Holding Strong
Page 122
She did some of that sexy-bottom-lip-nibbling, then gave an uncertain nod.
“Good,” he whispered, choking on his damn pride before steadying himself with a deep breath. “Now I need you to understand that relationships are all about taking care of each other.”
“Right.” Her mouth quirked. “Except I don’t do anything for you.”
She couldn’t be more wrong. Thinking of everything she did for him, to him, made him desperate to taste her. Groaning, he took her mouth for a long, deep kiss then, keeping his forehead to hers, he admitted, “Seeing my dad again after all this time feels easier because I know you’ll be there with me.”
“Really?”
“Definitely.” This time he pressed his mouth to her forehead.
“I suppose if you’re determined to take on Carver, you need to know everything. You have to understand exactly how twisted and sick he is.”
Denver already had a good idea, but he hoped that by telling him, by sharing the nightmare, it’d take some of the burden off her narrow shoulders.
She pushed him to his back and crawled atop him, then laid her head on his shoulder. “Once, before I could get away, Carver held me down and made me kiss him. He said if I didn’t, he’d put this enormous cicada on me. It was screaming—” She lifted her head. “You know how those things do?”
His heart twisted. “Yes, I know. They scare a lot of people.”
She hugged up against him again. “It was making that awful noise and he kept getting it closer to me just to see me go hysterical. I tried not to, but...” She took his hand and wedged it beneath her left breast. “Even talking about it now makes my heart race.”
Carver had traumatized her. Deliberately. No wonder she was so afraid of bugs. If ever a man deserved a beat-down...
“He kissed me,” she whispered, “but I was sobbing the whole time. And...and he liked it.”
Motherfucker. Rage exploded, but with Cherry being his blanket, she’d feel it if he bunched up the way he wanted to. Determined to shield her from seeing his rage, Denver suppressed what he could and instead relaxed his hands so that they cupped her ass. It took him two tries before he managed to ask, “How old were you?”
“Not quite seventeen.” Her fingers toyed with his chest hair. “Carver was twenty-three. Big and muscular.” Again she lifted up to see him. “His brothers always watched. Carver enjoyed playing with me and they enjoyed seeing it. It was like he was showing off or something. Gene would go all intense and serious, practically drooling. Mitty would laugh like a kid watching a cartoon. Their reactions were so creepy. And they made me feel...” Her voice faded away. Cuddling down against him again, she whispered, “Helpless. They made me feel so damned helpless.”
The reality of what she’d gone through was even more destructive than what he’d imagined. Physical abuse, yes. But also very emotionally disturbing. “I’m so damn sorry.” He’d make them pay. All three of them.
“A few months after that, he caught me alone and he forced me to the woods.” She sounded impassive, as if she were telling a dull story.
Denver felt the sharpening tension and stroked her from her behind to her shoulders and back again, even down and over her thighs. He wanted to touch every inch of her as if he could somehow heal the nightmare, maybe make the memory go away.
He turned them to their sides, tucking her close, protectively holding her. “Take your time, honey.”
While he waited, he continued to stroke her, his brain in turmoil, his stomach sick.
After a shuddering breath, she started talking again. “He’d cleared a spot in the woods and he had a stake in the ground, with ropes tied to it.”
Jesus.
“All around it, the locals waited, some looking uneasy, some anxious. He planned to make me the show and I knew it was going to be bad but I couldn’t get free.” Suddenly she sat up, but held his hand. “I’m going to rush through this, okay?”
Volatile emotion made a fist around his windpipe and he had to swallow twice before the restriction eased enough for him to speak. “Whatever you need.” He sat up, too, and there, in the bed, they faced each other, him big and capable and her, whether she’d admit it or not, small and vulnerable.
“He stripped off my shirt and bra and tied my arms behind me to the stake. I thought he was going to rape me. I still think that was his plan.”
With others to watch. To regain his composure, he closed his eyes, but only for a second. Cherry needed him. He’d asked for the whole truth so he’d damn well stick with her, body and soul, while she shared.
“Good,” he whispered, choking on his damn pride before steadying himself with a deep breath. “Now I need you to understand that relationships are all about taking care of each other.”
“Right.” Her mouth quirked. “Except I don’t do anything for you.”
She couldn’t be more wrong. Thinking of everything she did for him, to him, made him desperate to taste her. Groaning, he took her mouth for a long, deep kiss then, keeping his forehead to hers, he admitted, “Seeing my dad again after all this time feels easier because I know you’ll be there with me.”
“Really?”
“Definitely.” This time he pressed his mouth to her forehead.
“I suppose if you’re determined to take on Carver, you need to know everything. You have to understand exactly how twisted and sick he is.”
Denver already had a good idea, but he hoped that by telling him, by sharing the nightmare, it’d take some of the burden off her narrow shoulders.
She pushed him to his back and crawled atop him, then laid her head on his shoulder. “Once, before I could get away, Carver held me down and made me kiss him. He said if I didn’t, he’d put this enormous cicada on me. It was screaming—” She lifted her head. “You know how those things do?”
His heart twisted. “Yes, I know. They scare a lot of people.”
She hugged up against him again. “It was making that awful noise and he kept getting it closer to me just to see me go hysterical. I tried not to, but...” She took his hand and wedged it beneath her left breast. “Even talking about it now makes my heart race.”
Carver had traumatized her. Deliberately. No wonder she was so afraid of bugs. If ever a man deserved a beat-down...
“He kissed me,” she whispered, “but I was sobbing the whole time. And...and he liked it.”
Motherfucker. Rage exploded, but with Cherry being his blanket, she’d feel it if he bunched up the way he wanted to. Determined to shield her from seeing his rage, Denver suppressed what he could and instead relaxed his hands so that they cupped her ass. It took him two tries before he managed to ask, “How old were you?”
“Not quite seventeen.” Her fingers toyed with his chest hair. “Carver was twenty-three. Big and muscular.” Again she lifted up to see him. “His brothers always watched. Carver enjoyed playing with me and they enjoyed seeing it. It was like he was showing off or something. Gene would go all intense and serious, practically drooling. Mitty would laugh like a kid watching a cartoon. Their reactions were so creepy. And they made me feel...” Her voice faded away. Cuddling down against him again, she whispered, “Helpless. They made me feel so damned helpless.”
The reality of what she’d gone through was even more destructive than what he’d imagined. Physical abuse, yes. But also very emotionally disturbing. “I’m so damn sorry.” He’d make them pay. All three of them.
“A few months after that, he caught me alone and he forced me to the woods.” She sounded impassive, as if she were telling a dull story.
Denver felt the sharpening tension and stroked her from her behind to her shoulders and back again, even down and over her thighs. He wanted to touch every inch of her as if he could somehow heal the nightmare, maybe make the memory go away.
He turned them to their sides, tucking her close, protectively holding her. “Take your time, honey.”
While he waited, he continued to stroke her, his brain in turmoil, his stomach sick.
After a shuddering breath, she started talking again. “He’d cleared a spot in the woods and he had a stake in the ground, with ropes tied to it.”
Jesus.
“All around it, the locals waited, some looking uneasy, some anxious. He planned to make me the show and I knew it was going to be bad but I couldn’t get free.” Suddenly she sat up, but held his hand. “I’m going to rush through this, okay?”
Volatile emotion made a fist around his windpipe and he had to swallow twice before the restriction eased enough for him to speak. “Whatever you need.” He sat up, too, and there, in the bed, they faced each other, him big and capable and her, whether she’d admit it or not, small and vulnerable.
“He stripped off my shirt and bra and tied my arms behind me to the stake. I thought he was going to rape me. I still think that was his plan.”
With others to watch. To regain his composure, he closed his eyes, but only for a second. Cherry needed him. He’d asked for the whole truth so he’d damn well stick with her, body and soul, while she shared.
