by M. S. Parker
“When I said before that I kept my scars, I meant it.” This seemed like as good a place as any to start. I pushed up my sleeve so that my scar was visible. “They're reminders, like my tattoos.” I gave him a half-smile. “The hair and the piercings are different. The tattoos mean something, like the scars. They tell the story of who I was.” I hesitated, and then added, “Who I was before I became Jenna Lang.”
I looked at him, expecting shock, but he didn't even look surprised.
“My background checks on employees are a bit more thorough than the average boss.” He groaned. “Or, at least, I'd thought they were.”
“Trust me,” I said. “Unless you dug into his home computer, you couldn't have known. You'll understand why in a minute, I promise.”
He nodded and then went back to what he'd been saying. “For you, I found a record of a name change when you were eighteen, but nothing else, including what the name had been changed from. I knew that you weren't born with that name even though you used it on your college application, before the change. And that's where I stopped looking.”
“You knew there was something strange, but you stopped looking?” I wasn't sure if I wanted to kiss him for not hacking systems to find the truth or slap him for digging so much in the first place. Okay, I was sure which I wanted, but it had very little to do with his actions.
“It wasn't my story to find,” he said. “It's yours to tell.”
“Thank you,” I said sincerely. Knowing how easy it would've been for someone like him to hack the court records, I respected him all the more for not doing it. That was the only place the old me still existed.
He held out his hand, giving me the choice to take it. I laced my fingers between his, grateful for the contact. I would need his strength.
“My tattoos,” I started again. “Angel wings on my back to cover scars from beatings and cigarette burns. Symbolism you'll either get or not when you've heard it all. The barbed wire to remind me of the prison I came from. And Lily.” I blinked back the sudden tears. “She saved me.”
I took a slow breath and Rylan waited.
“The scars remind me of the things I survived.” My voice was still steady but my fingers were holding more tightly to Rylan's hand. “The reason I wanted us to have our statements taken separately was because I had to tell the detective why Christophe came after me. How he knew me. And it wasn't through work.” I put my other hand on top of our joined ones. “I couldn't let you find out that way.”
I took another deep breath and hoped it would calm my nerves. Not surprisingly, it didn't. Nevertheless, I pushed on.
“My mom was twenty-three when she had me, but as near as anyone could figure, she'd had at least six other kids before me, maybe more. That's also not counting the abortions. The first one, a boy, was born when she was fourteen and she gave him up right away. One died. SIDS from what I heard. When the police did their routine follow-up, they found the drugs she'd been using. I think there were three kids taken away that first time. By the time I was born, she'd lost custody of everyone. A total of two boys, counting that first, and three girls. I don't know if the one who died was a boy or a girl. Don't know names either. Sometimes she'd say my brothers were Dillon and Mikey. Other times, it was Ollie and Samson.”
“You never did any... digging?”
I smiled softly. I knew what he meant. I was a good enough hacker that I could've gotten the information if I'd really wanted it.
“I'd be lying if I said I'd never thought of it,” I admitted. “But I don't think I could face any of them. There'd be too many questions.”
“Like why she kept you and not them?”
“The answer to that one is simple. I got her stuff. Mom kept my birth quiet because she knew I'd get taken if the state found out. She'd been turning tricks since she was fourteen to pay for drugs, so a father interfering wasn't going to happen.” I traced my finger along Rylan's thumb. “She always liked the idea of being a mom more than the reality of it, so I think she might've eventually let me go too if she hadn't met Tony. He was her new pimp slash drug supplier when I was born. From what the cops found out, I was only a year old when Tony told my mom that there was another way she could pay for her drugs that didn't involve her giving blowjobs for ten bucks a pop.” I looked down. There was no going back after this.
“I'm right here, Jenna,” Rylan said. “I'm not going anywhere.”
I raised my head and met his eyes. Safety. Strength. I could do this. “I was her way to get what she wanted. It was just Tony for a year or two, or so I was told. I don't remember. Then he got killed by some other dealer and my mom decided to go into business for herself.”
Rylan looked sick, the revulsion in his eyes clearly not directed at me. His hand convulsed around mine, as if itching to make a fist. “Jenna, love...”
“I have to keep going,” I said. “I need to say it all.”
He nodded, the expression on his face saying he wished I wouldn't, but also that he knew how important this was.
“I was somewhere between two and three the first time Mom got an idea. I don't know if someone suggested it, or she thought of it herself, only that she was there for every film.” I reached up and touched my hair. “I was Snow White.”
“Which is why you dye your hair,” he said softly, understanding in his expression.
“And that's how Christophe knew me.”
Now came the shock. Rylan stared at me.
“When he was twelve, he found some clips of the movies online and became obsessed.”
“The dress.” Rylan's eyes widened.
“He wanted me to be Snow White again,” I said. “So, you see, that was why he suggested that you hired me. Why he never messed with any of the other women at work. But you never could've known.”
“I should've known I had a pedophile working for me.”
I shook my head. “These men, these people, they're masters of disguise. They know how to cover their tracks.” I steered the conversation back to my story. I could argue against his guilt later. “Until I was thirteen, I spent at least three to four days a week being raped. Sometimes one man, sometimes more. Sometimes they'd bring their wives or girlfriends with them.”
With every word, the horrified and sickened expression on Rylan's face grew.
“Aside from the movies, there were web shows and pictures too.” I put my hand on my side. “When I was six, I told my mom I didn't want to do movies anymore. She beat me after she saw that the grease left a scar. Said I'd have to work twice as hard since I'd made her leave a mark.”
I kept waiting for Rylan to pull away, but he didn't. Then I told him about that night. The worst night. I didn't leave anything out. He needed to know. With each disgusting, degrading detail, the anger in his eyes grew until they were almost black.
“Mom had to let me heal for a couple days after that one,” I said. “The first night I could walk again, I tried to kill myself.” I held up my arm. “I didn't realize that the blood would make the glass too slippery for me to cut my other arm. I didn't bleed out fast enough.”
“No one asked questions?” Rylan's voice was hoarse. “You were a kid, coming into the hospital with a suicide attempt. An exam would've shown...”
I didn't make him say it. “The doctor my mom took me to, the one she always took me to, was a regular customer.” I sighed. “I didn't know that until after he was arrested though. He always wore a mask.”
“How did... how did it end?”
“I was in the middle of making a movie.” I shuddered. If I'd been forced to finish that one, I knew I would've found a way to kill myself. “In the middle of it, the cops burst in. One of the people who subscribed to the website had been arrested a couple of days before. My picture was one of thousands on his hard drive, but the tech people were able to identify some things and figure out where I was. Lily was the only person who came to me and held me. She didn't act disgusted by what she saw… she just saw me.”
“Jenna
.” His voice broke on my name.
I didn't stop. It was almost over and I needed it all out. “I spent a couple of months in the hospital before I was put into the system. The one thing my mom had done, at least most of the time, was insist on condoms. No one wanted to risk getting caught because of an STD outbreak. I didn't end up with anything permanent there, but what they'd done to me...” I could feel my throat closing up and had to make myself finish. “Six surgeries total to fix the damage. Most of it at least. They couldn't fix all of the internal stuff. I can't have kids.” I put my hand on my lower stomach. “Most of those scars aren't noticeable unless you're looking for them.”
I fell silent. That was it. Everything he needed to know. The things I'd done and had done to me. The reasons for my panic attacks. Why Christophe had come after me. The damage that couldn't be undone.
“Oh, love.” Rylan pulled his hand from mine and gently took my face between his hands, careful not to touch my cut. “Why didn't you tell me before? Not the details, but enough... I never would've done any of those things to you... never asked you to do anything...” His eyes were shining with tears. “I'm so sorry.”
I wrapped my hands around his and put them in my lap. “Despite Christophe undoubtedly being part of the most degusting people in the world, I owe him one thing. He brought me to you. I am so grateful that I met you, Rylan Archer. You have no idea what you've done for me, how safe you make me feel. You've made me face my fears instead of ignoring them.”
I climbed off of the bed, pulling him with me. He stood, confusion on his face. I walked out of the room and he followed. I could feel the tension radiating off of him as I stopped in front of the playroom door. I opened it and stepped inside, flipping on the light before I turned to look at him.
“Jenna?”
I stretched on my tiptoes and pressed my lips against his. I felt his surprise for a moment and then he was leaning into the kiss. He didn't touch me and I could feel his hesitation as he let me take the lead. I took his bottom lip between my teeth and he moaned. I bit down, then sucked his lip into my mouth, soothing it with my tongue before letting go.
“You made it safe for me to face my fears,” I said. “I trust you, Rylan.”
I reached out and took his hands. He let me turn them over, holding them in front of him, palms up.
“There are two things I don't do. I never do.” Butterflies fluttered in my stomach at the thought of what I was about to do. “One, I told you. I don't do bondage. But I also don't close my eyes during sex. No matter how amazing something feels, I can't ever bring myself to trust my partner enough to close my eyes. I can't give myself over that completely. There's always a part of me that's holding back.”
I placed my wrists on his palms and he sucked in a breath.
“I don't want to hold anything back anymore. I want you to take control. All of it.” I looked up at him. “I trust you, and I want to close my eyes with you.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
I could see the indecision warring on his face. He wanted me, but he also wanted to make sure he wasn't taking advantage of me. I waited, my wrists still resting on his open palms. A lot had happened to both of us today and I knew he was still trying to process all of it. He needed to make this decision without me prompting him.
He kept his eyes on my face as his fingers slowly curled around my wrists. I hadn't realized how big his hands truly were, how long his fingers were, until they were holding me. My heart was in my throat, but I didn't pull away. The fear was there, but greater than the fear was desire... and love. I hadn't said it to him yet, but I knew it was the truth. It was funny, I supposed, how worried I'd been that I wouldn't know what love was when I felt it. What I felt for Rylan couldn't be confused as anything else.
“Are you sure?” he asked. “After everything that's happened?”
“Make me forget.”
His eyes darkened, this time with want. “You say the word and I stop,” he said quietly.
I nodded.
He pulled me to him and my hands went to his chest. The robe was soft, but the muscle beneath was hard. He slid his hands up my arms and then around to my back. Each movement was slow and deliberate, and I could feel him gauging and weighing my reactions. Of all of the reactions I'd imagined a man having if he heard about my past, I'd always assumed there would be some level of hesitation, but it had always been based on repulsion over what I'd done. I'd never dreamed that he would worry about me and how I felt. From the first time I'd slept with him, I should have known Rylan would be different.
I looked up at him as he pulled me against him, his hands on the small of my back. The moment his mouth touched mine, relief flooded me. Until that moment, I hadn't been entirely sure that he'd go through with it. His tongue pushed at the seam of my lips and I parted them willingly. His tongue danced with mine as he explored my mouth. The kiss was slow and lazy, a simmering burn rather than a roaring inferno.
I slid my hand between the folds of his robe, needing to feel his skin against mine. He moaned into my mouth and one of his hands moved up to cup the back of my head. His heart thudded against my hand as he deepened the kiss. I could feel his cock hardening between us.
He pulled his mouth away, but didn't let me go. “I'm going to take you to the bed.” He gently kissed the bruised side of my face. “But I'm not going to tie you up.”
Before I could register my disappointment, he continued.
“The first time I restrain you.” His voice was heavy with desire. “I want it to be with my hands.”
Fuck. My pulse stuttered. I nodded mutely to let him know that I was agreeing to it. Suddenly, he was picking me up and my arms automatically went around his neck. I remembered the first time he'd carried me to a bed. He'd asked my permission and then been careful not to hold me too tightly. Even before he knew the whole story, a part of him had known how to handle me.
He set me in the center of the bed and untied his robe. I didn't try to hide my admiration as the robe fell away, revealing his magnificent body. I'd always told myself that I'd get bored being with the same person more than once, but I didn't think I'd ever get tired of looking at him, let alone having sex with him.
I made a move to untie my robe.
“No,” he said. “Put your hands above your head.”
I shivered, but did as I was told. He wasn't holding my hands yet, but even this was relinquishing control.
He pulled a condom out of the side table drawer and tossed it onto the bed next to me before climbing up to join me. He pulled my legs apart and stretched out on his stomach between them. As he settled, I admired the way the cross on his back rippled with the movement of his muscles. I promised myself that I would, at some point this weekend, trace every inch of that tattoo with my tongue.
He didn't open my robe like I expected him to. Instead, he parted the folds just enough so he could get where he wanted to go. I made a sound as his tongue teased the insides of my thighs. I started to squirm, but his hands wrapped around my thighs, holding me still. I whimpered as he began to lightly trace along my slit, never penetrating, never hard enough for real friction.
I reached down and ran my fingers through his hand, encouraging him to move closer.
He raised his head. “Hands above your head.” His tone was stern. “That's your one warning. After that, we may have to discuss methods of... correction.”
Shit. That word should not sound so hot.
I put my hands back above my head and he lowered his mouth to my pussy again, resuming his torture. By the time his tongue finally pushed between the folds, I was dripping. He took long licks, the flat of his tongue running the full length of me before it slipped into my pussy. I moaned, my fingers twisting together above my head.
“Close your eyes.” He made the command soft. “Just feel.”
I took a slow breath and let my eyes close. My stomach clenched and the fear took the edge off of my arousal.
“Concentrate on my voice,” he
said. “Focus on what I'm saying.”
I nodded.
“Feel me.” His voice took on a hypnotic tone. “These are my hands on your legs.”
I pictured them in my head, those long, strong fingers that had never hurt me. He was keeping me in place so I could enjoy what he was doing.
When he spoke again, his breath was hot against my aching pussy. “I'm going to kiss you, Jenna. Make love to you with my mouth. It's my lips, my tongue on you. It's going to be my fingers inside you, preparing you for me.”
The knot in my stomach began to ease.
“I'm the one who has you. Only me. And I'll never hurt you.”
“I trust you.”
I gasped as his tongue flicked against my clit. The gasp became a moan as he circled it, alternating pressure on the little bundle of nerves until I was panting. I didn't know if it was the power of suggestion, or if I was actually more aware of the sensations with my eyes closed, but either way, I was feeling things I'd never felt before. I grabbed the pillows above my head to keep my hands in place.
My orgasm hit me as he began to suck on my clit and my hips jerked. He put his hand on my stomach, never letting up the delicious suction that was sending wave after wave of pleasure crashing over me. Even before I'd finished, a new climax began, prompted by the single digit he slid inside me. He slowly pumped his finger in and out of my pussy, coaxing me into a second orgasm before the first had dissipated. I cried out, my body tensing as I came.
He kept going, taking a short break only when it was getting to be too much. Then he'd start up again, his finger moving, his tongue dancing. When he added the second finger, I came for the third time, my back arching. I shouted his name, hoping he could hear in that single word all of the things I didn't have the ability to say.
Then his fingers were twisting, rubbing against my walls in new ways and three became four without any space between them. Tears streamed out from under my closed lids. I couldn't take anymore. Every nerve in my body felt like it was on fire.
