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Gemma bolted awake, jerking her arms to her chest, gasping for oxygen.
A hand landed on her hip. “You’re safe, baby.”
Her heart was racing, but she drew in a deep breath as she remembered where she was and who was spooning her from behind.
She let the breath out slowly and snuggled deeper into his embrace as the love of her life pulled her in closer and held her tighter.
She was warm. The bed was soft and expensive. The sheets had a ridiculously high thread count. The pillow beneath her head was like a cloud.
And his arms. God she loved his arms.
And his smell. His cologne. His personal musk.
And his voice. The deep timbre. Rumbling and sexy.
And…wait for it…
She smiled as he nuzzled her neck with his nose, inhaling her scent before kissing her behind the ear. “You’re safe,” he repeated. “I love you.”
She’d been with Damon over a month now, and nearly every morning began like this—her panicking as she surfaced from sleep, him reminding her with his body that she was no longer a slave and his words that she was safe and loved.
She hated that she couldn’t wake up pleasantly like a normal person, but her psychologist, Dr. Carol Langston, insisted it was normal. It could take months or years for the fear and panic to subside, and chances were she would always wake up occasionally scared out of her mind.
Sleep was her enemy. It dragged her back into that basement, into that hell, into the place where she’d spent three years barely holding on to her sanity, hoping, wishing, praying.
When she’d found out she’d been sold in an auction a month ago, she’d nearly slipped into a new level of despair, all hope evaporating that Damon would ever find her.
She’d been blindfolded when she was paraded onto a stage and forced to demonstrate her impeccable slave skills to her buyer. Scared out of her mind like never before.
When she’d knelt in front of her new Master and owner to demonstrate her prowess with her mouth around a cock, she was convinced her mind was playing tricks on her. She was certain the scent filling her nose was Damon’s.
It hadn’t been possible, but she’d used the trick her mind was playing to pretend it was him while she sucked him into her throat and swallowed his come.
She still hadn’t been able to believe it was him even after he removed her mask an hour later, or after he brought her to his home, or after he held her and reassured her for hours and days.
Gemma had been afraid to sleep for fear she might wake up and find this had all been a dream.
But it wasn’t. Damon had found her. He’d bought her. He’d taken care of her every need for the past month.
He loved her.
A tear slid down her cheek. She hated the roller coaster of emotions that often consumed her first thing in the morning. Fear. Elation. Gratitude. Sorrow. Relief.
The bombardment of emotions often overwhelmed her and led to stupid tears.
Damon rolled her onto her back, gently wiped her cheeks with his thumbs, and smiled at her. “You’re safe. I love you.”
She swallowed back the overload and cupped his face. “I love you too.” She might not have fully understood her feelings for him three years ago when she’d had a twenty-year-old’s crush on a man twelve years older than her. A man her father had forbidden her to even glance at.
But she understood now. Her love for him was deep and powerful and all-consuming.
And tonight, she was going to put all her trust in him and show him with her actions what she felt was inadequately demonstrated with words alone.
He kissed her gently before staring down at her face. “We don’t have to go to the club tonight, baby.”
She drew in a breath. “Yes, we do. Stop trying to get out of it. I want to go. I want you to show me your world.”
He stroked her cheek, his brow furrowed. “There’s no hurry, you know. We can go to Roses and Thorns any night of the week. What’s the rush? We could wait a month or a year or never go if you don’t want to.”
