“I’ve heard that before,” she mutters.

  I tighten my fingers around the steering wheel as I remember the terror in her eyes when the door opened. “I have no doubt what I started, your uncles and father finished.”

  “You mean, what I started?”

  The smallest smile spreads across my lips at her words. “What you started,” I correct my statement. “We just came in to clean up afterward, something that should’ve been done the first time he laid hands on you.”

  Rosie places her elbow on the door, resting her cheek against her fingers with her gaze straight ahead. “I didn’t even see him there before I went to the bathroom. It’s as if he materialized out of nowhere like a nightmare, waiting for his moment to strike.”

  “I didn’t see him either,” I tell her, playing back the time I spent at the door until I saw Rosie walk in and coming up blank. He must’ve seen her or me first, deciding to lurk in the back, waiting on the perfect moment to strike.

  “I thought he was you at first,” she says.

  Her words are like a punch to my fucking gut. “I’d never hurt you like that, Ro.”

  “He didn’t hurt me right away. He caught me off guard, wrapping his arms around my waist. I didn’t try to get away, thinking it was you behind me, trying to make amends. But I had been so pissed at you, I wasn’t paying attention to who was around me, and well…you know what happened.”

  I smack the steering wheel with the meaty part of my palm, pissed at myself for being such an asshole.

  She startles at my sudden movement, doubling my guilt.

  “This is my fault,” I tell her. “If I hadn’t…”

  She reaches across the cab of the truck, placing her fingers on my forearm. “What happened tonight isn’t your fault, Dylan.”

  “If I hadn’t pissed you off, you wouldn’t have been there. Or if you were, I would’ve been by your side.”

  “If I weren’t pissed at you and you were by my side, you wouldn’t have gone to the bathroom with me. He still would’ve been waiting for me when I walked out of there alone,” she explains rationally and calmly, two things I’m not in this moment. “You can’t be with me every minute of every day.”

  “Did he…” I swallow the words, finding any possibility of her being hurt again painful, and look back at her.

  She shakes her head. “At first, I froze and then begged. But then I remembered what my dad taught me and used the training he drilled into us at a young age. I may not have the strength to last long, but I knew how to cause him enough pain in a short burst to allow myself an escape.”

  “Fuck,” I hiss, hating that it’s something she had to be taught to do.

  “We’re always taught to be on guard…as women.”

  “That’s some crazy bullshit,” I grumble, gripping the steering wheel tighter to alleviate my anger.

  She shrugs her shoulder closest to me. “Men have no clue what it’s like constantly looking over your shoulder, waiting for someone to try something.”

  “I’ve never…”

  “Of course you haven’t. You’re a man. It’s not like a woman is going to attack you out of nowhere and try to spear themselves on your dick. You’re the top of the food chain. You’re the predator and not the prey. If you lived your life like the prey, you’d have a whole new experience.”

  “I had that life when I was a kid,” I whisper, realizing my father was the predator in my life for the first eighteen years until I’d had enough. But I never had to wonder who was preying on me. I only had to wonder when he would pounce, which was more often than I care to remember and have tried to block out.

  “It’s the same for us, but for our entire lives. We can never grow out of it and can only learn how to defend ourselves from an attack. But instead of worrying only about being physically assaulted, we have to fear being raped too.”

  I’ve never hated being a man until this moment. I’ve never put much thought into how women feel or what they worry about in different situations. I’ve never walked around looking over my shoulder, wondering if the next person I passed would be the one to put hands on me.

  Growing up, I always knew who my attacker was going to be. The only thing I could do was try to read his moods, learning when he was most likely to strike and preparing myself for the inevitable onslaught. It took me over a decade to nail down the warning signs, but it never made the beatings any easier to take.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, my head swimming with so many thoughts about my past and her everyday reality.

  “For what?” she asks

  “That you have to walk around always looking over your shoulder because of assholes like me.”

  “I don’t live in a constant state of paranoia. It’s more like awareness. I’m careful, checking my surroundings when I’m alone, especially at night. I’m not always afraid. There have only been a handful of times in my life when I was truly fearful, and the two times I’ve been attacked, I wasn’t even the least bit suspicious or concerned. That’s the fucking insane thing about it all. I wasn’t paying attention. I let my guard down.”

  “Don’t you dare blame yourself for what happened,” I tell her, pulling into her apartment complex. “A predator will find a way, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.”

  “I know,” she whispers, turning her face away from me and toward the passenger side window.

  “All that matters is that you were able to give yourself the opportunity to get away, and hopefully you’ll never be put in that spot again.”

  “Yeah,” she says softly, her voice shaking a little on the single word.

  We sit in silence, me lost in my anger and her lost in more emotions than I’ll ever be able to understand, as I drive the last hundred feet to an open parking spot near her building.

  When I cut the engine and climb out, Ro isn’t quick to get out. She opens the door to the truck, but her ass stays in the seat as if she’s unable or unwilling to move. I stalk around the front and round the truck, finding her staring at the ground as if it’s about to swallow her whole.

  “Ro?”

  She lifts her face, tears streaming down her cheeks. “He could’ve really hurt me.”

  I reach out, placing my open palm against her face, and she leans into my touch. “I know, but he didn’t.”

  “That could’ve ended so many other ways.”

  “I know, baby, but it didn’t.”

  “What if you hadn’t…”

  “You still would’ve gotten away. I wasn’t the one who clawed at his face and kneed him in his junk.”

  Her gaze sweeps across my face, her eyes searching mine for something.

  “You did that, Ro. You hurt him, hard and deep enough to get away from him. That wasn’t me, baby—that was you,” I remind her, wanting her to feel empowerment, if that is even possible, about what happened instead of victimized.

  She blinks, the tears still running wild and free. “I did do that, didn’t I?” Her voice is soft and distant, as if she’s replaying every awful moment that happened tonight.

  I drop my hand from her face, moving my arms to her back and legs. “You did,” I tell her as I scoop her into my arms.

  She doesn’t fight me when I lift her out of the truck. One of her arms loops around my neck as if we’ve done this a million times before and are working on muscle memory and instinct. She places her head against my chest, melting into me as if I am her sanctuary and safety, neither sentiment I’ve earned yet.

  I kick the truck door closed with my boot before marching toward her apartment, knowing I want a relationship like this but at a time when there’s not a crisis or a threat to her very existence.

  She goes silent as I carry her toward her front door, reaching into her purse to retrieve the key when we’re a few feet away.

  “I’m going to take care of you, Rosie,” I promise her, knowing I’m not going to leave her side again.

  “Like you did last time?” she asks as I balance her in my arms and unlock the door at the same time.

  The blow may have been low, but it is totally deserved. I did an asshole thing, taking off after we had sex, and I’m not even sure my reasoning could be understood by anyone except me. I’ll try, though. It’s all I can do. Explain everything to her and pray she forgives me, allowing me to take part in her life even if it’s only in a small way.

  I don’t reply right away, stewing in my feelings and giving myself a verbal ass-whooping as I carry her inside. I walk straight to her bedroom, her still in my arms, and sit down on the bed, but I don’t let go of her. “Not like last time, wildcat.”

  She peers up, her big blue eyes swimming with emotion. “You sure about that? Now’s your chance to run.”

  I shake my head, tightening my grip on her body and cradling her more. “What I did was wrong. There was no reason for me to run away like a scared-ass pussy.”

  She sits up a little, drying her cheeks with the backs of her fingers. “It was shitty, Dylan.”

  Good. She is no longer sad. I’d rather her be pissed at me than sad or scared like she was earlier. As long as she’s focused on me, she can’t fret over what almost happened in the bar.

  “I know, baby. I know.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  I keep one hand around her bottom, resting my hand on her thigh, and place my other one around her front so they cross. “Because I was an idiot.”

  “Well, obviously,” she mutters. “But I thought what happened the night before was amazing, and then you vanished without a word.”

  “I was scared,” I confess, hating to admit to that feeling to anyone ever.

  “Of liking me?”

  I shake my head. “I’ll admit that every day of the week, Rosie. I more than like you, but I was scared of what I saw in the morning when I rolled over.”

  Her eyebrows pull down in the middle, and I replay my last statement, immediately realizing my mistake.

  “No, wildcat. Not who I saw, but what I saw. The night before was—” I pause, my dick hardening at the memories of fucking her against the wall “—fucking amazing. Mind-blowing, even. But when I saw the bruises running up and down your back, knowing I put them there… I freaked out and ran. I couldn’t stop myself after I knew I hurt you.”

  She lifts her hand to my face, so sweet and tender. “You didn’t hurt me, Dylan.”

  I lean forward, placing my forehead against hers. “I spent my childhood covered in bruises, and I promised myself I’d never be that guy. When I saw what I’d done, all I could think about was my dad and how I could become him, or maybe that I was becoming him, and I panicked.”

  She slowly glides her fingers through my beard as I confess what I felt and feared. “You aren’t him.”

  “But what if I’ll become him? What if I am becoming him?”

  She pulls away, staring into my eyes. “Have you ever hurt someone on purpose who didn’t deserve it?”

  “I’m sure if you could raise my old man from the dead and ask him, he’d probably say I deserved every beating I got, Ro.”

  Her frown is immediate, but her eyes never leave me, and neither does her touch. “He was an asshole. You are nothing like him. You are kind, caring, and thoughtful. You’re a protector, not an abuser.”

  “But your bruises…”

  “Were a reminder of the best sex I’ve ever had. They don’t even hurt much, Dylan. I forget they’re there. And then I’ll move a certain way, and all I can think about is the way you fucked me, the look in your eyes when you did it, and the pleasure you gave me…repeatedly.” She smiles, and my chest aches at the sweetness of her words and purity in her heart.

  She’s a good person from an amazing family raised by great parents. I don’t deserve something so perfectly beautiful in my life, but I’m not willing or able to let her go.

  “I realized—too late, I might add—that I shouldn’t have run away from you. I know I’m not my father, but sometimes I allow that fear to creep in that I could be. I never want to be the person who makes you cry, but I realized I already did that when I left you. I didn’t consider your feelings or what you wanted. I only cared about myself and what I felt. As soon as I realized I fucked up, I knew I had to apologize and beg for your forgiveness. There’s nothing more I want in my life except you and a chance to be worthy of your love. I’m begging you to give me another chance to prove I deserve having you in my life.”

  “Dylan,” she whispers, and the sound of my name guts me.

  She’s going to turn me down.

  I’ve fucked up way too much. The cut is too deep to climb out of, no matter how much I apologize or what I do. Some wounds are too big to overcome with a simple apology.

  She leans into me, her hand on my face, caressing my skin. “I want this. I want us. You don’t need to beg. I just want honesty, and you’re giving that to me. But I need you to hear me and understand—you did not hurt me the other night, no matter what you saw on my back. You need to trust me to tell you if I’m ever worried or in fear, and I’ll trust you to tell me when you’re scared or panicked. You need to stop running and settle in and allow yourself to be happy.”

  I cup her face in my hands, breathing hard and fast. “You’ll give me another chance?”

  “I don’t know if I’ve even had time to give up on you. I hoped you’d come to your senses eventually, but I was pissed that you didn’t talk to me and I was worried you wouldn’t open up. But yes, I’ll give you another chance. I feel safe with you. Safer than anyone else has ever made me feel.”

  “I promise to be worthy of that feeling, Ro. All I know is whatever is happening between us, it’s too powerful to throw away. It’s too strong to ignore. The pull to you is something I’ve never felt with anyone else.”

  “There’s something magical here,” she whispers.

  “Is that what this is?” I ask.

  She nods. “I think so. I don’t know any other way to describe it.”

  The moment is too heavy, an emotion I’ve never done well. “So, I’m the best you’ve ever had?”

  “You’re such an asshole.”

  “We’ve been over that and agree. But seriously, the best ever?”

  She smacks me playfully. “I don’t know. Let’s try again and see if it was a fluke. I mean, maybe you’re awful at—”

  I move quickly, covering her mouth with mine. “Lies,” I murmur against her lips. “I’m the best you’ve ever had and will ever have, baby. You’re mine now, and I’m going to make sure you’re ruined for any other man.”

  “Challenge accepted,” she murmurs back, and we fall into a kiss, long and deep, as if the last few horrible hours never happened.

  21

  Rosie

  “Wait,” he says. “Not so fast.”

  His hand is on mine, tugging my fingers away from his belt. Slowing me down from what I want.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask. I don’t move my hands away, but I let the strength of his grip hold me tight against him.

  Now that this thing is real, now that we’ve put words to the mess of feelings behind us, I want to consume him. What is he waiting for? Is he doubting what we’ve shared?

  His eyes flash, and he tightens his fists over my fingers. “We’re gonna take our time. This is different, you and me. Not like before.”

  Before… Fuck, it was hot, raw, and rough. So rough. I clench my pussy just remembering the feeling of my back against the wall, his weight pinning me in place, his cock so deep that nothing except the sweat, the pressure, and the heat made sense.

  A surge of arousal floods my core as I remember that night. But now…he wants different. Maybe he wants more.

  “Okay.” I agree, and he releases me, but only so he can pull me into his arms and hold me.

  “Never forget this.” He grits out the words as he presses his forehead to mine. “What this feels like. I want you chasing this high for the rest of our lives.”

  “As if I could ever forget.” I whisper the words, but I know he hears them.

  He closes his eyes and fists his hands in my hair, one hand on either side of my head. He moves my head so my chin lifts and my eyes close. I suck my lower lip into my mouth and wet it, biting down lightly to focus my brain on a single point of pressure, a single point of almost pain that will slow down the racing beat of my heart in my chest.

  “If you do,” he grunts, “I’ll remind you. Always.”

  With every heavy whisper, the heat of his breath feathers my skin. The scent of him, fresh air, clean bedsheets, and the smoky smell of his skin weaken my resolve to let him show me how he wants me.

  To be patient is my torture, but I am. I must be.

  I keep my eyes closed, my hair still firmly between his reverent fingers. I don’t need to open my eyes to know he’s closing in on my mouth. The electric heat between us sparks in the agonizing seconds before he takes me and claims me as his.

  His first kiss is a tease against my lips. I lift my chin to taste more of him. I’m that starving woman at the banquet, my mouth open and hungry to taste it all, but he feeds me nibbles, little tastes. My lower lip between his teeth. The flick of his tongue to open me.

  I have to be patient, to sample his lips, soft as they explore mine.

  “Baby,” he groans. “I want to savor this. Take my time. When you make that sound…”

  I hadn’t even realized I was humming, a half-begging moan as I kissed him back. I giggle. “It seems only fair. I was ready to tear your pants off a minute ago, but you stopped me.”

  “Too much talking,” he says, bending his mouth to my neck. “I wanna hear that sound again.” He flicks his tongue along the curve of my neck. “Fuck, yes,” he hisses. “That’s the way, wildcat.”

  I lose myself in the scorching power his lips have over my body. I grab the back of his head and press my hips against his, arching my neck back to give him access to more of me. I extend myself like an invitation—he can have it all. I’m his, body and soul. Heart and mind. His lips mark my neck, and then I feel his teeth, his tongue, nibbling and teasing my skin until my skin pebbles and my knees tremble.