Nearly Broken (16 page)

I shook my head at
myself. When was enough going to be enough? Nick had already seen
them several times, particularly the worst of the worst. Yet he was
still here. His hands still continued to caress my skin without
hesitation, without disgust. He moved me into his home for crying out
loud! So if he could see past the abnormality, why couldn’t I?

I sucked it up and put
on a tank and a pair of short shorts, but still covered it up with a
silk robe that I left untied, merely crossing the fabric across my
body and securing it closed with fisted hands. I slowly, and
carefully, walked to the master bedroom, silently wishing Nick would
already be asleep so I could slip into bed unnoticed.

No such luck. He was
crossing from the bathroom to his side of the bed when he caught me
peeking around the corner. “You coming to bed?” he asked.
Somehow he even made a pair of boxers and a gray cotton t-shirt look
incredibly sexy. And I hated to think it, but sometimes I felt so
ugly beside him, beside anyone that had managed to keep their skin
healthy and undamaged.

“Yeah,” I
said in a not so convincing voice, taking the hard step into the
room. But I had yet to take more than just that one.

“Something
wrong?”

“No,” I
said innocently. “But can we turn off the lights?”

He took in a deep
breath, his eyes noticing my bare legs sticking out beneath the
bottom of the robe, finally understanding the reason behind my
hesitation, as I had always worn pants to bed. He slowly walked
towards me and tipped my chin up at him. “Megan,” he
began softly, “I’ve already seen them. Up close and
personal. They don’t make me want you any less.” His
hands moved to grasp both cheeks, my body automatically inching
forward to find his, and my hands settled on his waist. “You
have no idea how hard it was for me this past month. Finally finding
you and not being able to just pull you into my arms? It was so damn
hard not to kiss you. I’m sorry if this comes off rude, but I
don’t give a shit about your damn burns. I’ve been
without you too long and I need you. I don’t care if you want
to hide from the rest of the world, just don’t hide from me
anymore.”

I nodded, afraid my
voice would crack or falter. He tricked me with the kiss, distracting
me as his hands slid down, landing on the base of my neck. He swept
the silk off my shoulders and the robe fell to my elbows. Giving up
on his waist, I dropped my arms to let the robe fall all the way to
the floor before slipping my arms around his neck.

I stood there kissing
him, basking in the enjoyment of his hands rubbing up and down my
back, from the ribcage to my hips. Playfully, he pushed me away so we
could get into bed on our respective sides. But even with the extra
confidence, I still kind of hurried to get in and cover myself up.

Once he turned off the
lamp, I settled into my favorite position, my head on his chest, my
hand available for him to gently stroke. We cuddled for a few minutes
in silence, our hands the only movement between us, our eyes
adjusting to the darkness, the nightlight in the bathroom lightly
filtering out into the bedroom, making our bodies slightly visible.

Out of nowhere, he
said, “I think you were right about your handlers.”
Confused, my eyes looked to him, my forehead wrinkling. Understanding
my silent meaning, he continued, “I’ve been thinking
about it, and I think they actually died on you.”

“What makes you
say that?”

“Well, those
detectives told us that most of the girls stolen were usually sold
immediately and kept drugged to be sex slaves. But there are some who
are meant for a more substantial position, some twisted version of a
willing companion. For those girls, the job of the handler was to
brainwash you, then prepare you for the life chosen in advanced for
the person who bought you, to make you feel not only obligated, but
desperate to please him. From what you told me, that man expected you
to live with him and be a willing sex partner, but you weren’t.
You were brainwashed, but never broken in for him. So, yeah, I think
your handlers actually died and he took custody of you before you
were ready.”

“And when I
didn’t feel obligated…” I began.

“You were
converted to the other type of sex slave. The one that had to be
drugged to be kept in line,” Nick finished.

God, as if my
intestines weren’t already twisted into a thousand knots.
Brainwashed but not taught submission. I was nearly broken, my life
shattered into so many pieces I wasn’t sure I’d ever get
them back in working order again. I was freaking Humpty Dumpty, a
shell of my former self, trying desperately to seal the cracks and
fill myself back up with what I had lost.

But maybe I was going
about this the wrong way. Maybe the answer wasn’t finding what
my past lost, but what my future could entail me: relief,
forgiveness, acceptance.

I rolled myself over
and allowed Nick to spoon me from behind. His hand was gently
brushing my skin as it stroked back and forth across my thigh. For
once in my life (at least the part I could remember), I found the
courage to wear a tank top and shorts in front of someone else, and
Nick didn’t hesitate to show me how perfect a gentle touch from
the one you adored could be. The motion was moving and hypnotic and
made me yearn for more.

“Nick,” I
said quietly, still turned away. “Will you touch me?”

I could almost feel
his smile as a breath of air warmed the back of my neck. “I
am,” he whispered, his hand squeezing my thigh to prove his
point.

I rolled my head his
way, catching the lift to his eyebrows in the dim light. “No, I
mean
really
touch me.”

His hand halted,
stopping to rest on my bare skin. After thinking on it a moment, he
replied, “Can I? Yes. Should I? No. I don’t want to rush
this. Not after everything that’s happened.”

Because the last men
who touched me that way did horrible and unspeakable acts to me.

I rolled his way,
causing our bodies to connect in random places. His hand simply took
up residence on my hipbone, leaving a soft layer of cotton between
our skins. But I wanted that contact. “I’m haunted by all
these horrible, negative images. I need to know there’s
something better, to feel something so pure and incandescent, that
it’ll wash away the evil. And I want that touch to come from
you.”

His eyes lit up a
little, but his smile weakened, both elated and disturbed by my
words. “Alright,” he said softly, “but you have to
tell me if you need me to stop.” I nodded, and closed my eyes
when he asked me to.

Fingertips lightly
circled my shoulder. From there, they trailed down the ridges of my
scarred arm, over my wrist and index finger, and down my upper leg.
He resumed stroking my thigh, this time allowing his hand to creep
beneath my shorts, a little more with each passing.
A little
farther, a little farther
... My upper thigh slid forward, resting
atop his. He squeezed my waist, then trailed back down along my inner
thigh. The location surprised me, tickled me, and I jerked, rolling
flat onto my back.

A few seconds of
silence passed between us, but since I didn’t contest or open
my eyes, his movement resumed on the back of my arm, gently sweeping
up and down. When he lifted my forearm off the bed to kiss the inside
of my wrist, I smiled.

As he shifted on top
of me, the mattress sank and molded against the weight of our bodies.
His breath heated my neck, his nose skimming the surface, teasing and
tickling me, making the fine hairs stand on end. When the kisses
began atop my shoulder blade and his hand massaged the opposite side
of my neck, a wonderful feeling flooded my insides, and light
whimpers escaped my mouth. I’d never been touched so gently
before, like I was delicate and worthy of the time and attention it
took to arouse me.

The longer he worked
my neck, biting, kissing and licking, the more the tantalizing
tingles began to course through my veins. His hand swept south,
barely grazing my breast along the way, settling down on my waist.
But I wanted him higher, wanted his touch to be rougher, something to
combat the electricity zinging around inside my belly. I think it
surprised him when I reached over to guide his hand back to my chest,
because the kisses came to an abrupt halt. But he still didn’t
respond, so I pressed him firmly against me, molding his hand around
the curvature of my breast. Finally taking the hint, his hand began
to squeeze on its own, and the muscles in my stomach tightened. It
didn’t take long for him to reach underneath the thin tank
obstructing his view. I sneaked a peek, my nipple so erect it was
hard to believe I was wearing anything at all.

He pinched me, his
fingers squeezing tighter and tighter, and that action activated
something inside me. I gasped, my breaths deepening in my lungs, and
I moaned, indulging in the pleasures of his touch. Every muscle
between my neck and the tops of my feet stiffened. My back bowed
upward, pressing my belly flush against his chiseled abdomen.

His hand slid down as
he slithered off and lay sideways beside me. My insides were
screaming, angry that his hand returned to tracing circles around my
hip, but the softness of his words made me forgive him.

“Would it be
such a bad thing if you turned out to be Claire?”

“I thought you
said I was Claire?”

“I’m
asking how
you
feel about it.”

I opened my eyes and
turned his way. “Bad? No. I think it’d be a good thing
for everyone all around if I was. But I don’t think you guys
quite realize that I won’t be the girl you all remember. If I
turn out to be Claire, then she’s officially gone. The daughter
they raised and shared all those memories with? Gone. The girlfriend
in all those pictures with you on your phone? She’s gone, too.
You guys are so focused on proving that I’m Claire, that I’m
not sure you’re really grasping that in the end, I’m
still not going to be her.”

“Are you afraid
I’m only here because I want Claire back?”

“Isn’t
that why you came looking in the first place?” I challenged.

“Yes, but what I
found was Megan. The girl that currently owns my heart is you. I’m
not with you right now because I long for Claire or secretly hope
you’ll get her memories back some day. I brought you back here
with me because I want
Megan
.”

“Then why bring
up Claire?”

“To find out
your feelings towards her and her family. I know we’ve already
submitted your samples for the DNA testing, but I can answer that
question for you right here, right now, if you’d like.”

“Oh, yeah? How
so?”

To my disappointment,
and to the annoyance of my eyes, he turned on the bedside lamp to the
lowest setting. “I’ve seen Claire’s body before,
and I can remember three distinct freckles in places
you
don’t
let see the light of day.” With a crooked smile, he cocked his
eyebrows suggestively. “You game?”

Having his hand
caressing areas that yearned for his touch? Abso-freakin’-lutely!
I just wished that light was off.

“You sound
awfully confident,” I teased, aching for him to start already.

“Well, can I
tell you a secret?” I nodded, and he tapped his finger against
the right side of my neck, just behind my ear. “Claire has a
freckle here, too. And once you told me about the tattoo, I knew you
and Claire were one in the same.”

“Freckles are
pretty common though.”

“Not on you.
Will you at least admit you don’t have that many?”

“There’s a
limited number, yes.”

“So if I were to
call three of these freckles out, you’d have to admit that I
know what I’m talking about. That you were once Claire
Whitaker.”

“If you can hit
all three, then yeah, you win.”

His smile turned
deliciously wicked, and his fingertips began thumping and crawling
down my side, down my hip, and down my thigh to my knee. He grabbed
behind my kneecap and hitched my leg over his. It slightly tickled as
his fingers continued to run their way back up my thigh, crawling
beneath my cotton shorts, finally settling on a spot always hidden by
my underwear.

“Number one. We
both agree I haven’t seen this part of you before?”

“Not unless
you’ve been checking me out in my sleep.”

“And give you
another reason to be traumatized? No, thank you. All I’ve done
is hold you.”

“Well, let’s
go to the field for the call.” I twisted at the waist, rolling
my hips closer to him and my head the opposite way. Sure enough,
there was a freckle right next to where his finger rested.

“One for one.”

I was going to roll
back, but his hand crept up my tank along the back. I loved the feel
of his thumb pads against my skin, so smooth and soft from whatever
moisturizing hand soap he used to clean his hands all day. I knew the
spot he was focusing on, just to the left of my spine, halfway down.

“Number two,”
he said, and I reluctantly nodded, wishing he had taken longer to get
there. His hand swept to my hipbone and I finally rolled myself back
down. Quietly, seductively, he teased, “You know where I’m
going for that third freckle, right?”

I pinched my eyes, my
sleek gaze piercing his. I
did
know where he was going next,
and my insides began to purr with anticipation.

He climbed over me,
picking up his kisses just above my shorts. His hands slid until they
found the bottom hem of my tank. He pushed it slowly north, a kiss
for every inch of my stomach revealed.
A little farther, a little
farther…
“Hello, number three,” he said,
pushing my shirt up those last two inches, revealing a tiny brown
freckle right below my nipple, and soon his languid tongue was
licking its way to the peak of my breast. A fury erupted below my
belly, my legs stiffening so much they locked in place.