Page 37 of Keeping Her Under (Deranged Highway, #1)

Thirty-Seven

I take her home, where I build her the library of her dreams. I cook her breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

I make and freeze extra food so she’ll always have a buffet of choices.

We watch TV while she regains her strength; her physical therapy is slow-going but progressive.

Ironically though, her favorite show is one that Ms. Lila Reeds stars in – which is the only reason I decide to let that bitch be.

But it’s better than what happened to Ryan. He never did anything to help my girl, so he died like he lived – as a coward. After he fucked his mom, she lay on the mattress, leaking his cum. And that’s when Asher removed her blindfold. The scream the two of them made as they saw each other…

It still gets me hard.

We told him we got it all on video, and if he didn’t want us sharing it with the world, he’d take full responsibility for all the coding in the ICU. Ms. Reeds’ bodyguard is content with his investigation now; he’s not looking for me.

And given Ryan committed suicide in police custody after I leaked the video regardless… there are no more leads to follow. His mother is yelling about “two men” to anyone who’ll listen, but no one listens to an emotional old woman.

As the weeks pass, Summer slowly starts to warm up to me. There have been hand holding and hugs, and yesterday, she even let me kiss her. But I’m dreading the first time we have sex. She will want to be awake for it, and as much as I love her, I fear how I’ll react if she touches me.

Part of me wants to be unconscious if she won’t.

But that part of me hates me even more.

As I struggle with the two sides of me, I pile her lunch onto her plate – three slices of homemade pizza cooked in our wood-fired oven, alongside a portion of roasted potatoes – partially boiled first, then left for the starch to rise to the surface before baking, leading to a crisper finish.

I grab a glass of ice water before heading upstairs to the library.

She spends a lot of her time in there, lounging on the couch or the beanbag, with a special edition book in her hands.

Stepping into the gothic-themed room, I feel all my worries slide away. Her mere presence roots me. Comforts me.

She doesn’t look up from her book as I place her plate on the table. She’s too engrossed in it. But her stomach will growl once the savory aromas fill her nose. After a few more minutes, she places the book down and looks over at me; I’m sitting beside her on the sofa.

She smiles as she eats her pizza. “Jane Austen is my favorite palette cleanser,” she says. “How are you liking it?”

Every book she reads, I buy a copy for myself. Because it turns out, my girl’s a screamer. “No!” “He didn’t!” “How did I miss that?” “What the ever-loving fuck?” And I want to learn what brings her passion. I want to be able to discuss them with her.

“I do not understand the appeal of Mr. Darcy,” I say.

Her eyes dance as she tells me all the reasons she loves him. A stirring of jealousy rises inside of me. When she stops talking abruptly, I realize I’ve been scowling.

I force out a breath and for my muscles to relax. “Please continue,” I say.

She talks softly and hesitantly at first, so I make sure to be more engaged.

Hiding my jealousy in the pit of my stomach.

I don’t get jealous of her other book boyfriends, but she just told me Darcy is the one she constantly goes back to.

After every pitch-black read, Summer finds comfort from Pride and Prejudice.

In the pages of another man. In one too good for me.

At least with the dark romances, I know I can compete with the monsters on the pages. But how can I possibly fair against a man who isn’t broken like me?

Taking me by surprise, Summer reaches over and touches my leg. I grab her hand and squeeze.

“You should pick the next book,” she says.

“I don’t think you’ll like medical studies.”

She laughs. “Surely, you like to read for joy?”

I shake my head. “Not until I met you.”

Her eyes soften. “Well, is there a genre you think you might like?”

My stomach tightens with unease. I glance away. Her fingers tighten on mine.

“There’s no judgement here,” she says.

But there will be. Because every time we read a dark romance, I get excited when the man rapes his woman. I want to read a book full of just that, but how can I say that after what I’ve done to her? She will think that’s what I want to do…

Even though I don’t.

She might’ve forgotten what I did to her in the warehouse carpark –the first two weeks of her coma recovery lost in her memories– but I haven’t. She might’ve forgiven me after I reminded her of that and told her about my other sins, but I don’t.

I raped her.

Her forgiveness will not absolve me of that guilt. It will not rewrite history. It will not suddenly make it acceptable, just a footnote in a man’s history.

I. Raped. Her.

But now I want to read about it… Why?

So I can jerk myself off while she sleeps?

I’m nothing but a disgusting piece of shit.

“Hey…” she says, bringing my hand to her breast. Right over her heart. “Talk to me.”

“I…” I swallow hard as I stare into her eyes. Will she accept me if I tell her? Will she reject me? Run from me? My cock starts to rise at the feel of her flesh flush against my palm.

Struggling to control myself, I try to move my hand away, but she tugs me closer.

“Stop,” I say. My heart races. The smell of beer and weed fills my nose as I remember all the times I screamed that word. The sound of slapping hips.

She lets go of me instantly, and I jerk to my feet. My hands clench with the need to release my rage. I reach down to grab her plate so I can hurry away with an excuse, but she stops me.

Not physically. But with one terrifying sentence.

“I’m ready for you to make love to me.”

I shake my head, tossing the violent storm within me side-to-side until it’s raging in my ears. “I’ll hurt you.”

“You won’t.”

“I need you to be unconscious.”

“Can you tie me up instead?”

I hesitate, thinking about her being awake but unable to touch me. She stands up and moves over to the sex swing. She holds my eyes as she strips off her clothes.

My cock hardens. “No. It’s too dangerous.”

“You won’t hurt me.”

“I will when they’re inside of me!” I snap as I bang a hand against my head. “When I can feel their hands across my skin.” I claw at my arms. “Smell their breath and the sweat of our bodies. The cum…”

I take a step back. She sits down on the swing and spreads her legs. “Let me take care of you like you’ve taken care of me.”

“I raped you,” I rasp.

“Lance raped me,” she says. “He beat the shit out of me and made sure it hurt. But I’m starting to remember bits and pieces from the hospital. The words you said to me while you made love to me.”

I shake my head. “It was still rape.”

“It was,” she agrees. “But I forgive you.”

“But I don’t forgive myself.”

She smiles. “I know. And that’s how I know you won’t hurt me.” Cupping her breasts, she starts to tease her own nipples.

My mouth waters as I watch them get erect.

“I need your head between my thighs at least,” she sighs. “You don’t have to fuck me; just come take care of me.”

I stumble forward and then drop to my knees. She scoots to the edge of the swing, and I bury my tongue into her pussy.

She moans. I lift her legs onto my shoulders.

The weight of her on me makes me harder.

I want to be lying on the floor while she rides me.

But that’s too close to me losing control, and I can’t risk being triggered while I’m with her.

But one day… One day, maybe I’ll get well enough for her to do that.

Groaning into her flesh, I jerk myself off hard and fast. I need the violence of the act right now. Not the slow kisses and the worshipping of her body.

The men’s hands are all over me.

Their cocks are all inside me.

Their mouth goes down on me.

And remembering the slap of their hips, I shoot out a fountain of cum.

But it’s not pleasure that rushes through me. It’s hate and self-disgust and pain.

Rising to my feet, my cock still squirting, I shove it inside her ass.

She screams as she pushes against my chest.

I grab her neck and squeeze to shut her up. I can’t hear her hatred of me. Her disgust.

Shuddering, I start to cry. She trusted me not to hurt her, and here I am, doing exactly that. I’ve infected her with my disease.

Her hands slide up to my shoulders. She pulls herself further on me. As she starts to fuck me hard and fast, I look up in utter confusion.

My fingers loosen around her throat.

“That’s it, Rath,” she purrs. “Let me take care of you.”

Collapsing against her chest, I cry against her shoulder. I hug her tight as she rides my once-again hardening cock. In broken Korean words, I tell her how I’m not worthy, how she deserves someone so much better.

I tell her all about how they raped me. How my own mother watched.

And I tell her something I never even told Asher.

Sometimes… in order to score another hit, my own mother joined in.

Summer kisses me, unable to understand what I’m saying. But there is a freedom that comes from talking about it. From shoving my demons out in the open. Their shame is no longer mine. It’s out into the world. It’s a truth that can no longer hide.

They raped me.

They stole from me.

They broke me.

But in her arms, I’m fighting back.

I won’t let those moments define me any longer.

As she comes in my arms, I hold her close and breathe hard. For the first time, thinking about my past didn’t trigger an orgasm, and that knowledge floors me. Choking with emotion, I start to fuck her like I’ve always wanted to.

Slowly.

Cherishingly.

Lovingly.

“I love you,” she murmurs into my ear. “All parts of you. You can never scare me.”

Lifting my head, I kiss her like a soldier coming home.