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Chapter Thirteen
Julyfouryearsago…
“Get off me! No! Let me go! Let me go! HELP! HELP ME, PLEASE!” Rayma thrashed around and wrenched her arms, punched out with her fists, and kicked whatever she could. She made contact a few times and was bolstered by the sharp cry of pain from one of her attackers. But even though she knew she’d hit her target, it still felt like her limbs were moving through Jell-O when she tried to fight back.
Whoever was holding her tightened their grip, but an arm came out in front of her face and she bit down with all her might until she tasted the sharp, coppery tang of blood.
“You stupid fucking bitch!” the man yelled. She didn’t have time to get out of the way, but she saw it coming and screamed just before the back of a man’s hand covered in rings cracked hard across her cheek.
She woke with a harrowing scream and shot up in bed, panting and covered in sweat.
The lamp on the far nightstand was on and after she blinked a couple of times she saw Jordan sitting beside her holding his arm which had a deep, bloody bite mark on it.
“Oh no!”
He shook his head. “It’s fine.”
“Noooooooo …” She swung her legs out of bed and started to pace her bedroom. “I had a dream, didn’t I?”
He nodded, watching her curiously, but also warily. “Yeah. I’d say it was a nightmare.”
“I’m sorry I bit you.” She raced over to his side of the bed and grabbed his arm, the bleeding had already slowed down. She snatched a tissue from the box on the nightstand and pressed it to the bite. “How did you—”
“I was trying to wake you up, and I guess I got caught in the crossfire of your dream.”
She lifted the tissue to check on the bleeding. It was a deep bite right on the forearm. He’d certainly bruise. Guilt swirled in her belly like a cocktail of milk and orange juice. “I’m so sorry. Maybe it’s better if we don’t do sleepovers. I’m a mess and I probably always will be.” She hung her head, her hair creating a veil around her face. It was something she’d done since she was a kid. A way to hide her face, keep her emotions private.
But Jordan wasn’t having any of it, and he brought a knuckle under her chin and lifted her face so she was forced to look at him. “Not a chance, baby. This is part of who you are, and I happen to love who you are. The good, the bad, and everything in between.”
Her eyes went wide.
Then when he realized what he’d just said, so did his. “I uh …”
She grinned through the fatigue and residual panic that the nightmare had hammered into her veins. “I love you, too. And I’ve never said that to anyone before. Besides family.”
“Me, either.” His smile warmed her insides and chased away the last remaining painful spikes of her dream.
She’d had them often—nearly every night—after she was first abducted. But since going to therapy and starting a new life in a new city and country—and most of all with the help and support of her new family—she only had them once in a while. It’d been almost four months since her last one, and it hadn’t been nearly as vivid as tonight’s dream.
She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. “So we’re in love then?”
“I guess we are.” He kissed her back, wrapping his hand around the back of her head and pulling his closer to her. “I love you, Rayma,” he murmured, moving his lips from her mouth to her cheek, her jaw, her neck, and finally her shoulder where he bit down gently. “With all of my heart.”
“I’m sorry you had to see that … to hear that.”
“Don’t ever apologize for having a nightmare when you’re in bed with me. Just tell me now that you’re awake how I can help you next time it happens. Obviously, trying to wake you up the way I did is not the right thing to do.” He lifted his head and smiled. “I hope you were biting your attacker at least and got him good.”
“I was, and I did.” She left out the part where the other guy backhanded her hard enough to make her blackout though. No sense upsetting Jordan over something that had already happened.
Her gaze fell to his arm and the tissue. He peeled it away slowly and thankfully, the bleeding had stopped completely.
“I feel awful,” she murmured, closing her eyes and shaking her head. “You’re going to have a giant bruise.”
“I’ll tell whoever asks that it’s a sex injury. That’ll stop them from asking any more questions.”
She rolled her eyes. “Sure. You, shy, quiet, closet-Dom Lassie is going to tell people that the bite mark on your arm is a sex injury. I bet you chicken out and tell them you were bit by a squirrel you were trying to rescue from the jaws of a cat or something.”
Before she could blink, she found herself on her back and with Jordan hovering over her, caging her in with his muscular arms. “Is that so?”
