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“Fuck, I might come from just the image of your mouth on me.” He ground out.
She smiled seductively, a rush of confidence shooting through her. If she kept her eyes open, maybe she could stay present. His arousal dripped from the tip. She spread it over the head with her thumb. His dick throbbed in her hand, hardening even more than she’d thought possible. She leaned down and licked the top, tasting his salty essence.
“Jasmine,” he groaned.
I can do this.
She slipped her mouth over the first few inches before bringing her mouth back up.
“Fuck, yes!”
Pride surged through her. Her confidence grew. She hadn’t tried to give anyone a blow job since she was thirteen and that had ended in a panic attack.
She sucked him farther in, keeping her eyes on Atlas. His hands fisted the sheets. Grey eyes gazed upon her like she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. His mouth glistened with her release, like she’d marked him. Like he was hers. His stomach muscles tightened. His cock twitched against her tongue. Empowered, she sucked a little harder, took him a little deeper.
He wove his fingers in her hair, driving her deeper.
“That’s it, baby. Take it all.”
She froze. Panic shocked her out of her body.
Grunting noises echoed, getting louder. The tang of her stepfather’s rancid sweat soured in her mouth. She gagged, trying to beg him to stop, but her mouth was too full to make a sound. Survival skills took over as she focused on stealing breaths against the prison of his hands pushing her head down. She floated above, watching as if it were happening to someone else.
But it wasn’t.
It was happening to her.
“Jasmine!” Atlas’s voice sent her rocketing back to reality. He shook her. He came back into blurry focus. Wetness spilled over her cheeks.
“Baby, what happened? Are you okay?” he asked, frantically searching her face.
She clenched her eyes closed, embarrassed and ashamed. This was why she couldn’t have a normal relationship with anyone. What man wanted a woman who couldn’t give blow jobs because they triggered her? Especially when they found out why.
“I’m sorry,” he said, pulling her against his chest. “I’m so sorry.”
Why was he of all people apologizing? She was the one who was broken. It only made her silent tears turn into sobs. He held her as she fell apart, stroking her hair and whispering, “I’ve got you. You’re safe. No one will hurt you again. I’ve got you.”
If anything had held her back from this man, it was gone—obliterated by his tender care. He knew. And still, he stayed. She sobbed harder as he held her even tighter. His presence grounded her as she expelled some of the shame and pain she’d held in for so long.
Her shaking turned to slight trembling. Her sobs subsided.
He picked her up and carried her into the bathroom. After turning the shower on, he kissed her forehead, tucking her closer while they waited for it to heat up. He stepped into the hot spray and set her to her feet. Water sluiced over her, washing the tears and the memories away. He grabbed the shampoo and squirted some in his hands before lathering it in her hair.
He took up so much space, barely fitting in this small shower with her. But his touch was gentle. He held her like she was precious. He rinsed out the shampoo, tilting her head against his chest before repeating the actions with her conditioner, massaging her skull. He picked up her body soap and squirted some on the loofa before carefully scrubbing every inch of her body. Starting at her feet, he worked his way up her legs. His hands swirled over the pinkening of her skin as if he could wipe the memories clean. The gentle sensation of her sponge dipped over her sex and across her hips. His eyes flashed to hers every so often as if to make sure she was still okay with him touching her. He used his other hand to massage her back as he washed her stomach up to her breasts. Taking care, he brushed the soapy material over her arms and towards her back. The tension left her body as the soap dripped down the drain.
Her chest squeezed. Her heart melted into a gooey puddle. Warm affection radiated from every pore. What if Atlas was the man for her? The one who knew all her secrets . . . and stayed? “Atlas?”
“Yeah, baby?”
I’m falling in love with you.“Thank you.”
His brow creased. “Anything for you, honey.”
She closed her eyes, fighting off another bout of tears. He stood, wrapping his arms around her. He held her like that until the water turned cold. She still had to tell him about Zoey. Would he hate her for keeping her from him? Monday was only two days away, and he’d have to leave. But for now, she’d savor this. Maybe it was selfish of her.
But when you’d been starved of love your whole life, you hung on to it with a viselike grip when you finally got it. Because death was better than having to live life without the richness of genuine love.
Atlas left her to get dressed and went to his own room to do the same. He told her not to worry about the guests’ breakfast, that he had it handled. She was on strict orders to relax until she had to come down for the event with the teens. So, for the first time, she let someone else take over her duties with the inn without protest and rested.
