He could hear her swallow, see the fine tremble that danced across her shoulders, and the goosebumps that prickled across her arms.
“Yes.”
Frustration ate at him to have so little information, but Nasa led the way downstairs, glad to see Gee and Ruckus had set up exactly what he'd asked for.
They'd moved the couches farther away from the wall and set up a desk for Dillon with a thick dog bed for Elka right beside the chair.
As soon as Dillon saw it, she stopped dead, and to his horror Nasa watched her bottom lip wobble before she roughly bit down on it.
Not sure which part was the cause of her distress, Nasa hurried to reassure her it could all disappear, “I thought you'd like a spot of your own to get back to working on your housing projects. If you don’t like it, or being down here—”
“Dr. White told me you're hardcore into BDSM, but you moved all your sex furniture out of the basement when you painted it white, that you did all this because of me, and I should ask you for a massage.”
The words came out in a wild rush, so jumbled and close together it took him a second to untangle them.
Three distinct issues needed to be addressed, but she was still so tense and emotional, Nasa didn't know where to start.
He ducked his head to the side to catch her gaze, getting angrier by the second to realize she was on the verge of tears.
“Which part of all that upsets you the most?”
“You told me in the truck you weren't interested in any sort of therapy for yourself, and not ten minutes later agreed to sixty-four hours with Dr. Thompson. Why did you do that?”
The erratic jump from one topic to the next left Nasa feeling distinctly off balance, but he was glad he'd already talked about his quick change regarding therapy with Teague.
“As soon as we walked inside the building, you went from holding my hand to clinging to it tight enough to make my bones rub together. You didn't relax and ease up until I started talking about the planters, and I realized how much courage it took for you to go in there despite having an established relationship with Collette.
“I felt like an asshole for insinuating I had a handle on my crazy and you didn't. I was only going to suggest the planters to Teague, but he shot me down so hard I knew I could use it as an excuse to negotiate some sessions with him without looking like a pussy.
“I did paint the basement white and put all my toys and dungeon furniture away because I didn't want you to be uncomfortable if you had to come down here.
"I didn't want you to feel like you were in the black site, or revisit what it felt like to be whipped if you saw my collection of single tails.
“Yes, BDSM plays a big part of my life, but I don't need it twenty-four-seven, and whatever skills I have in that arena would never be used to hurt you.
"As for asking me to give you a massage, any excuse you give me to put my hands on you is one I'll gladly take, but Collette was wrong to suggest it and believe me, she and I will be having words.”
A few tears trickled down Dillon's flushed cheeks, and Nasa had to curl his hands into fists to keep from reaching out to brush them away.
He wanted to, with every fiber of his being, but feared Dillon would flinch back.
For now, Dillon focused on his expression and his responses. Nasa knew he needed to be calm and steady for her, not pissed off and about to rip into Collette for telling Dillon things about Nasa that Dillon should have heard from him.
So far, the only upside was Dillon had a distinct lack of fear in her eyes.
“Why was she wrong to suggest it?”
“Because, going from holding hands to a full body massage is too big a step. You still have trouble lettingme walk behind you, so being face down on a table where you can't see me moving around you would only make you anxious, which would defeat the whole purpose of a massage.”
He must have said something right, because he saw Dillon’s shoulders start to drop from where she’d hunched them up around her ears.
“What's the step after holding hands?” Her voice was thick, as though she struggled to take a full breath, clearly holding back the urge to cut loose and cry in earnest.
“A hug,” Nasa answered immediately; he could barely hold himself back from snatching her up and hugging the shit out of her. He needed it, and she sure as fuck seemed to need it too.
She sniffled and shook her head like she was trying to roll the tears back down inside her, which was not good. Women needed to cry from time to time. Everyone knew that.
It was a good thing, and that she sucked back her tears only added to the list of stuff pissing him off.
“I can't remember the last time someone hugged me,” Dillon confessed with a ragged sigh, sharing the first personal detail about herself that had nothing to do with Ghost, her torture, or her dog.
“Not even your family?” He took a risk and reached out, stroking his fingers along her wrist.
If she wasn’t ready for a hug, he wanted to hold her hand. Dillon looked down at where he touched her, but instead of pulling away, the action seemed to steady her.
Her chest rose and fell with the deep breath she took, and when she unclenched her fist to let him take her hand, Nasa felt the world start to turn right side up.
If she was willing to take his hand with whatever she and Collette had discussed rocking around in her head, he still had a chance.
“My mom died from an unexpected aneurysm when I was four, and
