Page 110 of Trove’s Purpose

Trove was barely able to focus on her. He squeezed his knot with one hand, stroking his shaft with the other, and was able to watch as the last of his spend splattered on her face. The shiny white fluid mixing with her tears and spit.

She was a mess. The most beautiful mess. And yet her hands were on her thighs, her nails digging into the plump flesh, and her eyes remained closed. Still obedient. Still giving him control.

And as the devastating power of his orgasm faded into a steady throb of pleasure that echoed up from his groin, through the rest of his body, something else came rushing in to replace it. Something almost as powerful, and fully unexpected.

Shame.

Bitter and tarry, it clung to him as he looked again at his pretty mate. Unsatisfied. Used. He’d treated her like a toy, sought his own selfish pleasure, and took what he didn’t deserve. A weak, useless male like himself did not deserve pleasure.

He collapsed to his knees before her, struggling to breathe. Shaking. Sick to his stomach. Any lingering trace of his own pleasure buried under the wave of self-disgust.

He couldn’t breathe. He was worthless. How dare he do this thing?

“Trove?”

Chee’s voice was a warped echo in his ears.

“Can I touch you?”

He could barely understand her. He knew she was talking, but it took so long for him to understand the words that he knew it was a while before he could force himself to nod.

But it didn’t matter that it had taken so much time. Chee was right there. Putting her arms around him. She pulled him in by the head. Resting it against her chest. Holding him close, one hand rubbing along his back, the other fingers scratching on his scalp.

She was speaking to him again, but he was having such a hard time understanding her. He was trapped in a spiral of disgust and hatred and anger – all of it directed at himself. All of it screaming at him in voices that sounded like his aunt and mother combined together.

He didn’t know how long they sat like that on the floor. But at some point, he grabbed her around the waist and yanked her onto his lap. So he could hold her closer. So he could bury himself in her warmth, in her softness, in her comfort.

This touch wasn’t sexual, so it wasn’t negative.

No, this touch was loving, comforting, and totally unfamiliar. He could handle this. No, he craved this kind of touch. He didn’t ever want to let her go again.

She didn’t get impatient with him. She didn’t pull away first. She just kept stroking him, holding him, her head resting on the side of his, letting him bury his face in her neck. Like he was a pup. Like he was helpless.

Worthless.

Weak.

“Thank you, Trove.”

Those words were the first words he could say made any sense. They penetrated his brain like a knife and made him still.

He didn’t understand. Why did she thank him?

The confusion made him pull back. He stared at her. Not understanding. Why she said that. Why she was smiling at him now. Just why…

She stroked his face and pressed her forehead against his.

“Thank you,” she said again. “Thank you so much.”

“Why?” He asked, his voice broken.

She looked so happy. She smiled so tenderly. “Thank you for letting me give you pleasure.”

He stilled. “What?”

“Thank you for letting me hold you. Thank you for letting me be close to you. Thank you so much, Trove, for giving me this.”

No. This wasn’t a privilege. He’d used her. He’d treated her like… like…