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Dario’s voice deepened. “They got off back then. You got fucked over and they went free.”
He was right. I had gotten fucked over. That was life in a small town, for a white-trash girl raped by one of the richest families in town. Johnny told them that it had just been me and him, behind the barn—and that I’d been after him for weeks. I hadn’t helped matters by showering, scrubbing my skin so hard I’d practically bruised myself. That loss of evidence had been compounded by my drunk father, who’d taken two hours to sober up before he’d driven me to the police station. Our trip had been delayed further when he’d run off the road and into a ditch.
John and Johnny Wright had gone free. I had lost everything.
He carefully brushed a tear off my cheek. “I should have gutted them and left them in the desert for the vultures. I let them off easy.”
I stepped away before I let out everything I held inside. I could feel the swell of emotions, the hot flare of tears, and swallowed it all. I made it to the fridge, found a second bottle of beer, and popped it open. “It wasn’t your fight to take up. It wasn’t your business to get into.” I turned and met his eyes. “It was invasive for you to read that report, see those photos, track them down and speak to them.”
“Trust me when I say that little speaking went on.” He smiled, and it lit a fuse in me.
“You think this is funny?” I threw the bottle of beer without thinking, my arm rearing back, liquid flinging, and when I let go off the glass, it was intended for his head. He ducked to one side, and there was the loud sound of glass breaking. I flinched and didn’t look to see the damage.
“I told you before. I needed to know what I was getting into with you.”
“And?” I gestured to the situation in general and heard the thick clog of tears in my voice. “I’m a mess. Is that what you wanted? Someone with that in their past?”
“I didn’t expect to find that when I looked into the police records of your town. Fuck, I don’t know what I expected. But when I saw that, read that…” He looked down, considered his words, and then back at me. “I can’t love you and not protect you. I can’t love you and not fight for you.”
The words rocked me. I didn’t move, I stayed strong in my stance, kept my eyes on him, but inside … the words swam through my bloodstream and fortified it. I swallowed as his words filled in the gaps, strengthened my core, and offered me something I’d never known before. I felt renewed yet betrayed at the same time. He fought for me because I’d been hurt. He saw the photos, the girl who had been brutalized. The girl who’d lost every ounce of dignity. His last words echoing through my mind. I can’t love you and not fight for you.
I broke away from his gaze and tried to find my bearings. “This fight was already over.”
“It was already over, and you lost.” He pushed off the counter and approached me, my body stiffening as he grew closer, as he pulled at my wrists and dragged me away from the fridge and against his chest. “You’re never going to lose again. You’re going to be fucking Queen of this town and anyone who so much as sneezes in your direction will pay hell for it.”
“That’s a nice speech Dario, but it’s all bullshit.” I pulled, and he kept me in place, pinned against him. “Mistresses are never Queens.”
“Don’t call yourself that.” He moved his hands to my waist, gripped and lifted me onto the counter, my hands finding his shoulders for support. I looked down at him from my new position and he slid his palms up my legs, sliding the bottom of my sweater dress up and exposing my thighs. “You’re more than that.”
His fingers reached my hips and his eyes dropped. Maybe it was cruel of me to have pulled off my underwear in the car, to have left them in my center console and waltzed into the suite bare and ready for him. Maybe. Or maybe, with everything else, he deserved it.
“Fuck.” He hissed out the curse.
I’d waxed, the area smooth, only a thin line of hair just above my clit. He slid his hands inward, until he could reach out one thumb and run it over the sensitive flesh. I spread my thighs wider and he groaned deep in his throat.
“You’re torturing me.”
“Just fuck me. Right here.” I sat back on the counter, my elbows supporting my weight, and challenged him with my eyes.
“I want to take things slow with you.”
