Page 58 of Crave Me

“I’m fine. I was boxing. Are you?”

She closes her eyes and tears break free, I watch for a moment as they trickle over her perfect freckles and cascade down her beautiful face, debating on the best way to get through to her.

“Princess, I’m addicted to you in ways I can’t explain. When I’m not with you, I crave you. And it pisses me the fuck off.”

She looks up at me then, eyes curious, darting back and forth between my own.

“But I wouldn’t change a fucking thing. I’m in this. Whatever is going on, I want you to know that I have your back. I’m not going anywhere.”

She takes a deep breath, shock morphing into worry.

“This is going to change everything, Dallas.” I already guessed as much. What she hasn’t figured out yet is that I’m so damn gone for her that she could tell me she dismembers bodies in her basement and paints murals with their blood in her spare time and I would probably ask if I could join her just to spend more time together. These few days away from her have been miserable after knowing what it’s like to have her.

“Try me. I don’t scare easily.”

She takes an audible gulp of air into her lungs before talking.

“My parents weren’t in the military. I wasn’t raised around the world. I’ve never even left Washington. My parents are Curtis and Natasha Hollis, two drug addicts who lost custody of me when I was five when they were arrested on drug distribution and child neglect charges.” She pauses and takes a deep breath. My head is reeling with this new information. My poor girl.

“I was put into foster care and bounced around quite a bit. No one wants a five-year-old kid with drug addicts for biological parents. Turns out they didn’t want me at any age, because I was never adopted after my parents’ rights were relinquished.” Blaire wipes away a few rogue tears while I spin out of control and process what she’s saying. I knew she was hiding something,but this, this I don’t even know what to do with. I thought she came from a happy home and moved all over the world. Anger courses through my veins at what she’s been through, it wars with sympathy and my need to fix her pain, forcing me to work hard to keep my breathing steady so she doesn’t spook again. Even though my mind is reeling, I rub my hands over the soft skin of her arms.

“Tell me more, baby. I want to hear the whole story,” I plead with her, hearing the tremble in my voice. She takes a deep breath before speaking again, her voice barely above a whisper, her hands trembling. I grab them, holding them between mine, hoping that I’m providing the comfort and safety I know I can bring her.

“While I lived in a total of seven homes, only one was a nightmare and scarred me for life. The last home I was in was for almost a year and a half. From sixteen through right before I turned eighteen. It was pretty bad. The nightmare I had at your house, they come and go still. I don’t know what my triggers are, but they sneak in sometimes and unfortunately very vividly portray the type of abuse I received.”

“Fuck, Blaire. Whatever happened, I promise it wasn’t your fault.”

“I know that now . . . He harassed me. And beat me. And raped me. I lived in hell.”

“Goddamn it,” I whisper, squeezing my eyes closed tightly and trying to breathe through my nose, processing what she’s been through.

“I’m sorry . . .”

I run my hands through my hair, doing my best to digest this. Moving directly in front of her, I hold her face in my palms, forcing her to look at me. “Why areyousorry? You have nothing to be sorry for and I don’t want to hear you apologize for that again. That shit happened to you at no fault of your own. Youdid nothing to deserve that. Fuck, baby, don’t ever apologize for that.” Nausea rolls through me at the thought of this precious girl being harmed by some low-life piece of shit. She nods her head, chewing on the inside of her cheek.

“It went on for a while before one of my teachers saw some signs and pulled me aside. As a mandatory reporter, an investigation was opened and I was removed from the home, along with four of my foster siblings. He was charged with child neglect and endangerment, child abuse, sexual assault of a minor, rape, among other things, and got twelve years in prison.”

“I can’t believe what you’ve endured and survived. I’m so sorry. I’m at a loss for words.”

I release her face and drop my back against the couch as the realization of what I’ve done hits me like a semitruck. I immediately panic.

“Jesus Christ, Blaire, I am so sorry. I had no idea. I never would have-I never would have been so demanding with you. Holy shit.” I take a deep breath, feeling like the selfish dickhead that I am. It’s hard to catch my breath as it sinks in, my chest aching in a way I’ve never felt before.

I fucking forced her.

I know her body was giving me all the signs, but I was still pushing her. “Please forgive me. I never would have been so dominant and forceful with you if I had known,” I beg, dropping to my knees in front of her and grabbing her hands, bringing her palm to my mouth and kissing it.

“Stop. Dallas, please just stop. First, don’t look at me like I’m damaged, I’m not. It took me years to understand that I did nothing wrong. That I didn’t ask for what happened to me. It took me years to love my body again. Second, for the first time in my life, I wanted to give up my obsession with needing to be in control. It wasn’t even really a choice, it just happened. Themoment you were that way with me, something snapped into place, Dallas. I wanted to do whatever you asked or demanded or whatever you want to call it. It came naturally to me to submit to you for whatever reason. I’m still trying to wrap my head around it. I even did research this week to help understand it myself. There are tons of articles on how kink can help treat post-traumatic stress in sexual assault survivors. But the point is, Iwantedit. Istillwant it, even though I shouldn’t.” Her eyelashes flutter closed for a brief moment as she whispers, “That’s new for me.”

I’m fucked. Because I know I should be reeling in anger toward myself right now for my role in our sexual encounters, but after hearing her confession, how can I be? Now I want to do the same research and find out how I can continue to help her heal from her past. I could kill the bastard who hurt her. I’m pissed at the system for making it possible for shit like this to happen every day. But I’ll be damned if I make her feel bad. Handing over that control to me takes so much strength on her part, without the trauma. But with it? Fuck. I’m so damn proud of her. It also means she feels completely safe with me. But overall, this confirmed one solid thing for me.

She’s mine.

And there’s no way I’m walking away from her now. I’ll walk through the belly of hell for this woman. No one will hurt her again.

Mine.

I pick her up by her ass, her thighs wrapping tight around my waist, and lay her back on the futon. I’m eager for her to take her power back and experience exactly what she wants. She’s the one who reigns here.