Page 24 of Twisted Tate

I catch myself and yank it back, but he noticed. Of course he fucking noticed.

“What do you need?” His grip on my hair tightens.

“Nothing.” The word comes out strangled. “I’m fine.”

“We’ll save a lot of time if you just answer my questions the first time.”

I shake my head. I can’t. It’s the most pathetic, broken thing about me.

“I saw the footage.” His voice is low against my ear. “We have cameras throughout the house. I watched you last night. I saw what you did when you woke up from that nightmare.”

“You watched me?”

“I watch everything.” His tone is far from apologetic. “You had your fingers in your mouth for eleven minutes. So don’t fucking lie to me. Tell me what you need.”

The shame is so thick I can barely breathe.

“It’s fucked up.” I try to pull away, but his grip tightens, keeping me pinned. “I know it’s fucked up. I’ve tried to stop. I can’t. When I get overwhelmed, I need something in my mouth. Something to focus on. It’s the only thing that helps me through the panic.”

I wait for the disgust. I’m like a baby in need of a binky.

“Look at me.”

I force my eyes to his. His expression is hard, but his eyes are burning.

“You survived years of shit that would’ve broken anyone else.” His hand slides to my jaw, gripping hard enough to keep my face tilted up. “Your body found a way to cope. That’s not weakness, baby girl.”

“It’s pathetic. I’m a grown woman who sucks on her own fingers like—”

“Stop.” His thumb presses against my lips, silencing me. “You don’t talk about yourself like that. Not around me. Not anymore.”

The command makes my thighs press together.

“Is it always fingers that help you?”

I feel my cheeks burn and I look away from him. “I tried a pacifier once, but it wasn’t big enough. I have a dildo in my room that I use sometimes. The size and weight of it helps.”

I don’t let myself look back at him. It sounds sick and fucked up, and I don’t know how to explain it. And he already knows more than I had planned to tell him.

He presses his lips to my temple. “You don’t have anything to be embarrassed about, baby girl.”

Tears stream down my cheeks again, and I finally meet his eyes. “I know it’s weird.”

He doesn’t flinch. There is no hint of him looking at me like I’m broken. He just shakes his head.

“No. And don’t ever hold back from giving yourself what you need.”

I cling to him, burying my face in his neck and taking in his scent. I’ve never had anyone hold me this way, and I’m already becoming addicted to it.

“Reese?”

“Mmmm?” I mumble against his neck.

“Are you able to tell me about these nightmares you’re having? I’m an ass for not going to you last night. If I had known—”

“Don’t.” I pull back enough to see his face. His jaw is tight, like he’s already bracing for what I’m about to say.

“You’re not an ass. At least not for that.” I wipe my cheeks with the back of my hand. “You didn’t know.”