Gabrielle is my key.
The key to becoming a better man.
She’s the one who is worth it.
Silence falls on us again save for the crashing of the waves and the occasional cry from a gull up ahead, wondering if we have anything to eat. I’m not sure if we should continue to sit here or head back to get the towels and water, but then she starts to stir. She doesn’t face me, but her head drops to the side, resting her cheek against her knee so I can see her profile. Her eyes are searching the sky.
“I was raped,” she says, and the stark admission makes my heart free-fall in my chest. “When I was young. Several times. All by the same person.”
I swallow the thickness in my throat, feeling livid that someone did this to her. “I’m sorry,” I manage to say. I don’t know what else to say. But it explains a lot.
“I’m sorry too,” she says quietly, still avoiding my eyes. That’s okay. “I thought it was my fault for a long time. I thought at first maybe I led him on. I was young and stupid. He was . . . older. He paid attention to me in ways that no one else did, and after my childhood, it felt good. But I never thought of him in that way. I thought maybe he was a friend. Except he wasn’t.” She pauses, licks her lips. “I never told anyone this. I never went to therapy for it. I know I should have, but it’s too late for that now. It’s too late for a lot of things. I think maybe I’m beyond saving.”
“You don’t need to be saved,” I tell her. I’ve always questioned the existence of my own heart. It never seemed to beat or bleed for anyone, not even myself. But now it aches, a full-on pain in my chest, like it’s opened up and bleeding me dry for her. I try to compose myself, but it’s hard against the pull of emotions; they grab at my ankles like an undertow.
“I do need to be saved,” she says, her voice taking on an edge. “You have no idea. I need to be saved from myself. I’m the thing most dangerous, and it’s not in a way you’d expect. I have revenge on my mind. I think that’s the only way out of this. I dream about killing him, I fantasize about it. And I know I’m an awful human being for even having those thoughts.”
“You’re a normal human being. He probably deserves it.”
She closes her eyes for a moment. “I think he does. That’s the only thing that keeps me going.”
“Who was he?” I ask, even though I know if she tells me, I’m going to have to do something about it. I’m already making fists in the sand, the anger running through my blood hot and fluid.
“It doesn’t matter,” she says tiredly.
“It does. Tell me who it is so I can go and kill him myself.”
Finally she looks up and meets my eyes. “Not if I kill him first.” Our eyes are locked, and in our stare, I can feel everything she’s feeling. How serious she seems. For her own sake, I hope she’s not. Then she looks away again at the horizon. “The first time it happened, it took me by surprise. I was too shocked to feel anything, and then after I felt nothing but shame. In a way, he seduced me, and even when I said no, it sounded like I was saying yes. The second time”—she takes in a deep breath—“the second time I said no again, and that time he hit me.”
It feels like I’m about to crush this fist of sand into glass. “You don’t have to tell me this,” I say through grinding teeth. If she keeps going on, I might end up punching something.
“I want to tell you, Pascal. I want you to know. I want you to understand. And I’ve never told anyone before. I need to tell someone, and you’re the only one I trust in this whole wide world, this world that only wants to hold me down. And yet you’re there, holding your hand out for me, trying to help me up. I know it shouldn’t be you. It really shouldn’t be you. But here we are.”
I press my lips together and wait for her to go on.
“He hit me, but he did it in such a way that no one could really tell. After that, I knew what I was up against, and I did everything I could to avoid him, but sometimes that was impossible.”
“When was this?”
“It doesn’t matter,” she says again, and now I know that it does matter, at least to her. “I know you want to play hero, Pascal, but this has been my story and mine alone for so long, so trust me when I say it really doesn’t matter. Please.”
“Okay,” I say quickly, nodding to show her I’m dropping it.
“He was brutal, and he took pleasure in it, like a fucking psychopath. He tortured me with fear, and he only inflicted pain and suffering. He ruined me, over and over again, and it was only later that I realized I had to be the phoenix, that I had to rise out of the ashes. I told you I have issues, and these are my issues. I . . .” She exhales shakily. “I don’t know who I am without them, you know? It’s been my identity for so long.”
“So I take it they never caught him?”
She shakes her head.
“Why didn’t you press charges?”
“I was too young and . . . I figured it wouldn’t work. He’s the type of man who would get away with it. Besides, I didn’t want to go to trial. I didn’t want to be put on a stand and have to look him in the eye and relive it. I didn’t want the world to know my shame.”
“You must have told your mother?”
She nods. “I did tell her. And she didn’t believe me. I laid myself bare and admitted the truth, and she looked the other way. After that, I had no choice but to leave her.”
“Is that why you suddenly left us? You couldn’t be around her anymore?”
“Mm-hmm,” she says, turning her head slightly so that her wet hair falls over her face, obscuring it from view.
“My father told me that you left because you had issues, that some traumatic experience happened to you once but he didn’t know what it was.”
She goes still at that. I swear she stops breathing.
“Did he have any guesses?” she asks quietly.
“No. None. But he also said he was only guessing. You never opened up. I can understand why.”
She’s breathing again. Her back rises and falls with deep breath after deep breath, like she’s doing a breathing exercise.
I know I shouldn’t touch her, especially after everything she just admitted to me, but I feel like if I don’t, she’ll move further and further away from me. I can feel the connection between us severing somehow.
I get to my knees and slide over to her, gently placing my hand on her back. She flinches slightly, and goose bumps erupt on her skin.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, though it feels like such a trite thing to say. “You’re a strong fucking woman. And even though you don’t need a man—especially a man like me—to have your back, I have it. You are not alone, Gabrielle.”
She raises her head and turns it toward me.
I reach out and brush the hair off her face, tucking it behind her ears, my fingers then resting on her jaw.
Her eyes search mine wildly, but the fear in them has changed once more.
“Kiss me,” she whispers.
“Wh-what?” I blink, wondering if I heard her right.
Before I can process it, she puts her hand at my cheek and leans in and brushes her lips against mine softly, just for a moment, just enough time for a jolt to pass from her to me, all the way to my toes. I’m lighting up like fucking firecrackers.
I kiss her back because that’s all I’ve wanted to do from the moment I first saw her. I kiss her, flush and warm, and though the kiss is still heating up, I fear where it could go.
I don’t want to hurt her.
Not after everything.
I pull back slightly, lick my lips, try to breathe. “Are you sure about this?” I murmur, my voice thick with desire. “I don’t feel right after . . . after . . .”
“I’m not damaged goods,” she whispers, staring into my eyes with such intensity that I don’t dare move. “I’m just a little broken. Maybe I need you to put me back together again. It can’t hurt to try, can it?”
God, I hope she’s right.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
GABRIELLE
/> What are you doing? the voice says. This will ruin you.
But I’m determined not to ever hear that voice again.
Not right now, staring at Pascal, breathless, still feeling the hot buzz of his lips on my mouth. He’s staring right back at me, his mouth open and wet where I kissed him. There’s wonder in his gaze, and I feel lost in that same feeling, too, hypnotized, his eyes so blue and intense, they rival the sky and the sea.
I can’t believe I kissed him.
I figured it might happen at one point, but never did I imagine it would happen now.
Not after everything I told him about his father.
Even if he doesn’t know it’s about his father.
I just had to see, had to know for sure, how different he was. What he felt like.
His lips were like heaven, soft and seductive, and every part of me is on fire, begging me to go back for more.
I want to be more than what was done to me.
I want to prove to myself that I’m not damaged beyond repair.
That I’m still a woman with wants and needs and urges.
He’s the man I shouldn’t want, the son of the devil.
And he’s staring at me like I’m the only woman in the world for him, the only one he really, truly needs. Salvation, maybe.
Whatever it is, I want more.
I want all of him.
I lean in slightly, staring up at him with a look that should be undeniable.
He reads that look.
Desire washes over his face like the incoming tide.
He grabs my face in his hands, pressing his fingers into my cheekbones, searching my eyes like if he doesn’t find what he’s looking for, he might just die.
He catches me in a hard, long kiss, his lips having their way with mine, our tongues clashing wildly with each long pull. He tastes like the sea, and I want to drink all of him.
His fingers slide back into my wet hair, and I’m suddenly conscious that we’re making out on the beach in just his underwear and the world’s smallest bikini. Anyone could see us if they approached from a boat or the cliff above, but I don’t care.
It feels so good to just not care.
Pascal pulls me in closer, his kiss deepening, and my mouth opens up in kind, wanting this, needing this. Our kiss turns into something hot and messy, teeth and lips and tongues that dance with each other like in the depths of a fever dream.
He nips at my bottom lip, eliciting a groan that falls into his mouth.
“You have no idea,” he murmurs into my mouth, pulling back just enough to rub his nose against mine. “No idea how much I’ve wanted to do this, to know what you taste like.” He pauses, lips going to my jaw and leaving tiny wet kisses. “I want to taste all of you, every inch. I want to do it until you can’t handle it anymore, and then I want to do it some more.”
A thrill runs down my spine, the kind that shoots out into every nerve in every crevice in my body. A heat builds between my legs, a pressure that’s both foreign and familiar to me. I want this more than I can admit.
His lips now suck along my neck, and his moan sends vibrations down my spine. I put my hands on his shoulders, on his back, feeling the taut strain of his muscles, the heat of his body, and the sun beating down on us.
“Pascal,” I whisper, though I don’t want to say anything more than his name. I want to keep saying it, keep reminding myself that this is him, this is him. My boss, son of the devil, the one person I want to get closer to and the one person I shouldn’t.
Those thoughts would normally be enough to shake me out of it, but this time they don’t. This time they disappear in a flurry of lust as Pascal makes a gentle fist in the back of my hair with one hand—I can feel the water trickling down my back from it, making me shiver. His other hand goes to my bikini top and slips under.
His thumb brushes over my nipple, and I gasp, my nails on his back digging in. His touch is electric. Whatever I was feeling before was just kindling, and now this is the fuel he’s poured on top. I am so fucking alive, so damn turned on. I’ve never felt this way before. I’ve never had anyone touch me and make me feel the way he’s making me feel now.
“Don’t stop, ever,” I manage to say, my heart starting to beat in my throat. His lips come down to my pulse, sucking and licking until they rest in the corner of my neck. The way his thumb keeps passing over my hardened nipple shoots rays of pleasure out of my breast, washing over the rest of me. I’m starting to become impatient. I’m starting to need more, like some rabid animal.
His mouth comes back up to mine again, and I gasp into another kiss. I open my eyes enough to see him staring back at me, those endless blues reflecting my own lust to me. “Lie back,” he whispers, and one hand goes to my shoulder, gently pushing me onto the sand. He reaches down and carefully spreads my legs, then gets between them.
He could be rougher. I get why he’s not. He’s been as easy on me as he can, and I don’t blame him. It’s thoughtful. It’s endearing. It’s a side of Pascal I never thought I’d see when it came to sex. I thought he would just take, rough and wild, and discard. This is different. This is gentle but commanding. It’s slow but it’s decadent. It’s borderline torturous.
I gasp again as he briefly hovers over me and licks up the sides of my breast, swirling his thick tongue around and around until I’m fidgeting, the pressure inside me building again with nowhere to go. The need to get off is greater than anything else right now. I’m being driven mad.
He glances up at me, his damp dark hair falling in his eyes, and he gives me his trademark crooked grin. Though the want on his face is written clearly, the way his pupils are dilated, how tense his jaw is, the way his lips are open and wet, I also see something else in his eyes. The feeling that no matter what happens next, he’s got me.
With a hard, slick pull, he sucks my nipple into his mouth, and my hands shoot up to his thick hair, grabbing on tight. I know how fussy he is about his hair, and I don’t blame him. He’s got the perfect hair to hold in times like this.
Then he moves back, his lips leaving my breasts and trailing down the middle of my stomach, making light little kisses down and down and down.
I tense up, nervous and excited and desperate all at once.
I’ve never had a guy go down on me before.
Suddenly I’m glad that I’m still wet from the ocean, though perhaps that’s my own desire as well.
Pascal slips his finger under one side of my bikini—the same side he was untwisting earlier, when the intimacy got too much for me—and instead of pulling them down over my hips, he undoes the ties until the bikini falls to the side.
“Jesus,” he says in awe, and when I raise my head, I see him between my legs, staring at my pussy with the kind of eagerness that makes me feel like I’m about to be devoured. “You’re fucking perfect, you know that? Absolutely perfect. I think I might stare at you all day.”
I swallow hard, trying to think of something witty to say, but I’ve got nothing. I just want his face between my legs. I want to know what that strong, skilled tongue of his feels like there.
He grins at me, biting his lip. “You’re absolutely soaked. It’s beautiful.”
While he keeps eye contact with me, he slips his finger down over my clit, through the slick folds, and back up. My back arches, my clit screaming for more of that, more of him. “You’re beautiful. Just like this. Raw and drenched and begging for it. Are you begging for it?”
There’s the dirty talker I knew would be in him. “Yes,” I manage to say, the word choked.
“Tell me you’re begging for it. Tell me you want my tongue to lap you up, again and again, until you can’t take it anymore.”
I let out a frustrated groan in response. I don’t even know what he said, so I can’t repeat it, all I can think about is that finger, the calloused tip of it sliding back and forth, the sound filling the air, competing with the waves.
Jesus, I really am that wet, I think. I’m almost proud of myself, th
ough I know it’s all Pascal’s doing.
“I’m going to give you what you want,” he says, moving back more and lowering his face until I can feel his breath on my pussy. “And then I’m going to give you more.”
He touches my clit with the tip of his tongue, and I shudder, my hands tightening in his hair. His tongue takes its time moving up along my clit and back down, just as achingly slow as his finger, but now he starts plunging his tongue deep inside me, fucking me that way.
Oh fuck.
My back arches again, and I raise my hips, trying to get more purchase, to get more of everything.
He continues to fuck me with his tongue, and it’s both amazing and not enough. I clench for more. I crave his cock. I want to be split open by him, I want him driven in deep, I want—
He moves his mouth up a few inches, and now I’m clenching without him there. His tongue and lips slide over my clit, and the feeling spurs a need in me so great that I cry out, “Oh fuck!”
He murmurs something against me, but I’m not sure what it is. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except my hands in his hair and his mouth on my clit, swirling and sucking and licking until, until . . .
“I’m going to come,” I say, though the words leave my mouth in a ragged cry.
I don’t even have time to think about what it’s going to be like, to prepare.
The pressure builds and builds, and then suddenly there’s an explosion, a balloon popping, stars of confetti bursting through the air.
“Oh, Pascal!” I cry out, screaming, bucking my hips up into his mouth until I fear I might break his jaw.
His tongue slows, and I come back down to earth, trying to remember where I am. It feels like I’m a bird, soaring far above the sea, higher and higher until I’m just floating down like a feather. I know where I am. On the beach with Pascal. My hands are grasping his hair so tight that it actually hurts to undo my fists.
“You know what you taste like?” he says to me, and when I lift my heavy head to look at him, he’s wiping my shiny desire from his lips and sliding his finger into his mouth. “You taste like something I’ve dreamed of but never had a word for. You taste like Gabrielle.”
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