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He lifted his gaze, one eyebrow raised as though asking permission to touch me. “May I?”
Leave it up to a Dom to verbalize consent.
Breathe snagged, I nodded.
“Words, Jasmine.”
“Y-Yes.” I gulped and watched his hand reach toward mine. The glass shook in my hold.
Micah’s pinkie brushed over one of my fingertips.
A zap of lightning lit my body—and tightened my chest.
“Jasmine?” His gaze filled with concern.
I held up a hand and closed my eyes, focusing on breathing.
Micah began counting, and I followed along with his instructions, eased in submitting to his lead. In less than a minute, my lungs relaxed.
“I’m okay.” I met his gaze, my smile wobbling. “Shortest recovery time ever.”
He continued watching me as though checking I spoke the truth.
Needing to escape his intense stare that warmed me between the thighs, I turned my attention to the stuff he’d gotten from the fridge and cabinets. “So what are we making tonight?” My voice wasn’t exactly steady, but Micah got the hint I was ready to move on.
“Pan-seared scallops and some funky-looking veggies.”
I snickered.
“Here.” He pushed the vegetables my way. “You can cut, and I’ll heat up the pan to sauté them.”
I headed over to the sink to wash my hands.
“So.” The weight of his stare settled on the side of my face a few minutes later, but I focused on finishing chopping the veggies like he’d told me to do. “Would you mind my asking what caused your inability to handle a person touching you? I’ll admit the not knowing is driving me insane, especially after that little episode the other day. And, before you toss out an excuse about being on the clock, we’re not at work right now. I’m not your boss, and you aren’t my employee. We’re just two friends making dinner together.”
Friends. I wished we could be a hell of a lot more. And gaining any ground with him meant sharing what few people knew about. I could trust Micah with the truth.
The thought of the foster boy who’d spent time in our house while I was a tween twisted my stomach as it always did when he came to mind, but no hint of panic rose. My breathing remained steady and calm.
“My parents used to take in foster kids when I was younger.” I placed the cutting board and knife in the sink without glancing at Micah. “Billy behaved like the perfect big brother, looking out for Dina, Liz, and me. The first time he came into my room at night, I thought he was sleep walking.”
I went silent for a few minutes while washing the two items, making sure anxiety wasn’t secretly lying in wait to rise up and choke off my air.
“Does it help or hurt to talk about it?” Micah asked when I didn’t continue.
I peered over at him for a few seconds, appreciating the concern in his eyes. “I’ve gone to countless therapists but haven’t ever told anyone outside of my family. And the police, of course.”
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I just…want to know what sets you off so I never do it. I hate seeing you in a panic like that.”
I wanted to be morose and tell him to get used to it, but Micah genuinely cared. And seeing as how we were friends and would spend months and maybe even years together three days a week, he ought to be aware of the whole story.
Maybe talking about it more oftenwouldhelp with the healing too. I chewed on the inside of my lip while drying my hands but figured to hell with it. I was desperate to move on with my life and wasn’t above trying whatever might initiate forward motion. Drawing a deep breath, I hung up the towel and began.
Letting go of the long-ass story to someone other than a therapist released tension in my body I hadn’t realized I carried. Micah didn’t interrupt as I spilled the shit of my past, and his eyes weren’t overflowing with pity when I glanced his way once we sat to eat, wondering what he thought.
I didn’t go deep into details, but it had been enough that an older boy would have been tossed behind bars for what he’d done. Grabbing my wrists to hold me still while he ground his dick over my backside being the worst of it—and the most triggering.
Micah and I discussed my therapy. The couple of times men had accidentally bumped into me at the grocery store, the mall, and while in college where I attempted to gain some education on business so I would make a good secretary.
