Cherise Sinclair - This is who I am

Her breasts flattened on his chest as she pulled in a breath. “At first, I figured you made me get off for kicks. Just to prove you could.”

A flicker of anger woke at the realization she’d lined him up with the assholes.

“But I know you better now. You didn’t need to prove anything. You already knew what you could do to me. You even said as much.” Her hands tightened on his back. “You thought you were doing me a favor, didn’t you? Because you’re a guy, and that’s how men think about orgasms.”

The sense of being forgiven was like stepping into the warmth of a Florida sun after being in dry air-conditioning. “I should have thought more carefully.”

“It’s okay. It wasn’t a place where you had time to think.”

“True.” He closed his eyes, remembering the noise—crying and screaming. The auctioneer playing to the buyers’ debased demands. The despair in the room had been a swamp, pulling him down. The stench of fear and sick lust had made it difficult to breathe, harder not to be sick. “It gave me nightmares too, girl.”

WHAT A THING for a strong man to admit. Linda rolled her forehead against his shoulder. With a half laugh, he moved to lie flat on his back and pulled her down beside him. His muscles rippled as he arranged her so her cheek rested on his shoulder. His arms were iron bands around her, holding her closely, and the remnants of the nightmare melted in the warmth of his body.

How long had it been since she’d let herself be snuggled? Long before the kidnapping. Not with that jerk Dwayne—she’d just wanted him gone. And sweet as Lee was, he didn’t cuddle.

This was…nice. She breathed in the clean fragrance of his shirt, and deeper, his masculine scent, and squirmed closer. But when she flung her left leg over his, she bumped into a hard erection. An appalled sound escaped her, and she tensed.

“Girl.” The single chastising word somehow conveyed an entire speech of how he wouldn’t do anything she didn’t want and how guys get erections and she was being silly. All in one word.

A tiny laugh escaped her, because that was so…Sam. She’d seen the way he watched her, how he desired her, yet he never made her feel sleazy or dirty. Just…wanted. “Sam, I—”

“Go to sleep. Morning comes soon enough.”

The hint of amusement and the stillness of his body eased the last of her worry, and she obeyed, letting the sense of safety tumble her into slumber.

Sunlight through the curtains wakened her. He was gone, and she’d had her best sleep in months. The sheets still held his scent, and she pulled the pillow to her, breathing in all that was Sam. Feeling her body waken. Dampen. Come alive.

That evening, Linda slipped into bed, the coolness of the sheets contrasting with her warm body. All day, she’d felt as if her body was playing a song like Pachelbel’s “Canon”…and the melody with all its variations and repetitions was named desire.

When Sam had arrived that evening, the entire orchestra joined in.

And now she was ready. Surely she was.

After getting home from work, she’d taken a long bubble bath, then shaved her legs and underarms…and her pussy. She smiled, remembering her first awkward attempt at shaving down there—after her best friend had asked Linda if she intended to mourn her husband forever. That week, so long ago, she’d had her hair restyled, changed her makeup, bought brighter clothing, and…shaved. For the first time since Frederick’s death, she had felt like a woman.

She certainly felt like a woman tonight. After Sam had arrived, Linda had fixed supper and scolded him for cutting the carrots too small. His swift grin had set up a beat low in her pelvis. When she’d talked him into playing guitar with her, the sight of his strong fingers wrapped around the neck of the guitar had mesmerized her. When he had picked out a scary movie, she’d agreed, wanting only a reason to burrow into him on the couch.

Every breath had held his scent of the crisp outdoors. Whole and right. And the buzz of awareness that said she was with a man—one she wanted—had never faded.

When the time grew late, he hadn’t confused her with choices. Far too experienced in reading women—in reading her—he’d pulled her to her feet and told her to get ready for bed. That he’d be in soon.

Under the covers, she waited, worries swelling and clogging her throat until she couldn’t swallow. The sheets were cool. Surely that’s why she was shivering.

His footsteps were softer than normal. He’d removed his boots. As he entered the room, though, she saw he still wore his jeans. Thank you, God.

In silence, he pulled the covers back and settled beside her. Warm.

She snuggled against his side with a sigh.

He didn’t move, letting her take things at her own speed. Letting her decide. The beauty of his patience made her eyes well with tears.

The knowledge that he wanted her sent a hum through her system. I know him . He’d touched her intimately at the auction. Again at the Shadowlands. Hands calloused from work moving over her skin. His deep voice whispering in her ear.

She wanted him, oh yes , but could she have sex with him without panicking? In San Diego, she’d thought she’d be celibate for…oh, a decade or so. At least. But that was before Sam had set desire simmering deep inside her.

But now what?

In grade school, she’d been so shy that reading aloud had terrified her, and if she stalled, her nervousness increased until she couldn’t speak at all. So she would always volunteer to go first.

Now, even as she lay beside Sam, her anxiety was rising. Time to start while she still could. She pushed up onto one elbow.

In the dim light, his face was shadowy as his pale eyes studied her face. “Tell me what you want to do.”

She took his hand from her shoulder and moved it to her breast. “I want to…to try.”

He didn’t even pretend to misunderstand her. “All right.” His answer was immediate. Simple. “We’re not playing now though. ‘No’ means no. ‘Stop’ means stop. Is that clear?”

Not playing, but you couldn’t take the Dom out of the man. He was still setting the rules. Her lips quivered, then curved. “Yes, Sir.”

His laugh was a rumbled chuckle before he kissed her. Oh, she remembered his lips. Firm and knowledgeable, but more gentle this time. As if he’d let her decide how fast and how far they’d go.

“Condoms?” he asked.

She rolled away, grabbed a packet from the bedside table, and returned to his arms before she lost her nerve.

As he pulled the condom from her clenched fingers, the war started inside her. How could she have asked him for sex? That was disgusting. Sleazy. Bad. She was bad.

When he kissed her, her body stiffened. He lifted his head, his lips an inch from hers. “Talk to me.”

I want this. I don’t. I shouldn’t . “I don’t want to…decide.” She felt wrong. Dirty. Wanting to have sex was—

His eyes narrowed, and then he gripped her hair, holding her head immobile as he took her lips. Not cruelly, not like…them. Them. The slavers . Like an avalanche, memories swept over her, flattening her.

A nasty pinch on her thigh made her jerk. “Stay with me, girl.” His growling voice was like sandpaper, scraping away the horrors, digging down to where her nerves were alive. “Say my name.”

His unyielding expression set up a trembling in her belly that had nothing to do with fear. “Sam.”

“Again.” His left arm around her waist tightened as he closed his other hand on her breast. Cupping, kneading, tugging. His penetrating gaze stayed on her face, and his fingers closed on her nipple. And pinched…