Brain(71)

Sex was pretty much the same as it had been, with me flat on my back in the bed, her riding me, and ending with me on my knees fucking her from below. My wolf was itchy, he wanted more, but in this, he understood he’d have to wait.

The next morning, I let him watch the end of the shampoo and conditioner session, hoping he’d begin to understand what we were doing, but he just got pissed at me.

The fourth day, she stayed with me, her eyes focused on me the entire time. The fifth, she was scared when we got into the tub, but not terrified.

As we got out and dried each other, she asked, “How royally fucked is it we’re trying to work towards missionary?”

I chuckled and kissed her forehead. “Not fucked up at all. You have to know I did my own research on PTSD and recovering from torture, and I know how unusual it is for you to have made this much progress in less than a week. I was prepared to do it for a month before you stepped into the tub without smelling terrified.” I put a hand on each cheek — the gentlest of touches, but she’d have shut down on me for even this a month ago. “You are the most determined, hard-headed, strongest, smartest woman I’ve ever met.”

She turned her face sideways, kissed the palm of one of my hands, and stepped forward to wrap her arms around my neck and nestle her head against my chest.

“I want to try missionary. I won’t ask you to keep going if I zone out, but I’m not going to insist you stop, either. You and your wolf seem to know what’ll work, what I need. I’m going to trust you to do whatever you think best, and if you screw up, I promise not to be mad. I don’t know what to tell you to do, so if you don’t get it right, I can’t hold you responsible.”

I felt my heartbeat change rhythm until it matched Harmony’s, and I didn’t know if my wolf had done it, or if we’d just fallen into perfect synch at that moment, but it gave me the courage to say, “Okay, Buttercup, but does this mean I get to go down on you from above, first?”

She was at peace with this conversation, no fear, no major anxiety. I knew that would likely change when we began, but for now, she chuckled and said, “Whatever you think best.”

“Sometimes, when you zone out, your heart beats as if you were running or fighting, and you smell as if you’re in fight-or-flight mode, even though you’re shut down. Other times, your heart rate slows, as does your breathing, almost as if you’re a bear in hibernation. When you come out of the first, I have to calm you when you return, but you seem to just slide back into reality from the second.”

“I don’t know why it’s different, but I can definitely tell the difference. When they had me, the latter probably served me better, since there wasn’t a way to escape.” She paused and added, “Well, until there was, in which case I took advantage of it.” She’d sat at her vanity seat, and looked up now, so her gaze met mine in the mirror. “We’re still meeting Aaron Drake tomorrow?”

I nodded. “Yes, though I’m thinking we’ll need a good four to six weeks to come up with the plan, which should be enough time to get you back into top form, again. I’d like to spar with you some, work on your fighting skills. Do you think you’ll be okay with that? Or would you be better off sparring with a woman? I know someone I can probably get to work out with you, but she’s in Chattanooga.”

She shook her head. “No, if we’re going to convince my subconscious you aren’t the enemy, it can’t see you throwing a punch at me.”

“Okay, we’ll see if Aaron can get Kirsten to come work out with you while we’re in town. Fair warning, she’s also a therapist, so if you decide you like her, maybe we can set up some time for you to talk to her, but no pressure.”

She shook her head. “I learned about psychology because I can never talk to anyone about what happened — not without putting both them and me at risk.”

“Kirsten works with Aaron, and she talks to his men — many of whom are ex-military. She’s trustworthy, she knows I’m a werewolf, and she seems to be capable of taking care of herself. Again, no pressure, but we’ll see how things go with the two of you sparring, if Aaron can work it out.”

“How does she know? Is she one, too?”

“No, she’s human. Or, she smells human, anyway. Why don’t you dry your hair and meet me in the bedroom?”

I smelled a hit of delicious arousal, closely followed by the stench of putrid, acrid fear. My wolf once again revolted, but I pushed him down. According to the professionals, when dealing with PTSD, the first step was the hardest and the next steps usually easier. We were well on our way through the first step, with her hair. Theoretically, her subconscious no longer saw me as a threat, and the next step should be easier.