Page 32

I take a deep breath as tears roll down my face, the grief and guilt flowing out of my body despite my best efforts to keep everything contained.

It’s my sixth therapy session and each one has been getting progressively more intense, our conversations diving right into the depths of my trauma and trying to untangle the way it has impacted me, reprocessing it, and coming to terms with how I have been affected.

“Where is the guilt sitting within you, Evi?” Angela asks.

“Right here.” I place my hand over the center of my chest. “It feels—it feels like everything could come crashing down on me, as if I am suffocating because of it.”

“And what does the guilt say to you?”

I let out another sob as I try to wipe the tears from my face. “It says I should have fought harder, it says I should have tried to get out of there, to get away from him, and it says that Jax will eventually come to his senses and hate me for it all.”

“I want to take a moment to recognize that there is no right or wrong way to act in a situation like this, that your body stops being in your control when it feels as though your life is in danger. Our brain switches into survival mode, and when that happens we can find ourselves in fight, flight, freeze, or fawn—all strategies meant to protect us, to protect our life, when we’re in danger. So, there is nothing, and I mean nothing, you could have done differently when you’re in this state.”

I nod as I reach for another tissue, blowing my nose and trying to compose myself.

“You said you think Jax ‘will hate you for it all.’ Can you elaborate on that?” she says kindly as she pushes her blue glasses higher on her nose, her eyes giving me a sympathetic look.

I can’t meet her gaze for long, not when I’m about to speak something out loud for the first time, so I stare at the sailboat painting I hate so much instead. “I pretended it was him. Not the first time, but the other time, I pretended it was Jax on top of me instead of… him .” I refuse to say Tanner’s name, never speaking it during the session. “It feels disgusting and wrong to have done that, to have taken someone who cares so much about me and pretended it was them when…” I trail off, pausing myself as I take deep breaths, keeping myself in the present moment.

“What role do you think this thought process had in keeping you safe?” she asks, and I think for a moment.

“I think,” I start before pausing for a second. “I think I wanted it to hurt less. I think I wanted to feel less guilty for freezing or fawning or whatever you called it, for doing what he told me to the second time. And I think that by pretending it was Jax, someone I care about, it took my mind elsewhere, somewhere safer, somewhere maybe I wanted to be, even if what was happening to my body was none of that.”

She nods and gives me a reassuring smile, so I keep talking. “But it didn’t work, no matter how much I tried to picture him, I couldn’t take away from where I was, from what was happening. But then, my body started… I don’t know—” I cover my face with my hands. “I responded to him touching me, even though I hated every second of it, hated every touch, every thrust, everything he said to me, but I…” I can’t say the words, can’t let them leave my lips as I continue to cry, confusion and guilt sweeping me away.

“I want to make it very clear, Evi, that there’s a difference between pleasure—desire—and a physiological response to stimuli. Your body reacted, not because you wanted to be there or you were enjoying yourself, but because that is what it is designed to do; what happens when friction and nerves meet. Let’s take a moment to ground ourselves and then we’ll work on releasing that guilt that you’re feeling.”

We do what she suggests, working for the better part of thirty minutes to talk through—breathe through—everything I’m feeling and thinking. As we near the end of the session, I’m starting to feel a lot better, like an invisible weight has been lifted from my shoulders.

“What does it mean then, if I want Jax like… that?”

“I don’t know if I’m following,” Angela responds.

“Like, okay, this is mortifying.” I feel myself blushing. “This is way too much information, but our sex life was good, like really really good, before all of this. And now it’s… it’s not really happening the same way. He’s very understanding and has been letting me take my time to work my shit out, so we’ve been doing a lot of other things, and all of it is so hot. It’s just that the sex is… it’s more gentle than usual… passionate, and great, but not as… carefree as it used to be.” I try not to stumble over my words as I keep explaining. “I’m enjoying myself, truly, but I can’t help but feel like I want it how it used to be, which was usually… less restrained. A bit rougher . Is that fucked up? That’s fucked up, isn’t it? To want it like that after—” I gesture vaguely. “To want it like that after being treated like that… god, it feels like a part of me is so broken saying this out loud.”

“I think you’re missing one key component in all of this, Evi.”

I raise an eyebrow at her, unsure of what she’s going to say next, besides perhaps deeming me as certifiably insane.

“Consent,” she says matter-of-factly. “If you’re consenting to this with a partner, with someone you trust, it is very different than someone doing this to you, and I don’t think it’s ‘fucked up’ at all.”

I can’t help but smile at her use of air quotes as she continues, “So if you feel ready, emotionally and physically, to engage in sex like you used to have it, or whatever sexual activities you want for that matter, then go for it. But one thing I would like you to do is to check in with yourself before, during, and after. To be mindful that certain activities can be—will likely be—triggering, but some may be really empowering. Knowing that you’re with someone who will listen to you, to your needs and your comfort levels, who will stop when you say stop no matter the situation, can help you reclaim this part of you that you feel is broken.” She pauses. “What I’m curious about is whether or not you have voiced this to Jax yet?”

“No. I think—I think I didn’t want it to sound messed up.”

“What exactly would it mean to you if it was perceived as ‘messed up’ as you put it? What is the fear—if I’m identifying that underlying feeling correctly—around voicing your desires?”

I take a breath, pausing as I mull over her words, as I try to make sense of everything I’m feeling, trying to navigate this conversation that I know I’ll feel embarrassed about later.

“I feel fearful of what it says about me. I’ve never been with guys who care, not like Jax. I’ve only ever been with guys who take what they want, who don’t prioritize me and my needs, not really. And I know Jax is waiting for me to say what I want, and he’d be more than happy to oblige.” I smile, knowing just how enthusiastic he is about us . “But I worry that wanting sex like this says I’m… I guess a part of me thinks I’m not worthy of him if I say that I enjoy it when he treats me like that. Like, I have this amazing guy who treats me like a queen, and here I am wanting the opposite in bed. Like shouldn’t it be all sweet and tender and loving? Isn’t that what I should want when I’m with a guy who can do it like that, instead of preferring it the way I like it? The way we like it… rougher?” I say, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

“It sounds like you’re associating your self-worth with your sexual preferences, which, from the sounds of it, you have deemed as ‘wrong.’”

“Aren’t they?”

“I think the only thing ‘wrong,’” she says, using air quotes again, “is you judging yourself for what you like in a healthy, consensual relationship.”

*

I lift my fork to my mouth, savoring the peppery steak as I chew it slowly. I don’t know where Jax learned to cook, but I will gladly eat anything he offers me.

I mull over the conversation from therapy, as I notice how quiet Jax and Ryan are at the table, their latest lead on Rhett turning up dry. It turns out Rhett wasn’t exaggerating when he used to brag about his family having connections in every country, as he’s been hopping to a new place every couple of days and finding him has been like a game of cat and mouse.

“How was therapy today?” Ryan asks between mouthfuls as Jax gives him a look.

“What?” he says. “I’m not allowed to ask her how therapy was… therapy that we all know she’s going to?”

“It’s fine,” I say to Jax before turning to Ryan. “It was fine.”

“You seem better—happier—since going. What do you talk about twice a week?”

Jax takes another bite of dinner and Ryan follows suit.

“This and that. Depends on the day, depends on what I’m feeling.”

Ryan flashes me a smile before pressing further. “That’s all I get? No details about how this doctor is working her magic on you?”

He brings another forkful up to his mouth.

“Well, today she said Jax can fuck me as hard as he wants.”

Ryan almost chokes on his food, looking at me with surprise as coughs rack their way through his body.

I turn my gaze to Jax who places his fork down calmly, before leaning back in his chair, his eyes alight with smoldering desire and intrigue. “Consensually, of course.” I smile.

“Is that so, love?”

His voice is low and sweet like honey, and I can only nod in response. I can see Ryan out of the corner of my eye looking between us, before sighing and giving a playful eyeroll.

“I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again: neanderthals.”

My eyes stay focused on Jax as Ryan pushes his chair away from the table, grabbing his plate and another serving of food before walking out of the kitchen without another word.

Jax pats his lap and I stand, walking over to him before sitting down, wrapping my arms around him slowly as I lean into his chest.

“She didn’t say that did she?” He smiles at me.

“I may have been paraphrasing.”

“You’re going to give Ryan a heart attack one of these days.” He laughs.

“Then maybe he’ll learn to stop prying.” I smile.

“So, dare I ask what you did talk about?”

“I’ll catch you up to speed later, but for now, I want you to fuck me, Mr. Turner… as hard as you want,” I say as I pull my shirt up over my head.

Jax looks at me up and down, his hands stroking my sides slowly, and I feel his desire as his impressive length hardens beneath me.

“You sure you’re ready, love?” he asks.

My lips brush against his as I lean into him, my hand playfully trailing through his hair. “I’m sure,” I say.

Jax kisses me back, his tongue gliding across my lips. I open my mouth for him, allowing him to explore me. He pulls back ever so slightly, our lips still brushing against each other. “In that case, I would be more than happy to oblige,” he whispers, the need in his voice palpable, “but I need one thing from you.”

“Anything.”

“This isn’t role play, this is us. So, if you say stop, I’ll stop. If I feel your body wanting me to stop, I’ll stop. But I need you to communicate with me, I need to know that you’re okay, and that whatever I’m doing isn’t too much, too soon.”

My lips form a smile. “You sound like my therapist.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“Yes, yes, I promise to let you know if I want to stop, if I need to stop.” I smile. “Now enough talking. Are you fucking me or not?” I ask as I look him up and down, my eyes lingering on his lips as I playfully bite my own.

The growl that comes out of his mouth is nothing short of feral, and before I can even take a breath he’s on me, his mouth devouring, claiming, my own as his hands roam my body. There’s nothing gentle about his touch, nothing patient, as he explores every inch of me. He lifts me up as he stands, shoving our dinner plates to the side before setting me down on the kitchen table. I open my mouth to tell him how we should go somewhere else, somewhere we won’t risk Ryan walking in on us again, but before I can even get a word out, his mouth is back on mine.

He pulls my bra down roughly, exposing my breasts, as his tongue and teeth trail down my neck and collarbone before finding my nipple. I writhe under his mouth, as pleasure builds within me, his tongue licking and flicking against the sensitive flesh as his hands dig into my waist, pulling me towards him. He pulls away from me, but only so his hands can push me back on the table, as he quickly unzips my jeans before pulling them down and throwing them aside. I’m in nothing but my bra and thong, the table cold and hard against my skin as Jax’s hands are warm and rough against me.

But I love it, every touch, bite, lick, and slap he gives me, devouring me as if he needs every inch of me to live. I’m so close to coming undone already, so close to shattering under every lick of his tongue that I don’t even notice his hand moving towards my neck, not until it wraps firmly around my throat, guiding me up towards him, so I’m sitting on the edge of the table.

His mouth finds mine again, claiming me as his. “You good, love?” he asks quietly, his movements slowing for a heartbeat.

I give an enthusiastic nod in return. “I can’t describe how good I am right now.”

He chuckles before kissing me again. “Good. Now get on your knees,” he growls as we come up for air. “And try not to choke.” I look at him as he gives me a devilish grin, but I can see the kindness behind his eyes, see the care and love that’s behind his gaze, despite his words.

I do as he asks, taking his hand as I slide off the table before sinking to my knees as he takes off his shirt.

I reach for his buckle, the metal cold against my hands, pulling his pants down so his cock springs free. I take a moment, admiring every inch of him, before I give him a teasing lick, savoring the taste of his arousal. He runs a hand through my hair and I look up at him, only to find him watching me intently.

“Tap if you need a break.”

I look at him questioningly before I’m caught off guard, his hard length slamming into my mouth as my eyes water, and I try to fit him all in. He slides back and forth, his hand on my head as he keeps a steady rhythm, as if he knows exactly how much I can take before I need to come up for air. He’s rough, but gentle at the same time, and it’s as if he can feel what I need before I need to ask for it. He keeps up an unrelenting pace, but I never have to tap his leg, never have to let him know that I’m reaching my limit before he pulls me to my feet.

“You are spectacular,” he growls in my ear before his tongue trails down my neck and his teeth sink into my shoulder.

I yelp at the sudden pain, but it’s quickly replaced by kisses as strong hands grip my thighs, lifting me back onto the table.

I run my hands over him, relishing every part of his muscled body. My fingers grasp at his arms, pressing into tattooed flesh as his tongue and hands consume me. With one hand he pulls my thong to the side, before two fingers dip into my core.

“Always so wet for me.” His voice is husky with desire, and my nails bite into him as he swirls my own desire over my clit, my senses coming alive with anticipation and need. He teases me some more, curling his fingers as he moves them in and out of me, faster and faster until his mouth presses between my thighs as well. I moan his name as stars explode around me, my orgasm hitting me hard and fast, my breaths reduced to little more than pants.

“Still want more?” he asks with a grin.

“Always from you.” I smile. “Unless you don’t want more,” I say playfully as I sit up, my hands roaming his bare chest as he stands between my thighs.

“That, love, will never be a problem I have,” he whispers in my ear before pulling me up to him, lifting me off the table effortlessly.

For a moment I think he’s going to walk back to the bedroom with me wrapped around him, our mouths crashing into each other as he holds me tightly. To my surprise he only takes a couple steps before he pauses and brings me down to the floor instead. He lays me on my back, the cold stone sending shivers through me as he retrieves something from his pants pocket, now discarded on the floor by the table. I can’t see what he grabbed, and I forget about it as soon as the warmth of his body presses against me, my legs opening wide as his weight settles on top of me, and his mouth consumes me again as he lines himself up between my legs.

There’s something dirty, something erotic, about wanting each other so badly, needing each other so urgently, that we can’t even make it back to the bedroom, instead taking everything from each other right here. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, never felt as though I need them to breathe. It feels as though waiting a few extra minutes for his touch would be the end of me.

I close my eyes in anticipation, my nerves alight as his hands ravish my body. I jolt when I feel something cold up against my skin, resting where my neck and collarbone meets. My eyes open only to find Jax giving me a wicked smile, trailing a knife, flat side down, over my skin. My breath hitches in my chest as I swallow slowly, adrenaline, desire, and now a hint of trepidation, coursing through my veins.

“Whatever you do, don’t move,” he whispers, before pushing himself inside of me in one fluid thrust.

He doesn’t give me time to adjust, doesn’t give me time to think, as he sets an unrelenting pace, the knife now in his hand that’s against the floor, supporting his weight above me. I keep my eyes on him, giving him a nod of reassurance when he asks if I’m okay, if I’m still good with what we’re doing, with how rough he’s being. He refuses to take my moans of pleasure that fill the house as evidence of just how much I’m enjoying this, instead he needs to hear the words from my mouth, the mouth that he just fucked so delectably a few minutes ago. My pleasure is undeniable, as he continues to take me, and I wrap my legs around him wanting, needing, as much closeness to him as I can get.

He pauses for a second. “I thought I told you not to move?” he growls, pulling out just to flip me onto my stomach.

My breasts press into the hard floor, and he shoves my legs apart before lowering himself fully on top of me and sinking deep inside me again. His hand brings the knife back to me, placing it right where my neck and shoulder meet, but this time the edge bites into my skin. He changes his pace suddenly, drawing out of me ever so slowly, before pushing back in, inch by delicious inch at a time. He presses his body into mine, bringing his lips to my ear, and I lean into him as I feel his breath against my earlobe.

“Maybe, I’ll give you a matching heart right here, so I can look at it when I’m fucking you from behind.” He rasps, pushing back into me slowly, the knife pressing into my shoulder blade until I feel a sharp sting. I can’t help it as I freefall over the edge at Jax’s words, at the pain mixed with the pleasure, all of it consuming me until I am melting under him. Jax holds still as I continue to shatter around him, the edge of the knife no longer biting into my skin, as I come on his cock.

“Fuck.” Jax’s voice is gravelly, as he throws the knife to the side, pushing off me and dragging my hips up against him. I support myself on my forearms as he thrusts himself into me again and again, his hands gripping my hips, only leaving to deliver the occasional slap to my ass, before he loses himself in his own wave of pleasure.

He collapses on top of me, planting kisses on the side of my neck where the knife had been just moments before. I’m panting, not wanting to let go of the euphoria that slowly ebbs from my body as I come back down from the rush he just gave me.

He rolls off me so we’re laying side by side, him on his back and me on my stomach, giving ourselves enough room to breathe, but close enough that our bodies are still flush, our sides pressing together.

I pick up the knife, abandoned on the floor beside me and twirl it around like I’ve seen Ryan do countless times before.

“Careful, love, it’s sharp,” he says in warning, his chest heaving up and down as he catches his breath.

I look between him and the knife before sitting up, straddling him as I bring the blade carefully towards him. I place my left hand on his chest, balancing me so my other is free to place the sharp edge gently against his skin, right above his heart. I angle it carefully so it’s touching his skin without cutting through.

“Maybe,” I muse, “I’ll give you a matching one. Right. Here.” I tap the one spot on his chest with no ink and, when I look at him, his eyes bear into mine intently. He moves his hand, as if he’s going to grab the knife.

I tsk as I shake my head slowly, and he stops moving. “Careful, Mr. Turner. Move too quickly and I might nick your heart by accident,” I say playfully.

His eyes dance, matching the mischief in my voice. “Cut it out, love. Cut the whole damn thing out. It’s yours anyway, so do with it what you will.” He winces and I realize that I was so distracted by his words that I tilted the knife by accident, and drops of bright red blood have started to form where the edge of the knife pressed into his skin too firmly.

I toss the knife down. “I’m so sorry,” I blurt out, frantic with worry. “I didn’t mean to—I didn’t actually—”

I don’t get another word out before Jax pulls me down to him, his mouth crashing into mine again.

“Always so surprising, love. Even unintentionally so,” he murmurs as his lips brush against mine. “That was very, very , hot.” I pause, listening as desire coats his words before looking at the small cut on his chest.

It’s barely bleeding, but the taste of copper still coats my lips as I gently kiss it. He moves his hips slightly in response and I can feel just how hot he finds this, and it doesn’t take any convincing to find myself lost in him all over again.