I remembered Daniel by my side, breathing just as hard as I was.
I remembered the ache that had flooded my core.
Maybe…maybe I could get that feeling back.
Slipping my hand under the covers, I squeezed my eyes closed and imagined being in the room again. I remembered Daniel’s bold presence grounding me to the moment. I remembered the moans and touches and how I’d wanted them for myself.
My fingers slipped over my clit, and I jerked at the brief contact, my breath growing faster.
I remembered his cock standing tall before he climbed between her legs. I remembered the desperation I felt for them to do it—just fucking do it.
Swiping to my opening, I collected moisture I’d never been able to get before and slid back up to my bundle of nerves. My chest rose and fell, the tension spreading through my thighs down to my toes. Spreading my legs wider, I pushed my heels in the mattress and pushed up into my hand.
So close. So close.
I’d never been able to orgasm before, and I just wanted this. After tonight, I wanted it so bad I could taste it.
I remembered Daniel’s hard length against his thigh. I remembered his hand in mine when the man finally pushed inside the woman. I remembered her moans bleeding together with mine.
Fuck, your pussy is tight. Dry as fuck, but so fucking tight.
My eyes flew open, and I jerked my hand from between my legs, snapping them closed.
Bile rose up my throat, and I sat up, clutching my chest, trying to hold my thundering heartbeat under control. My lungs worked overtime, and I squeezed my eyes shut, but all visions of the club were gone, replaced with dirty rooms and disgusting men.
Snapping my eyes back open, I scanned the room, counting five red items.
Book, lipstick, picture, dress, and pillow.
Slowly, everything calmed down, and I could take a deep breath until another type of tension crept into my muscles.
My jaw clenched, and I gripped my sheets, swallowing back the scream building in my chest. So fucking stupid. It was all so fucking stupid.
Punching the comforter over and over, I released the anger trying to swallow me. I released enough until I could take the rest and shove it down. Back into the box for another time to face it.
Never sounded pretty good.
8
Daniel
“You did what?” Jackson almost screeched at a pitch I didn’t know a man his size could reach.
“Could you repeat that?” Kent asked with a stupid half-smile. He looked like a man on the verge of saying I told you so, but he had nothing to gloat over.
“It wasn’t a big deal,” I explained, rolling my eyes away from Kent.
Jackson leaned both palms on the wood bar top and narrowed his eyes at me across the counter like some interrogator. “You took Hanna, Erik’s little sister, into a room at Voyeur and watched live porn, and you’re trying to tell me it ‘wasn’t a big deal.’”
I took a swig of my beer and returned his shrewd look. Jackson was like family to me. He began working at Voyeur when he was in college—one of my best performers. Eventually, with his ridiculous accounting skills, he became a partner of sorts and owned a third of the bar, Voy. He liked to talk a big game, but I knew how to make him back off with my stare. I’d been giving it to him for years. Apparently, his shock prevented him being affected, and he continued looking at me, unblinking.
“Nothing happened.”
“Nothing?”
“I mean…” I hesitated, picking the label of the beer off with my thumbnail. Shit, this was going to sound bad. “We held hands.”
Jackson’s jaw dropped, and he stumbled back like I’d hit him, blinking over and over.
From the corner of my eye, I watched Kent’s smirk grow into a full-blown smile.
“Stop smiling before I punch you in your face.”
Kent tsked. “Someone’s testy. Probably all the built-up tension. Did you at least fuck someone after?”
Stretching my neck, I cleared my throat before answering. Regret over thinking I could talk about this without ridicule washed over me. “No. We had another drink at the bar and talked for a while.”
“Talked?” Jackson muttered. “What the fuck.”
Kent slapped the bar and barked a loud laugh, drawing eyes our way. “Did you at least go home and jack off to thoughts of her?”
No, because I hadn’t even made it home. I’d run to the restroom before meeting her at the bar and came in less than five minutes like some kid with his first boner. I’d refused to think of her as I stroked myself roughly. That wasn’t the relationship we were forming. But no matter how hard I tried, a vague petite brunette with full breasts and lips formed behind my closed lids.
“Jesus Christ, Kent. She’s a trauma survivor. Not some girl I plan to fuck.”
He leaned his elbow on the bar, resting his chin on his palm, giving me his full attention, waiting to catch me in a lie. “Why not?”
“Because she needs a friend, not a hookup.”
“It looks like she’s trying to prepare for a hookup. So, why not you? Do a little contact therapy.”
I scoffed, turning back to finish my beer, but his words had merit. She was trying to get comfortable with touch, and she was already comfortable with me, so why not try with me. I’d heard people use contact therapy when facing their fears. I wasn’t sure if anyone used it for sexual abuse, but I made sure to pocket it away to look up later. For now, Kent needed to realize I wasn’t trying to get with Hanna in any way outside of helping her.
“Because I’m not that guy. She feels comfortable around me. All the other guys in her life are acquaintances, her brother, or Ian, who’s like her brother.” I pointed at my chest, fully facing him now. “I can be the man who helps
