.” It’s a raspy groan, a voice I barely recognize as my own.
She drops her head lower before running her tongue all the way up the underside of my shaft. I groan, my eyes rolling back in my head. My balls are drawn up tight, my cock pulsing against the soft skin of her hand as she fists me again and wraps her lips around my head.
I’m gonna fucking embarrass myself. She’s barely touched me, and I’m about to lose it. I grimace in frustration, worried my reaction to her is too much, too strong.
But when Grace looks up at me, her cheeks hollowed and her lips wrapped around my shaft, she looks dazed and pleased, her pupils blown out.
She looks like she’s enjoying this.
That thought almost wrecks me, and I release the blanket, fisting her hair instead. My fingers bury themselves in her soft honey-colored locks, gripping tightly. I trap the strands between my fingers in a vise grip, but I’m careful not to pull too hard. I won’t hurt her. I refuse to—not when she’s giving me so much pleasure.
My hands move up and down with the motion of her head, and my hips thrust up toward her face, meeting her each time her lips slide down my cock. I’m about to come. I can feel it building inside me, the slow burn of pleasure that tightens my balls and makes my cock swell against her tongue.
I don’t want to. Fuck, not yet. Not yet.
I’m not ready for this incredible pleasure to be over. It’s been years since I’ve been touched like this, since I’ve let myself feel like this. And it’s not the warm lips sliding over my cock that’s got me so close to exploding. It’s the woman on her knees in front of me, offering herself to me like I fucking deserve her.
“Grace!”
Her name bursts from my lips one more time as my hips thrust upward. Jets of cum spill from my cock as pleasure slams through me, and I feel her swallow, her lips still wrapped around my shaft. She keeps sucking and stroking me until every last drop has poured out of me, and I’m gasping for breath by the time she releases me from her mouth.
My cock is still semi-hard, glistening from her saliva, and her lips are pink and a little swollen. I unclench my fingers from her hair, and the blonde locks tumble in messy waves around her face. My heart is drumming so hard against my ribs that it hurts. Everything that just happened was a combination of pleasure and pain, of desperate desire and old wounds trying to rip me apart.
But I’ve never felt anything so incredible.
Grace tugs her full bottom lip between her teeth. She tucks me back into my pants before tugging up the zipper and buttoning them up again. Her touch is gentle, almost tender, and it makes me think of the way I touched her in the shower the night Brian almost killed her. I still had my clothes on, so we weren’t even skin-to-skin. But all I knew in that moment was that I wanted to help her. That I wanted to make everything better for her.
Is that what she felt while she was on her knees for me?
She rises slowly to her feet, a shy smile spreading across her face. She moves to step away from me, and I don’t know where she’s going, but I suddenly can’t bear the thought of letting her leave. Before I’m even conscious of the movement, my hand reaches out and grabs hers. I tug her back toward me, and I see her eyes widen in surprise before I pull her down onto the bed with me. I move us toward the middle of the mattress and lie down, bringing her with me and wrapping my arms around her, burying my face in her hair.
It’s terrifying to touch someone this closely, our bodies pressed together from head to toe. The only other time we’ve done this was in the shower that night, and before that, it’d been years since I let someone get that close.
In the aftermath of the orgasm, my body is still over-sensitized and buzzing, and the feel of her soft body cradled against mine makes my heart thud heavily in my chest.
Her heart is beating hard too, I realize. Just as hard and fast as mine is. Does she feel what I do? Or anything even close to it? I press a kiss to her hair, inhaling her jasmine scent as I both offer comfort and seek it.
I don’t speak, and neither does she. We just lie together, breathing each other in, until our bodies relax against each other.
The last thing I’m aware of is her small hand pressed against my chest.
7
Grace
Lying next to Ciro, I feel his heart thrumming steadily beneath my palm.
As it thuds against his chest and my hand, it slowly returns to a sated, rhythmic beat as he drifts off to sleep. Though he doesn’t hold me in his arms the way one of the other men might, he allows me to be close enough that his warm skin heats my own, and a small thrill of happiness spreads through me, despite my own exhaustion.
Holy fuck.
I’ve never been more turned on in my life, and all I did was give him a blowjob.
Brian liked when I went down on him, so I did it pretty often. But it was never something I particularly enjoyed doing.
Until tonight.
What just happened between me and Ciro was different.
I might’ve been on my knees in front of him, but I didn’t feel weak. I felt powerful.
Not like I dominated him or anything, but like I had the power to give him something no one else could. Something he stopped even hoping for a long time ago.
To see him so turned on and so trusting, so desperate for me? To feel him lose control, even a little bit? It was one of the most amazing things I’ve ever experienced.
The fact that he even allowed me to touch him made me feel special, and the way he looked at me with worship in his eyes meant the world to me. Means the world to me.
I try not to squirm against the ache between my legs, not wanting to disturb him. As willing as I am to give him pleasure, I know I can’t push him too far.
Ciro still has a long way to go. I’m just beginning to understand the weight of his trauma, and I’ll probably never know all of it. I can try to comprehend what he’s gone through, but I’m only grasping at the edges of it.
Still, I think, listening to his heart as sleep tugs at my consciousness, at least it’s a start.
I try to hold up the fabric of my dress as I stumble over the pavement, but it’s soaked in blood from the hem all the way up to my breasts—fresh blood that weighs the dress down and makes it wrap around my ankles. I want to tear the fucking gown off, but I can’t stop for anything.
Because if I stop, I may never start again.
My strength is already failing me, but adrenaline fuels my fear, pushing me forward.
My dress snags on something, sending me tumbling to the ground with a heavy smack. Pain tears through my lungs as my palms scrape against the cement. I try to force myself back up, but another weight slams down on my body, covering me.
He’s caught up with me, and he’s never going to let me go.
Brian.
“Gotcha.” His v
oice is rough, breathless from the chase. His face shines with sweat, and malice gleams in his eyes.
I fight with everything in me. I try to push him away, but he’s too heavy, crushing me with his weight. He straddles me, pinning me with his large body. His hands come down on my throat before I have a chance to protest or try to convince him to let me go, strangling me. Choking the breath out of me.
“I always wanted to hear you beg,” he grunts, pressing harder. He strains to hold me down, sweat dripping down his forehead and a vein bulging at his temple. “I wanted to see fear in your eyes. I wanted you to fucking suffer.”
Stop.
My mouth moves, but no sound comes out. My head is spinning, the lack of oxygen making me dizzy.
He’s going to kill me.
If I could still speak, I would beg. I would plead with him, I would scream at him. I would fight him.
Stop.
Please, stop.
Stop.
“Stop!” I choke out hoarsely, heart pounding as my eyes fly open.
I try to swallow away the lingering terror of the dream, but I can’t. My throat is closed up tight, burning in agony as I register the weight on top of me and the hands on my throat, choking me.
The real hands.
The real weight.
Ciro.
His eyes are open but unfocused. I can see the terror locked away somewhere in them as he dreams, but it’s overwhelmed by a look of sickening determination. He’s lost somewhere in his head, in a night terror, not remembering me or anything we shared just hours ago.
“Ciro—”
It’s meant to be a scream, but it’s hardly a word at all. I can’t get any air. I can’t move.
“Ciro, please, you don’t—”
You don’t know what you’re doing, I try to say, but the words are lost in the grip he has over my throat. And as if sensing the fight for life in me, he squeezes harder, pressing me deeper into the bed with his body, crushing my lungs and my stomach with his knees to my chest.
Wake up wake up wake up.
I sob silently, my throat burning. I don’t know if the words make it from my thoughts to my mouth, but either way, they do no good. The pain that stems from my lungs and throat begins to rush through the rest of my body.
Darkness clouds the edges of my vision, prickled with light, but the room starts to swirl around me, fading into nothingness.
Slam!
Hale bursts in, the door rattling in its frame as it closes behind him. He runs across the darkened room toward the bed, yanking Ciro off me. My hands fly to my burning throat as I gasp for air. Pain tears through my lungs and throat with every inhale, but I keep sucking in oxygen anyway.
I want to scream, but nothing comes out as Ciro fights against Hale like a wild animal. Hale is quicker though. It probably helps that he’s actually conscious. Within seconds, he has his burly friend pinned to the ground. He strains to keep Ciro down with his weight, pressing into him with his arms, legs, torso, and hands.
“Ciro!” Hale shouts, voice straining. “It’s not real. It’s not fucking real. Ciro, wake up!”
Another wave of aggression rips through the black-haired man as he thrashes and flails against Hale’s grip. Hardly caring about my own safety, I scramble toward the edge of the bed, holding my throat with one hand.
Ciro. Fuck, I need to help—
“Stay away from him, Grace!” Hale warns, grabbing Ciro’s wrists and pinning them to the floor.
Seconds that feel like hours pass as I watch in horror. My stomach twists as I realize that this has happened before—more than just once or twice. Otherwise, Hale wouldn’t know what to do. He waits it out patiently, straining with everything in him, holding his friend down, murmuring something in a low voice. I can’t hear what it is; the quiet sounds are drowned out by the rush of blood in my ears.
Slowly, like ice melting, Ciro comes to.
After witnessing what I just saw, I didn’t think anything could be worse, but I was wrong.
This is worse.
Ciro’s entire body shudders. He’s shaking and panting like a wild animal. All the color leaves his face as if someone’s draining his blood. His eyes slowly clear, the pupils expanding until the Ciro I know re-emerges, trapped under his friend’s body. Sensing the change, Hale hesitantly pulls away, dragging himself off Ciro but staying close enough to lunge at him if the night terror starts again.
Ciro wipes the back of his hand over his mouth, still gasping for breath.
But it isn’t until those steely gray eyes meet mine that everything in him seems to shatter a second time—and this time, I break with him. Like an arrow piercing my heart, I feel his gaze scan the column of my throat where his hands have made imprints, and pure self-hatred floods his expression.
He knows exactly what he just did to me.
He can see the evidence of it on my pale skin.
I slip off the bed without thinking, stumbling over to him, desperate to help him. But as I reach out for him to tell him that I’m fine, he scrambles away, dragging himself along the floor.
“Stay away from me!” he shouts hoarsely, pulling into himself until his back presses up against the wall.
I pursue him, but Hale stops me with a firm but gentle hand around my wrist.
“Don’t, Grace,” he says in a low voice. He sounds almost as wrecked as Ciro.
Tears blur my vision, and as the droplets spill over my eyelids, I realize my cheeks are already wet. I was crying when I woke up, and now I can’t seem to stop.
I know Hale is just trying to help, but I can’t stand that it’s this way, can’t stand that neither of them trust me to be near Ciro.
“You didn’t hurt me,” I plead, turning back to Ciro as choked sobs clog my aching throat. Hale releases his grip on my wrist, but his hand slides down to grasp mine. He pulls me back, telling me with a silent shake of his head that it’s useless. But I refuse to give up. “Please, let me help—”
“Stay away from me.” I don’t know the person who stares at me from the other side of the room, pressed up against the wall. “Stay away.”
I don’t recognize the man whose whole body shakes as he holds his wrists against his body, as if trying to keep himself from doing it again. His eyes churn and his jaw clenches, all of the peace we felt together replaced by acidic tension.
Running his hands through his black hair, Ciro tugs at the roots. He’s not looking at me anymore, just staring off into space. His knee bounces, his chest heaves, and I can practically see the thoughts flashing through his head.
It’s like he’s afraid of himself again. Like he thinks this is what he gets for trying to heal, to have something good, to let himself go for a little while.
It’s like he thinks if he touches me… he’ll break me.
8
Grace
I stare down at Ciro with tears burning my eyes.
How did shit get so messed up, so quickly? I don’t know what time it is, but it can’t have been more than a few hours ago that I was on my knees in front of this man, worshipping him with my mouth while he looked at me like I was the most incredible thing he’d ever seen.
He didn’t hold back with me. He let himself feel good, let himself enjoy it. And in the aftermath, he held me like he’d never let me go.
Now he’s pressed up against the wall like he’d disappear through it if he could. Like he’s a prisoner in a cage—and in a way, he is. Whatever demons lurk in his mind, whispering lies about the kind of person he is and the kind of pain he deserves, they hold him prisoner just as surely as the walls of whatever room he was held captive in once did.
And every time he tries to break free, they drag him back down again.
I hate it.
My jaw clenches, anger at what Ciro’s had to go through overwhelming me in a hot rush. I see his body stiffen along with mine, and I force myself to take a breath. He’s responding to my energy, and the fury I’m feeling right now isn’t helping anyone—especial
ly not Ciro, who struggles enough with violence as it is.
He needs gentleness.
Calm.
Warmth.
He needs all of the things he keeps trying to push away, and I don’t care if he doesn’t think he’s worthy, I’m going to give them to him anyway.
I’m afraid to try to touch him right now though. Afraid it’ll hurt him more than he’s already been hurt. My throat still aches a little, and I’m guessing I’ll have some bruising on my fair skin tomorrow—hell, maybe the marks are already visible—but that’s the least of my concerns right now.
As Ciro closes his eyes, his whole body shuddering, I glance at Hale, a helpless plea in my expression. I want to make this better, but I don’t know what to do. He’s Ciro’s best friend, and I hope like hell that he’ll have some idea how to ease the broken man’s agony.
Hale is still sitting on the floor in the spot where he pinned Ciro down earlier. His knees are bent, his elbows resting on them as his head bows slightly. He looks exhausted and sad, but when he meets my gaze, he nods.
He pushes to his feet and walks over to me, helping me up with a gentle grip on my arms. He leads me over to the bed and sits me down on the edge of the mattress. I’m wearing the same clothes I fell asleep in, a soft sweater and a pair of jeans, and my sweater got twisted around my body a little as I struggled with Ciro.
As he straightens out the fabric, I glance over Hale’s shoulder to see Ciro watching us with a blank, haunted stare. Almost as if Hale can feel that stare, he speaks to his friend.
“She’s okay. Grace is okay. See?”
Ciro shakes his head, his fists clenching. His knees are up by his chest, his back against the wall, and his dark hair is wild and untamed from his fingers.
“I’ll check on her, all right?” Hale’s voice is even and calm. There’s no anger or frustration in his tone, just boundless patience. “What do you want me to do, Ciro?”
“Check her neck,” the man across the room rasps.