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He could feel his stomach heaving, his usual reaction to helplessness, to closeness rising within him like a tidal wave. The beast inside wished to throw her off him, yell at her, and escape.

Before she would see how truly ugly and unworthy he was.

Before she’d see the physical manifestation of her brother’s death—a scar on his body to match the scar on his soul.

Before she’d make the connection by some miracle.

And leave him.

Because there was nothing he was more afraid now than Patience abandoning him.

And yet, part of him ached to show her, to have another human being in his life who knew his pain. To give up control and just be…him.

He said nothing, only nodded, his chest tightening as though a slab of granite was laid on top of him.

Slowly, she pulled the glove off, and his skin under the leather ached, irritated and yet craving air. He’d worn the glove for twelve years, removing it only when he was alone. He almost snatched his hand away, almost yelled at her for daring this. But he didn’t. He watched her face, anticipating revulsion, knowing she’d jump to her feet and retreat from him and never look at him the same way.

But when she threw the glove to the floor, she looked at his hand with tenderness and with sympathy.

Gently, she took his hand into hers, the cool touch of her tender fingers like a healing balm. He didn’t know how much he had longed for someone to touch him there, to love and accept the ugliest part of him.

She surprised him again when she leaned towards his hand and planted a tender kiss on his skin. He jerked as tingles spread through his hand. His skin was like the bark of an old, gnarled tree, twisted, raw in places, with thick scars covering it. The reddening of his skin was worse than ever before, as was the pain, which he ignored. He was used to it by now.

“What happened?” she asked. “Can you tell me?”

What could he tell her? He hated himself for still hiding, for covering things up, but he could say some of the truth. “A pistol burst right in my hand,” he said.

She nodded. “Was it on the same day as John’s death? Is that why the doctor’s bill has the same date?”

“Yes.”

She looked at him, gently stroking his hand, waiting for him to keep talking, but he didn’t say another word. Finally, she nodded and smiled tenderly.

“Thank you for sharing this with me,” she said. “I’m sorry that happened to you. Such a terrible accident.”

Patience’s gentle touch on his scarred hand sent a shiver through Dorian’s body. Her acceptance and tenderness were unraveling him, layer by layer, exposing his very soul to her. With trembling fingers, she guided his hands to the headboard, her eyes seeking permission. He nodded, surrendering himself to her completely.

She took the belt of his dressing gown from the bedside table and bound his wrists to the headboard, her movements slow and deliberate. Dorian’s heart raced, his body and soul laid bare before her. Patience trailed feather-light kisses along his jaw, his neck, his chest, each touch like a healing caress.

As she positioned herself above him, Dorian drank in the generous curves of her breasts, the swell of her hips, the glistening evidence of her arousal. She rubbed her sex against his hard length until he thought he might go mad with desire.

She smiled, a wicked gleam in her eye, and slowly sank down upon him. They both moaned as her tight heat surrounded him, clasping him like a glove. She began to move, rolling her hips in a sensual rhythm that had him seeing stars. Dorian strained against his bonds, desperate to touch her, to hold her, but she placed her hands on his chest, keeping him pinned beneath her.

That was what she must have felt like, bound and helpless, trusting him.

Like he trusted her.

“Let me love you,” she whispered. “Let me show you how much you mean to me.”

Love him…

If only she knew how much he didn’t deserve a drop of her love, and yet would spend the rest of his life trying to deserve it. Serving her needs. She was all that mattered. Perhaps that was what God intended for him, a twisted way fate could work.

She rode him, her hips moving, her breasts bouncing, her head thrown back in ecstasy.

“That’s right,” Dorian rasped. “Take what you need. Take all the pleasure.”

She was all his. Her pleasure, her joy, her happiness.