Shades of Gray (KGI #6)(62)

“We have to be careful,” he said. “I don’t want to hurt your leg. Let me take off your pants first.”

Her leg was the last thing she was thinking of. She wanted him close. Wanted to replace the memory of Nelson and Brumley with Cole. Just Cole. He’d chase away her demons. She was sure of that.

He carefully slid her sweats down over her hips and down her legs, taking care not to bump her wound. His fingers grazed her skin, setting fire to her senses. A thousand chill bumps danced across her thighs and midriff when he let his hands glide back up her bare legs and then under her T-shirt.

He pulled upward, baring more of her, and she lifted her arms over her head, a signal that it was okay for him to take the shirt too.

Now left in only her bra and panties, she trembled as shadows lurked in her mind. She forced her attention to Cole, refusing to allow anything to ruin this moment. But even so, a chill settled over her.

Her scars were there for him to see, and they were still raw looking. Ugly. Marks put there by other men.

“Tell me what you want, P.J. You’re calling the shots here. Tell me how to please you.”

“I’m cold,” she whispered. “Make me warm, Cole. Please take away the cold.”

He stripped out of his clothing and carefully lowered his body to hers. He stroked her hair away from her face and kissed her, long and leisurely.

He broke from her mouth and pressed a tender line from her lips down her jawline and to the sensitive flesh beneath her ear. More goose bumps broke out, but this time she didn’t feel the same chill she had before.

His warmth bled into her, soothing away her fears and giving her soul deep comfort.

Holding her tightly to him, he rolled so they were resting on their sides. His hand smoothed down her arm all the way to her fingertips and then on to her hip before slowly gliding upward again, this time going underneath her arm, over the curve of her waist and to her breast.

His pace was slow and lazy, as if he had all the time in the world. He seemed determined not to rush her, and she realized for the first time how hard her rape had to have been for him as well.

Even now, despite the slow pace he’d set, his jaw was tight, and she could tell it was difficult for him to go this slow and be this patient. In that moment, she fell even harder for a man she was already well on her way to completely falling for.

“Kiss me,” she whispered. “Make love to me.”

He groaned softly as his lips melted over hers. Their tongues met and tangled. Hot and wet. Breathless and needy.

His hand moved downward, between her legs, sliding through her wetness, teasing and caressing in gentle strokes.

“We have all night, baby,” he murmured. “Let’s not rush. I want to make sure you’re with me every step of the way.”

She sighed and snuggled closer to him, wanting and needing that flesh-to-flesh contact. Her leg protested fiercely when she slid it over his, but she didn’t care. Nothing was going to ruin this moment for her.

He made his goal to touch every inch of her skin. No part of her body went untouched. He licked and kissed his way from her toes all the way to her eyelids. He gave extra attention to her br**sts, teasing and toying with the ni**les until they were straining upward, begging for more.

But it was when he traced the lines of each one of her scars and then followed his fingers with his mouth, sweetly kissing every puckered inch of the wounds, that her heart squeezed and she found it hard to breathe.

He was telling her without words that her scars meant nothing to him. He didn’t shy away from them. Didn’t recoil over their ugliness. He made certain there was no doubt in her mind that he accepted every single part of her.

God, but she wanted to cry. She wanted to let go of the grief that had plagued her for so long. She felt safe with Cole. Her harbor. Her shelter. The one person she could turn to and he’d never think her weak.

His palms glided warmly over her body. His fingers stroked and his mouth made love to her all on its own.

She was senseless with need, and pleasure was molten lava in her veins. More potent than the strongest drug.

She was in a haze, her surroundings blurred. She felt her legs being parted, felt the twinge of pain as her injured leg protested the movement. Then a hard body covered hers and panic splintered through her consciousness, bringing an abrupt halt to every pleasurable sensation she’d been fully immersed in.

She reacted blindly, desperate to defend herself. She’d never allow anyone to hurt her that way again. A sob escaped, loud, like thunder in her ears. She fought desperately, pain lancing up her leg until she cried out.

She rolled, trying to get away, and she fell onto the floor, the blanket from the bed tangled around her feet. She nearly blacked out from the pain after landing on her injured leg. Or maybe she had.

It was as if she were two completely different people. One who embraced the idea of making love to Cole as if nothing had ever happened to her—one rooted solidly in denial—and the other? Still trapped on that couch in Vienna, powerless against the effects of the drug while two men raped her body and mind.

And the one currently winning the battle for self-preservation was that terrified, brutalized victim that she’d tried so hard to forget existed for the last six months.

When some of the overwhelming panic dissipated and she became aware of her surroundings once more, she was sitting on the floor, her arms wrapped protectively around her body as she rocked back and forth. Tears were streaming down her face and she was helpless to stop them.