Page 90 of The Devil’s Lair

I chuckle. “Different isn’t always good.”

“This time, it is. It’s better than good. It’s perfect.” She reaches for a finger sandwich and takes a small bite, chewing thoughtfully. “I’ve only ever known bad men. It’s easy to think it’s all men. Then you came along and proved that there are good people in the world, even if I hadn’t met any until you. Deadbeat father, a brother in and out of prison, an abusive husband who beat me and raped me and let his friends rape me, too.”

My hands curl into fists. I don’t think she notices, and if she does, there’s no comment. One day. One day, I’ll end every single one of them and enjoy it, too.

“I hate that your lived experience was so horrendous. No one should have to go through what you went through.”

She makes a dismissive gesture. “You’re right, no one should. It’s too common, sadly.” She finishes the sandwich and reaches for a sausage roll. “Can I say something?”

“Anything.”

“I liked kissing you.”

I smile. “I liked kissing you, too.”

“So, you weren’t… repulsed?”

“No. The exact opposite.” I scuff a hand over my chin. “I’m unsure why. Maybe it’s the circumstances where it happened, or the fact we’ve built a deep, meaningful friendship and I trust you. I don’t know.”

“Do you… would you like to kiss me again?”

“I’ve thought about nothing else since we kissed on Sunday.”

She puts the sausage roll down without touching it and shuffles closer to me. “I’m nervous,” she whispers.

“So am I.” I take her face in my hands and gently press my lips to hers. She lies down, half pulling me on top of her. Everything inside me ignites, an inferno bursting to life after years of oxygen deprivation.

Groaning, I lick inside her mouth, tasting, taking, a mantra running on repeat inside my mind.

I’m not broken. I’m not broken.

My dick hardens, and instinct takes over. I grind against her hip, seeking friction. Her hands knot in my hair, and I bury mine in hers. So good. This feels so fucking good. All this time I’ve been missing this connection, and I’m addicted.

Tingles race down my spine. An orgasm rushes at me, too late to stop it. I come, hard and fast. Stars flicker and dance behind my eyes. I tear my mouth from hers, gasping for breath. I can’t fucking believe it. I came in my pants like a bloody teenager.

“Shit.” Shifting my weight, I bury my face in her neck. “God, sorry. How embarrassing.”

“Not embarrassing. Not at all. I’m flattered.” Her fingers fumble with the button on my jeans. She gets it open. I brace for her touch, but instead of going for my dick, she slides both hands inside my jeans and boxers and caresses my arse.

For a second, I freeze. No. No, I… I can’t.

I jump to my feet. My heart double times it, an out-of-control pulse hammering at my neck. I rake both hands through my hair, pivoting, and walking away. Away from her.

“Tobias.” She touches my shoulder, and I jump. “Hey. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

Shrugging her off, I fasten my jeans. “No, I’m not okay. There’s something fucking wrong with me. When I kissed you, and I didn’t feel the same horror I’ve felt every time I’ve kissed someone, I thought I was fixed. But I’m not fixed. I’m fucked up. When you touched me just then, I thought I was going to be sick.”

Her face crumples, and I feel like the biggest shit in the world.

“This is me, not you.” I take a few steps away, giving her and myself space. Why couldn’t I just be normal like the rest of my family? Okay, normal doesn’t exactly describe us, but at least they don’t want to puke every time they’re touched in an intimate way.

“Hey. We’re going to figure this out.”

“I don’t know how. I’m twenty-eight, and I haven’t figured it out yet. I’m still a fucking virgin.” The laugh that comes out of me is more bitter than a tart lemon, and there’s a note of despair, too. “Now, that is embarrassing.”

“No.” A single word, short and sharp. So sharp it brings my gaze to hers. “Don’t you dare talk about yourself like that. There is no shame in being a virgin. None. Do you hear me?” When I nod, her expression softens. “Have you thought anymore about therapy?”

“Yes, but… I don’t know. I don’t even know where to start. I’m not sure I can talk to a stranger when I haven’t a clue why I’m like this.”