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“No.”
“Got any pain?”
“No.”
“Then I guess the only thing we can use here is…” He lifted out the box. “Which bothers you more—the fact that your grandmother might have an active sex life or that she might have bought these specifically for you?”
Mila pulled the box from his hand and slid the top open with one slender finger. “I hope she has an active sex life. She’s given up so many other things for me.” She tilted her head to one side. “Don’t you hope your parents still have sex?”
He made a ew face. “I’ve tried very hard not to ever think about it. I mean, they’re my mom and dad. I can’t let those images in my brain, or I’ll be forever scarred.”
He was going for a light tone—though totally serious—but she answered quietly. “There are far worse things parents can do to their kids than have private sex together. Scars scab over, and some of them go away. Eventually.”
He slid his arms around her, holding her as close as he could in a nonthreatening way, and gently rocked her side to side. “I’m sorry, Mila,” he said, his voice muffled by her hair. “I don’t know the right words to say, but I’m sorry for what they did, and I’m sorry for what you had to endure, and I wish I could just magically turn it into less than the faintest of memories. It hurts me that I can’t, but I can promise you this—I’ll do my damnedest to protect you from now on. To make sure no one hurts you. To put the past in the past and make the present and the future happy and safe and loved.”
She returned his tight embrace for a moment, then eased back a bit as she looked up. “Happy and safe and wise to the ways of sex,” she suggested. The trust in her face, softening her eyes, could have been his undoing, but no, that came an instant later when she cupped her hand to his face, touched her mouth to his and the tip of her tongue delicately sought his lip. He’d just been officially broken by this woman, heart and all.
Now all she had to do was put him back together.
* * *
Sex was good. A little painful. Far more personal than Mila had expected. Of course, intellectually she had known how it worked, but in reality, having Sam deep inside her was…breath stealing. Mind-blowing. Incredibly intimate and sweet and impossible.
He was bracing himself over her, most of his weight on his arms, but their bodies were still in contact everywhere. And she’d thought holding hands with him was such a big deal. This…this was incredible. Just to prove it, she tightened the muscles deep in her belly and watched the color drain from his face. His expression was stark and pleasured and complicated, and she felt all that times ten.
“Don’t tease me,” he ground out, and for good measure, he thrust his hips a few times against hers, touching her in ways that drained the color from her own face. She was pretty sure there was no blood flow above her neck at the moment. She had become a mass of aching, throbbing, needing. No thought required when he kissed her nipple and made her groan. No message from her brain when he withdrew, leaving her bereft, then filled her again, the sensation of all that was good cradling her, cradling them both.
Sweat beaded on his forehead, and the muscles in his arms quivered as he stared down at her. Staring back, she raised her hand to his cheek, and he turned his head to press a kiss into her palm. There was a feel to the moment, a sense of awe, a sense that after years of wondering, she was becoming a real person. Right here, right this moment, she wasn’t her parents’ daughter. Wasn’t their victim. Their unwitting accomplice. The stupid girl who made them hit her. The odd girl people stared at, who lived with her grandmother but rarely came outside, who pretended to be invisible.
She was the lucky one. The normal one. The one Sam wanted. The one he’d chosen to make love to on a dreary Sunday afternoon, the one whose life he had irrevocably changed, the one he was overwhelming now with his touches, his kisses, his thrusts, his labored breathing, his muttered words. Every move he made, every place he touched, she ached, throbbed, her muscles so taut they hummed, until it became too much, or maybe just exactly enough, and pure pleasure burst through her.
