Dark Notes(58)

A laugh bursts from my chest as I flex my swollen hand in her lap. “If that’s crazy, I should probably be committed.” For being uncontrollably, insanely, violently protective of this girl.

She chuckles softly, her fingers tracing circles around the pulpy mess on my knuckles. “I want to clean your hands.”

“When we’re finished.”

In her sideways position on my lap, she leans against my chest and hooks an arm around my lower back, pressing her face in my neck, as if to keep me close.

I’m not going anywhere.

“I was thirteen my first time.”

I close my eyes and remember to breathe.

“My brother’s friend did it, behind my house, on the stairs.”

I seethe. Goddammit, I seethe from every pore in my body. Her brother is nine-years older than her. If the friend is the same age, that sick filthy molester was twenty-two when he f*cked her thirteen-year-old body.

It’s all I can do to just sit there, hold her against me, and not blow up in a roaring, ballistic fit of fury. “His age?”

She shifts up my chest and loops her arms around my shoulders, resting her forehead against the side of mine. “Same age as you.”

I know I’m squeezing her too hard when she squeaks and digs her nails into my neck. Questions pile up amid the growling vibrations in my throat, but there’s no way I can form sophisticated sounds right now, let alone words.

She pets my shoulder like she’s comforting a damn rabid dog. “I told him no, fought him, hated it. I know what that means now, but I didn’t understand it then.”

“Ivory—”

“Just let me finish.” She tilts away from my chest, staring at the doorway to the master bathroom as her fingers toy with the buttons on my shirt. “After it happened, I was pretty screwed up in my head. I let anyone and everyone have sex with me, like I was trying to prove to myself that I wasn’t weak. I didn’t want to cry through it. I wanted to own it, like ‘I’ve got this. I am doing it.’ And him and him and—”

“How many?” I ground out through clenched teeth.

She blinks and shakes her head. When she blinks again, her eyes shine with tears. “It didn’t work out the way I wanted.”

“Stop sniveling and tell me how many him’s there have been.”

Her jaw sets, and she levels me with a tear-sodden glare. “I don’t know, okay? Sixty? Eighty? More? I don’t keep track because I don’t want to know!”

My stomach hardens. Fuck me, I’m ten years older than her, and sixty is twice as many partners as I’ve had. And that’s her low number.

Her attention returns to the bathroom. “Go ahead and say it. I’m a slut. A disgusting whore.”

I capture her chin in a hard grip and jerk her face to mine, my tone coarse. “Don’t ever put words in my mouth.”

When I let go, she pulls her knees up between our chests, her firm ass digging into my thighs where she sits sideways on my lap. Her legs twitch to close impossibly tighter as she stares at the bathroom again. My first thought is she needs to pee. But given the conversation, I know there’s something else going on.

I tuck her hair behind her ear and trail my fingers down her neck. “Did Prescott…touch you or have sex with you before I arrived tonight?”

She hugs her knees, her expression darkening. “No.”

I didn’t think so, but being caught in that position is probably doing a number on her head. “Tell me why you’re staring at the bathroom.”

Her lashes sweep down. “I would really like to…to take a shower.”

“Because?”

“I’m dirty,” she whispers.

My teeth clench. It’s going to take a f*ckton of time and patience to repair her dignity, and I’m starting right f*cking now.

“You know what happened the moment I ripped Prescott out of that car? I asserted ownership over you. I know you don’t understand the significance of that, so I’ll make it simple.” I grip her throat and hold her gaze. “You’re mine. That means every inch of your gorgeous body, every thought in your head, and every word out of your mouth impacts me. Calling yourself dirty or any other offensive adjective is an insult to my girl, something I will not tolerate. Tell me you understand.”

Her throat relaxes against my palm, her eyes round and searching. “I understand.”

Fucking beautiful.

I release her neck and touch the juncture of her closed knees. “Part your legs.”

The slim fit of the skirt won’t allow for much, but I only need enough space for my hand.

She stares at my fingers, and her wide eyes flash to mine. Whatever she sees in my face smooths the worry lines on hers. Her arms fall to her sides, and breath by breath, she opens her knees.

Fucking hell, I ache to strip her bare and taste every glorious curve and dip of her body. We’re going to be so f*cking wild together, grappling and reckless, messy and drunk on pleasure. I feel the promise of that churning in the air between us, shaking my legs beneath her ass, and slicking my palm as I glide my fingers along the inside of her thigh.

The deeper I reach beneath her skirt, the warmer and damper her skin. I watch her expression for signs of panic and inch closer to her *.

An inch from my target, I caress her thigh, teasing her. “I’m not going to erase your self-hating comment with flowery words like You’re pretty and sexy and perfect, because I suspect you’ve heard it all, most likely uttered on heavy breaths that haunt you when you sleep.”