It sounded peculiar, even insulting—why would a guy be stupid to be with me? But at that moment, logic and thinking weren’t the thing on my mind. With my head hanging low, I felt the familiar burn behind my eyes and the lump in my throat.
“Paddy.” My voice thickened. “At his wedding. When I went to the girls’ room. Paddy Rowan touched me there. And many times after. It became a hobby of his at some point.” I swallowed a bitter lump. “I was only nine.”
I didn’t break down in tears. Instead, I delivered the information like I was talking about someone else’s problems, someone else’s sexual abuse. Maybe because I’d hidden it for so long, a part of me almost doubted it had really happened.
After all, no one knew. Not a soul. It went on for nearly a year, and yet, nobody knew. I couldn’t tell my father. He was working for Paddy and Cillian back then, and I knew how much he feared them and needed the paycheck. I had to choose between the truth and food on our table. So I kept it to myself.
Until now.
Admitting this to Troy made me feel more naked than I physically was—it was like giving up an imaginary bulletproof vest. A part of me wanted to see if it would push him away. After all, now I was damaged goods. Tainted by his father’s right-hand man. Troy’s shiny new toy was broken and cracked. Would it put him off? Would he back down? I wanted to know if taking off my armor would inspire him to shoot me where it hurt.
I peeked down to search his face, but he was still behind me.
"What did he do exactly?" He pressed his face to my panties, inhaling gently. He sounded composed and attentive, but clipped. Even though his voice barely gave him away, the sudden twitch of his hand caressing my lower stomach did the job. He was disturbed by what I’d said, but not disgusted by me.
I let out a relieved breath when I realized he wasn’t going to be snide or cold about my confession.
Human, after all.
"He..." I didn't want to elaborate, but not seeing his face when I spoke about it was liberating. So was getting this secret off my chest. "He didn't rape me. But he was violent. He shoved his fingers into me. He was drunk, and I was small. Paddy was one of my father's bosses. I didn't want to make a scene."
More silence. Not the judging kind, though.
I released my breath, shaking my head. “I’m a little drunk. My normal self would never share something like this with you,” I admitted. “Let’s just drop it, okay? I just want to mess around tonight.”
Troy spun me around by my waist to face him. Still on his knees, he kissed each of my pubic bones, his firm hands keeping me in place. I think I might have loved him in that particular moment. Just for a second. For listening. For being there. For not being terrible for once, even though it was in his DNA. In his nature.
“Is that why you’ve never slept with anyone?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I don’t think so. I just...never got around to it.” I knew this wasn’t exactly dirty talk between the sheets. Thankfully, I didn’t spend too much time worrying about trying to impress my new husband.
His eyes pinned me to the dresser, trying to estimate how upset I was. There was no need for that. Paddy happened a long time ago, and I was ready now. Ready for more of those kisses all over my sensitive area.
“I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do, Red.” His voice was grave. “But I feel like it is my duty as a husband and a human being to tell you, sex can be great. Giving up on it just because one asshole…” He grunted his last sentence, pressing his face to my stomach and shutting his eyes, “Or even because we don’t see eye to eye—it’s a big mistake. You can hate me and still love how I make you feel.”
His eyes dropped back to my white panties, and he tugged them down to my knees, kissing the spot just above my slit gently. He then parted me carefully with both thumbs, leaning forward and inhaling me with his eyes shut. It was slightly embarrassing...but incredibly arousing.
My eyes met his as my hand brushed through his hair, so implausibly soft in comparison to the tough man it belonged to. I stepped out of the panties. “I know,” I exhaled. “I don’t want you to stop what you’re doing.”
He pressed his mouth to my center. Darting his tongue out, he explored me, every bit of me, building anticipation. I felt wetness pool inside me and leaned onto the dresser behind me, trying to stay upright. It was only then that his mouth sought—and found—my bundle of sensitive nerves and sucked on it, long and hard, building and releasing pressure like he was pumping a delicious drug into me.
I moaned and fisted his hair, tugging, urging him to continue. Everything tingled. My toes curled inside the high heels. I rolled my hips forward, wiggling out of his strong arms around my waist and wanting, searching, aching for more.