STRIPPED 2 (A Ferro Family Novel) (9 page)

I’m so horrified I can’t speak. He’s burning holes into the table with his eyes, expecting an answer that will gut him. He thinks I’ll run, that I’ll say no.

I’m trembling and just start talking. The words rush out and won’t stop. “I thought it was my fault, the stuff with Mark. I thought I didn’t know how to do it—how to have sex well enough to satisfy him. I thought it was me. I did anything he wanted. Anything.” The last word is a whisper.

Jon lifts his head, his expression softer, and watches as I retell the nightmare that became my life. “It hurt. Sex with Mark always hurt. He wasn’t mean at first, but when I asked him to slow down and give me more time, he wouldn’t. Eventually, pain and tears were just part of the routine. It pushed him darker until he didn’t care what I wanted or how I felt. He’d go from being completely sweet to chasing me down to use me. I couldn’t move or throw him off.

“After a while, I tried to run. That made him worse. He locked me up, and he told everyone the same kind of thing he said at the club—that we liked to play these sadistic games. It made my neighbors ignore my screams. No one thought anything if they didn’t see me for weeks. We were those people. They never thought I didn’t want him. Sex turned to rape. Rape turned to beatings. There are videos of me, too, pictures of me doing things to him.”

I swallow hard and steel myself for the rest. “The last time he took me, he... He cut me with a metal claw—inside. I healed, but there are scars, one is really long and jagged. It hurts when I,” my jaw opens and closes, but I can’t say it.

It’s devastating. The scars Mark left cause me pain I can't overcome.

Jon reaches across the table, gently taking my hand. He rubs his thumb across my knuckles. “Cass?”

I force my head back and have trouble meeting his eyes.

“Is Mark the only man you've been with?”

I nod slowly, unable to speak. I feel sick and want to cry, but there are no more tears. Mark ruined me completely.

Jon lifts my hand and places a kiss in the center of my palm. He waits a moment and says carefully, “Have you seen a doctor?”

“No. I healed, but it hurts even when it’s just me or a dream.” I smile weakly. “I've wanted to do things with you, but I'm afraid. I won't want to stop, and I can’t handle the pain. It’s not just that it reminds me of him and what he did. Things don’t work right anymore.” I try to force a smile, but it falls flat.

“I don’t want you to do that. I’m glad you didn’t, and I’m grateful you told me.” Jon’s voice is kind. I half expected him to go crazy and threaten to kill Mark, but he doesn’t. He remains calmly focused on me.

I nod and try to meet his gaze, but it’s hard. My eyes fall on the table and study the woodgrain. I’m acutely aware of my breathing and feel like I’m ready to bolt. Talking about this is beyond difficult. I’d rather have my guts ripped out and be left on the side of the road half alive. When something reminds me of Mark, I’m not dead, but I’m no longer living. I cower when shadows stretch across the ground. I startle at noises in the night. When I first moved in with Beth, I woke her in the middle of the night screaming so loudly she busted into my room with a baseball bat. I swore I'd seen a man standing over me, that the room was so dark I could only see the whites of his eyes. I told her that night what happened, about my nightmares, and that it never stops.

I know my reactions are irrational, and that normal people think I just spook easily, but if you look beneath the surface it’s not hard to see. I no longer have the luxury of acting like anything—I only react. I can’t seem to get ahead of it and I’m so tired of cowering. Periodically I find strength and plow forward no matter the cost. Those times are few and far between. Working at the strip club reminds me I’m in control of my body now. For me, it's not about sex. It's about power. I decide what I’m willing to do and when I'm willing to do it. It’s a deep-seeded psychological reaction to what I’ve lived through. I don’t poke that area of my mind too much. It’s barely stable as it is. Sometimes not knowing why I do something is all that holds me together. There is no glitter tape to patch my wounded soul.

Jon is speaking softly, carefully as if he knows I’d bolt if I weren’t stuck on a boat. “Cass, I’m saying this for you, not me, but I think you should speak with someone. I know a doctor—one of my cousin Logan’s colleagues—who works with rape victims. I’ve heard her talk about it.”

“Have you met her?”

He nods slowly and takes a deep breath. “Yeah, I have. It's kind of an awkward story.”

He has my full attention. “You can tell me. I have no right to judge anyone.”

My words seem to sadden him, but he doesn’t comment on them. He simply continues, “She came to me once, and told me stuff that I didn’t want to hear at the time.”

“What do you mean?”

“She could tell from my behavior and my body language that someone messed with me—that I was sexually abused. I refused to call it what it was, I still have trouble with that, but she was kind. She was one of the few people who understood my fucking spree wasn’t really about sex. I needed a shrink, Cass.” He laughs bitterly and runs his hands through his hair and down his neck.

It literally hurts to hear him talk about this. I wish it never happened to him. I wish I could go back and stop it. There’s no way to remove the pain of the past, if anyone knows that truth by now, it’s me.

Jon continues, “I needed someone to take my head apart and put it back together correctly. My heart left the conversation when that bitch started screwing me. I kept my head in the sand and didn’t want to feel anything. Ever. Sex was physical after that, a necessity like food or water. I fucked. It was a game, something to master.”

“I remember you saying that.”

“I believed it, and if I wanted to keep on living like that, I could. The truth is I still don’t want any woman to have the power to destroy me again.” He’s staring at me, our eyes lock, and it feels like I’ve been sucker-punched.

Tears spring up in my eyes. How could he say that? After everything I just told him, he reverts to ‘a fuck is a fuck?’

“So, we’re friends and always will be? Nothing more? Is that what you’re saying?” I blink back tears and force a smile, but it won’t stay in place. My lip quivers and I start crying. I can’t help it. I’m too raw, too exposed. I never saw this coming.

Jon rushes around the table to me and rests his hand on my back. “No, that’s not it at all. Baby, I’m saying the idea of loving someone terrifies me. I never thought I could do it, but I already did. The moment I saw you rolling around on the floor at Peter's bachelor party, I realized something.”

I glance up at him through wet lashes. “What?”

His touch is tender as he tells me, “You had my heart from the beginning. I thought it was gone, but you’d stolen it and kept it all this time. I love you, Cass. I’m going to find a way to be with you, in a way that you adore—a way that makes you feel good. There won’t be any reason to cry.” He leans in and presses his lips to my cheek and kisses away my tears.

W
e walk
the deck after that, her hand in mine, fingers knitted together. The stars blink against the inky sky and the dark water is still as glass around the yacht. I don’t deserve her. I know I don’t. Regardless, I’m elated she finally confided in me, and I want to feel like this forever.

The concept of gentle sex crosses my mind. I don’t know how to be that kind of lover. I've never tried. I focus on getting harder and higher—and taking the girl with me. That won’t work for Cassie. I need to figure out what will, because I’m not letting her live like a chaste hermit, afraid of her own body.

I know Logan’s friend can help her. In our conversation, she explained the way the human body tenses to defend itself. Rape victims can get stuck with their muscles stiff for years. Imagine holding your hand in a fist for an hour. It fucking hurts. Now think what that does to a body after years of being stuck that way. Her core might be stuck like that, playing defense even though there’s no threat from me. Scars can feel painful, too. Most people don’t notice them, but others wince with the slightest caress. Touching Cassie intimately can bring back a slew of emotions I never want her to feel again.

It doesn’t mean no sex forever.

It means a lot of patience and even more time.

That conversation with Logan’s friend was one of the most uncomfortable situations I’ve ever experienced. She described the female response to rape to explain the male response. I cut off the conversation there, and she never spoke of it again. At the time I wished it hadn't happened, but now I’m glad it did. I wouldn’t have recognized how to help Cassie without it.

We stop at the railing and look out at the sea. Cassie leans on the metal bars while lifting my hand. She traces a circle on the back of my wrist, smiling softly as she does. “Do you remember kissing me here?”

Her touch is light, perfect. My voice hitches when I speak. “I could never forget that.”

Her dark eyes shift to the side and glance at me before lifting my wrist to her lips. The heat of her mouth and brush of her tongue against my skin makes my heart beat harder. She steals my breath and inspires an instant response below my belt. I shift my stance, giving my growing girth more room.

Cassie continues to kiss me there, slowly dragging her mouth over my skin, licking, teasing, and kissing me there. I’m out of my element. I don’t know what to do, what’s next after sucking off a wrist. Do you go for an ankle? This is so fucking weird.

I scold myself. I’m thinking too much. The object is to make her feel loved and desired, while being very careful not to make her come hard. It’s the opposite of everything I’ve always done. I can’t go from her lips to her tits, and do my magic hands on her pussy. It’ll hurt her, and I want her to feel good.

Cassie pulls away and looks up at me. “When do we need to be back?”

I can’t think. Her voice shoots straight to my groin, and I’m annoyed that I’m such a dick. Why can’t I focus on her? I can usually turn it on and off, but not with her. I stay that way, craving her kiss, wanting her touch, and any other form of affection she’ll toss my way.

“Whenever we want.”

A smile slips across her face. “Really?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Can we stay out here overnight?”

“If you’d like. There are beds below.”

She presses her lips together and points to a spot on deck. “Can we bring some of the blankets up here? Maybe lay down, look at the stars, and pick up where we left off all those years ago?” Her wide brown eyes are locked on mine so intently that I can see the flecks of gold around her irises. Those dark lashes lower and then open again, shyly.

I’m careful. I want to bound around the deck, whooping with glee, but I keep my voice level, “If you want.”

“I do.”

I don’t know what to tell her. How can I seduce a woman when I’m afraid I’ll cause her pain? I drop my gaze to the deck. Staring at the wooden planks, I confess, “I don’t know how to do this, Cassie. What if I hurt you?”

She takes my hands in hers and rises on her toes. “I’ll tell you if it hurts, and you’ll do something else. And if I do something you don’t like, for any reason, you’ll let me know so that I can try something else.”

That sounds really good, perfect even, but there’s one thing that bothers me, and if it’s in my head I know it’s in hers. “I don’t want to sound like a prick, but what about you being married and your ideas about sex? That it’s for marriage? Stolen kisses and things that don’t belong to me? Cassie, baby, I’d be content just being your friend, if that’s what you wanted.”

She looks up at me from under those dark lashes and squeezes my hands. “I can’t handle you as a friend. I want you too much. Those feelings aren’t dead. They’re still there. My affection for you isn’t platonic, so while you might be okay being friends and only friends, I’m not. I don’t want you with other girls. I want you for myself, and I don’t want to share.”

It feels like I’m walking through a battlefield with no armor every time she talks about us. I want her to tell me the truth and not hold back. I keep expecting her to walk away, but she doesn’t.

I let out a sigh of relief and run my hand through my hair. “Thank God.” My brow lifts and I look at her, offering a suave smile. “I was totally lying. I want you, too, more than you could possibly know.”

Her giggle is light, and the way she looks at me says it all. “So, what do we do?”

“We figure it out.”

I
’ve never done
anything like this before. Usually, if I want to be with a woman, I don't have to figure things out. But this is different. It’s like completely starting over. I admit Monica screwed with my head so badly I didn’t feel the need to learn anything. The first few girls I was with—women of my own choosing—were floored by me. It’s not just the size of the package, although mine is far from standard equipment, it’s how you use it. I could make a woman tense, purr, and beg for it. She’d arch her back and press into me willingly. I don’t know what to do when the goal is to have 'nice' sex. That’s not a thing, is it? How can it be anything but passionless and boring?

I need to fucking figure it out. What else can it be? How can I be with her without regressing, without hurting her? That fucker left a scar inside her body, a reminder of what he did. It’s something that will always haunt her. I don’t want to ignite those memories. I honestly have no goddamned clue what to do, how to love her.

I just know I’m not leaving. I won’t give up, not if she wants this too.

We bring up blankets from below and make a pallet on the deck. Cassie leans back and pats the spot next to her. I kick off my shoes and lower myself until I’m next to her, sitting on the mounds of bedcovers.

There’s only one thought in my mind, one thing that she can probably do and might enjoy. “What if I hold you, and we look up at the sky for a bit?”

Her head bobs up and down, making her curls sway. She tucks her long strands behind her ear and answers. “That sounds nice.”

I cringe inwardly. ‘Nice.’ I hate that word.

‘Your dick is nice.’

‘You’re a nice guy.’

‘Your fucking abilities are nice.’

No guy ever whooped with glee because his woman thinks it was ‘nice.’ I groan inwardly wondering how to be more than that when everything is reduced to niceties.

It’s nice or nothing.

I think she can read my mind because as soon as she rests her head on my chest, she splays her fingers across my stomach, and says, “I know this isn’t what you wanted.”

“Cass, that’s not it at all.” I hold her hand, trying to help her understand. “I don’t know what to do. How are we supposed to be lovers when there’s no fucking?”

I feel her shrug against me. “I’m not sure, but it probably has something to do with soft kisses and pulse points. This guy told me a long time ago that pulse point kisses are incredibly erotic. He was right. They are.”

I play with a curl as she speaks. That feels like a lifetime ago. “I made that up.”

She lifts her head, looks at me. “Really?”

“Pretty much.”

She rolls toward me and places her arms on my chest and rests that cute chin on her open palms. “Then why the wrist? You could have picked someplace else.”

My brows lift, and I shoot her a look that says it couldn’t have been anywhere else. “You wouldn’t have allowed me to kiss you here,” I touch the side of her neck and sweep my finger across her shoulder. “Or any other usual spot, so I went for the wrist.”

“I saw that in a movie once, before you did it, and thought it was silly—that it couldn’t possibly feel like anything wonderful.”

“And now, what do you think?”

“It’s bliss. It’s lightness and hope mixing, making me feel like I could do anything with you.”

I lose myself in her gaze for a while, wanting to tell her how much she means to me, but I don’t speak. From the look on her face, she knows. She figured out how messed up I am, and she still wants me.

Without glancing away, I lift her hand and press a light kiss on her wrist. She sighs contently, watching me as I adore her taste, flicking my tongue against her skin. I inhale deeply, enjoying her scent as my lips move across her flesh. I don’t stay on the pulse point this time. I slowly wrap kisses around her wrist, like a bracelet and when I stop, she takes my hand and copies me.

It’s a different kind of sensation, the lightness of it. There are no nails biting into me, nothing to make me scream out. Instead, her touch is a tender caress leaving me breathless and wondering if it’s possible to be with someone so softly. I’ve only known sex in a way that mingles pain and pleasure. I thought this gentle stuff was for the passionless bastards who couldn’t get laid.

But with her lips on me like that, I want more. I want the lightness of it to envelop me and fill me up inside. I want to hear Cassie moan with a content smile on her face instead of ripping her nails into my back. I don’t want her teeth on my dick, either. I want her lips there, soft, gently pulling me into her mouth. I want to feel her swallow and see her smile up at me.

But there’s more, more images flashing inside my mind of ways to touch her, places to hold. I can see myself gliding my hand over her thigh and pressing my lips to the curve of her lower back. I want to press my face against her there, kneel and hold her. I want to feel my skin on hers, warm and wonderful.

I’m quiet too long, and neither of us moves until Cassie says, “What are you thinking about?”

“I’m thinking I’m completely fucked up and so lucky to have you.” She runs her fingers along my brow, trailing the pads of her fingers around to my temple and then tangling them in my hair. I’m lost in her eyes, staring at the flecks of gold that come alive when she’s happy.

“Most guys would say that you chose the wrong word. I’m a walking oxymoron, a living breathing dichotomy. I strip by night and am a sexless prude by day.”

“No, you’re not, baby. You’re the most sensual, beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Your scars are deep, and come all the way to the surface. Most people hide all that, but you don’t. It makes you stronger and more gorgeous than you could possibly imagine.”

My eyes flick between her lips and eyes as I speak. She has no idea how beautiful she is, how strong. “Kiss me, Cass?”

It’s a question and an honest-to-God plea. I want her lips on mine so badly I’m ready to crawl over and climb on top of her. That’s not what she needs. I remain on my back, and stick to tender touches and thoughts.

Cassie’s gaze dips to my lips. She pushes up on her elbows as she dips her head, and presses her lips to my mouth. They’re so soft, so full, so perfect. I want to devour her. I want to drink her in and never stop. I feel the sweep of her tongue brushing wet and warm against my lips. I open and let her in, enjoying the sensation of her mouth on mine.

I fell in love with a woman that I never kissed until years later, and now that she’s here in my arms, her body pressed against mine, I feel like I could fly. Every inch of my body is humming as if I've been smacked with an electric charge. I want to sing at the top of my lungs and tell every bastard out there she’s mine, and I’m fucking lucky to have her.

Cassie Hale is finally mine.

She pulls back, breaks the kiss. A coy grin flirts with her lips. “Your lips disappear when you smile, Jon Ferro.”

“I can’t help it. You’re here. You’re kissing me. You love me.” It feels strange to be so brutally honest, to let it all out there, but I’m not afraid of admitting it. She makes me a better man, she always has. I’m not one of those shits who doesn’t know how good he has it. I know more than anyone that I don’t deserve her, that she’s so much better than me.

She shifts her weight, swings a leg, perches over me and asks, “May I?”

Fuck, she wants to sit on me? I nod, wide-eyed, and hope I can control myself. I tuck my hands behind my head and swallow hard as she straddles me. Even with clothing on, I can feel the heat between her legs radiating through my jeans. If I wasn’t completely hard before, I am now.

Cassie perches above me, her body surrounded by stars and moonlight. She shifts her weight causing me to suck in sharply. I knot my fingers behind my head and look up at her. The way her dress clings to the bottoms of her breasts is hypnotic. I could watch her forever. The heat of her body, the way she acts like she has no clue, and the gentle breeze in her hair, lifting each curl off her shoulders reminds me of a fairytale long forgotten.

The word she chose before was accurate—this is bliss.

Cassie lowers her body and presses it to mine. Her tits are soft and warm, squeezing into me, stealing my sanity. I don't want her to emotionally detach from me. I know she could, so I won't pressure her. She’s setting the pace, choosing what we do and when. For once, sex isn’t about getting off. It's about the other person, about making her feel loved and cherished. There’s an intuitive part to it, things I feel pulled to do that Cass would like, but I don’t trust myself. I don’t want her walls to dart up. I want her in the moment with me.

Her lips are by my ear, her breath spilling down my neck. “What are you thinking?”

I’m thinking I’m going to fuck this up. That when you realize I have as much emotional shit to lug behind me as Sean does, you'll run and never look back. People expect his baggage. His fall from grace was horrifically public, but no one knows what happened to me.

I find my voice and manage, “That you make me feel things I’ve not felt before. I don’t know what to act on, what to ignore.” I’m breathing hard, and I’m too hot, even though the breeze is cool.

She runs her nails along my temple, pushing my hair away from my face. She keeps her nose nuzzled to my ear. “Like what?”

“Cass, I don’t think I should.”

“Jonathan…”

The way she says my name is the materialization of seduction. It rolls off her tongue in a velvety sound from the back of her throat. Combined with that breathy voice, it’s completely erotic and shoots straight below the belt. She could purr to me like that all night, and I’m pretty sure I’d come from that alone.

“Yeah, baby?”

“I don’t think we should hold back. We should tell each other, and ask if it sounds good. Ask me if I want it?”

My mouth goes dry, and I swallow hard. The talk alone is going to undo me. I feel her pull back until I see her dark eyes above me. Maybe I appear indifferent, and I don’t want her to think that.

I tell her the truth. “I have my hands behind my head because I want to touch you. I want to put them under your shirt and feel your skin. I want to be with you, Cass. I want to know what it feels like to slide my palms up to your sides and feel the weight of your breasts in my hands. I want to kiss you deeply and lose myself in your arms, inside your body, but I don’t trust myself with this. I’m afraid we’ll get caught in the moment, and I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t ever want to cause you pain of any kind, ever again.”

Her chin lowers to her chest as she watches me. That soft, dark hair hangs over her shoulders, and there’s a rim of pale light illuminating her slim form. I want to touch her face, trail my fingers along her skin. I want to learn every inch of her, taste every part, and miss nothing.

Cassie’s dark eyes try to hold mine, but I look away. It’s too much, and this isn’t a good idea. There’s too much risk for her. I’m not worth it. I pull my hands out from behind my head, intending to put them on her hips to move her off of me, but she reaches out for them and pins them over my head.

“Cass.” I don’t look at her.

“Jonathan.”

“This isn’t going to work.”

“How do you know? You barely tried.”

“It’s just not.” I yank my hands down, but she leans forward and places all of her weight on them. Her thighs inadvertently squeeze me, trying to keep me still.

“Jon, I want to try.”

“I don’t.” The words are clipped, and I expect them to sting enough to startle her into letting me up.

Instead, she gets pissed. She leans within an inch of my nose and growls in my face. “Yes, you do, and I’m not going to let you treat me like damaged goods. If you want to be with me, do it. If you don’t want me, say it.” She’s glaring at me, hurt plainly visible on her face.

“That’s not it.”

“Then what is it?”

“Cassie, I don’t want to say it—”

“It’s okay. I get it. It’s me. I’m not worth the bother. I already know it, so just admit it!” Her strained voice warbles as it comes out.

She’s near tears and won’t listen. She rushes on, blaming herself as she rolls off of me and gets to her knees. She’s about to stand when I grab her hands. She doesn’t look at me, so I tug her arms. She still won’t look at me, so I take her face in my hands and hold it between my palms. I want her to hear me.

“Cass, that couldn't be farther from the truth.”

Her eyes won’t meet mine. “I know what I am.”

“No, you don’t. You act like you’re the one no one should want, but that’s not it. I love you. I always will.”

She carefully looks up at me from underneath those wet lashes that blinked back tears. “Then why?”

“Because I’m not worth the risk. This,” I drop my hands and gesture between us, “could hurt you. I can’t promise I won’t, and I won’t even know until it’s too late. I can’t risk hurting you.”

There’s a dead silence between us. Her face drops and sadness fills her eyes. She pulls away from me and lowers that perfect ass to her feet, kneeling on the deck in a pile of blankets. I mirror her, waiting for her to say something, but she’s silent. I made it worse.

After a few moments, she asks, “Do you love me?”

“You know I do.”

“Then you need to trust me, Jon. I don’t think we’ll figure it out on the first try. We may never get to a point where I’m okay with everything, but I don’t want you to shirk away because you’re afraid.”

“It’s not worth it.” I’m not worth it.

She takes my face in her hands, rubs her thumbs along my cheeks just above the jaw. She hears me loud and clear. “You are worth it. You mean everything to me, and if it takes stumbling around in bed with you to figure it out, I will. If days turn into months and months turn into years, I’m not giving up. Loving you isn’t optional. I can’t stop, and it will be really embarrassing if I keep pawing at you day in and day out, and you keep saying no.”

I move, reach for her hands and smooth mine over hers, and then lose myself in her eyes. She’s so hopeful, so perfectly gorgeous that I want to have faith this will work out too. “What if I accidentally hurt you?”

“I’ll tell you.”

“Are you sure, Cass?”