HurtMeHealMe Page 9

  She placed her palm flat on his chest. His muscles contracted under her touch. He placed his hand over hers and held it there, right over his heart.

  “You’re not gonna make me fill out another form are you?”

  Caitlin smiled up at him. “No. You can just tell me what you need.”

  A flare of hunger flashed in Paul’s eyes. His voice came out husky. It spoke of lust and dark, hot passion.

  “What I need right now,” he lowered his mouth toward her, “is to feel your mouth on mine. I need to taste you.”

  A sliver of air separated their lips and Caitlin trembled, anticipating his touch. And finally, he lowered his mouth and brushed his lips against hers. She whimpered at the electrically charged contact. Paul groaned into her mouth. He pulled her up against him and she cried out as his big, powerful body came into contact with hers. Her arms looped around his neck, one hand tangling in his hair.

  He wrapped his arms around her tightly. One hand splayed over her ass, pressing her into his erection, while the other hand fisted in her hair, pulling her head back as he plundered her mouth. His tongue swept into her parted lips and he licked her—her tongue, her teeth, the roof of her mouth. At first she let him explore and then her tongue tentatively stroked his. And then she became bolder, licking his tongue with, strong strokes, matching the rhythm of his hips as he rocked his erection into the apex of her thighs.

  Caitlin’s head was spinning. She felt lightheaded and weak and euphoric and needy and aching—so many feelings bombarding her senses at once. She had never experienced anything like this, the feelings of Paul’s kiss. She had never been kissed like this before.

  Caitlin grasped Paul with everything she had. She couldn’t get close enough. She wanted to climb him, climb into him—something.

  Paul growled against her lips. He pulled away from her mouth for a moment and she missed the contact immediately.

  He swore a blue streak. Mentioning God and Jesus and some other words that shouldn’t be mentioned in the same sentence along with those two. He picked her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He gripped her ass and walked a few steps until her back rested against the wall.

  “Caitlin,” he whispered as he pressed almost savage, sucking kisses up the curve of her neck and over her jawline. When he reached her lips, he fused his mouth with hers once more, locking them together, stealing her breath and giving his in return. He ground his arousal against her—oh, oh, oooh—in just the right spot.

  Caitlin cried into his mouth and he swallowed the sounds of her pleasure.

  Paul was going out of his mind. He could feel Caitlin’s heat through their clothes. And the pants he had admired such a short time before were now on the top ten list of things he hated, followed closely by his jeans and her panties. There was way too much clothing between them.

  The doorbell rang as a customer entered the store.

  Caitlin froze, immediately shocked out of her sensual haze. Paul tore his lips from hers but found he didn’t want to let go of her. She squirmed in his grasp, attempting to climb off him. He gritted his teeth as he slid her down his body until she stood on her own two feet. Damn customer. The bastard may as well have thrown a bucket of ice water over the both of them.

  The customer walked to the opposite end of the store, not even noticing the lovers up against the wall. Paul watched as Caitlin brushed trembling hands over her clothes and hair and she hurriedly slipped her shoes back on. She looked gorgeous all mussed up, her normally perfect hair in disarray and her lips swollen and red from his kisses.

  Paul couldn’t believe his own behavior. He had thought to go slow, to seduce Caitlin gently and masterfully. His body, however, had other ideas. It wanted to mash the woman up against him, to possess her mouth, to tear her clothes from her body and plunge into her, that spot where she was soft and warm and wet. Take her. Claim her and make her his.

  She bent over to buckle the straps of her shoes and Paul’s dick protested—or applauded, probably. Whatever it was, it was damn uncomfortable. A few moments earlier, Paul had been thankful he’d gone commando—one less layer separating his cock from the place it was dying to be. Now he wondered if he’d have a permanent zipper imprint along the length of him.

  He squatted down. Fuck. Now that was uncomfortable. He adjusted himself discreetly and then proceeded to buckle Caitlin’s other shoe. She straightened and placed one hand on his head, opening and closing her fingers, grabbing fistfuls of his hair and tugging gently.

  Paul looked up and she smiled down at him, her eyes still glassy with desire. He immediately wanted to grab her in his arms and finish what they had started right there and then, customers be damned.

  Chapter Eight

  “Wow, that’s—a lot of meat,” said Caitlin, looking slightly shell-shocked as Paul placed an enormous platter of ribs on the dinner table.

  “Uh-huh,” Paul grinned lasciviously and wiggled an eyebrow, “that’s what all the ladies say.”

  She sputtered and giggled, placing a hand on her forehead.

  Paul gestured for her to take a seat while he made a couple of trips to the kitchen, bringing green beans, whole roasted potatoes in foil, and bowls of sour cream, chopped chives and grated cheese.

  Caitlin was amazed that she had come to Paul’s apartment. She would never normally have entertained the idea of going home with a man after knowing him for such a short time, but somehow Paul was different. She didn’t feel scared or threatened. He made her feel safe. And sitting there in his kitchen, she felt right at home.

  Another thing that blew her mind was the fact that she was at his kitchen table wearing a robe and nothing else. And they hadn’t had sex. Paul hadn’t even touched her since they’d arrived.

  He had taken her directly from work, arguing that she didn’t need to go home to shower and change and that she could freshen up at his place. He’d spent the entire car trip in a serious mood, explaining his rules for the evening. As soon as they got in the door, Caitlin was to shower while Paul fixed them a big Texan dinner. Next they were going to eat, and then they would talk. And most importantly, he demanded that Caitlin answer every one of his questions honestly and without holding anything back from him.

  Caitlin didn’t know which was worse, the not-holding-anything-back part or the fact that so much stuff had to happen before they touched each other again.

  Paul also informed her that, after their discussion, he was going to do all the things he’d been wanting to do to her since the moment he’d laid eyes on her.

  He warned her it was going to be one hell of a long night.

  Caitlin was wishing they could just skip the talk and get to the good bits.

  “Mmmm, this is heavenly,” murmured Caitlin as she speared another piece of meat that was so tender it just about fell off the bone before she even touched it. “You’re an amazing cook.”

  Paul grinned boyishly. “Thank you. The ribs are my grandma’s secret recipe. She gave it to me because I moved so far away from home.” He shrugged. “And ’cause she loves me the most.”

  Caitlin smiled and placed another forkful of meat and potatoes into her mouth, humming in appreciation. Paul’s fork paused in midair as he stared at her mouth.

  “What?” she asked self-consciously as she brushed her fingers over her lips, worried she’d missed a drip of sauce.

  He shook his head slightly. “It’s just—I love a woman who enjoys her food.”

  Caitlin ducked her head and blushed.

  “You’re so petite, but you’re not one of those salad-nibbling, calorie-counting girls, are you, Caitlin?”

  “Um, no. I think I might be a carnivore actually.” She smiled. “And I have a rip-roaring metabolism.”

  Paul chuckled. “Well, well, little T-Rex, I think you and me are gonna get along just fine.”

  Paul looked at Caitlin sitting there at his table, wearing his white terrycloth robe. He liked that she was wearing his clothes. He really, really liked that underneath
that one layer of fabric, she was totally naked. And even though the damn robe almost swallowed her up, she looked so unbelievably sexy in it, so mouthwatering, he wanted to get into some carnivore action himself and just bite her a little bit.

  For the rest of the meal, they chatted about day-to-day things. She asked him about his landscaping business and his family. Paul had felt almost guilty telling Caitlin about his huge extended family whom he loved to death, and what a great childhood he’d had, when her childhood must have been such a crapshoot. She told him about her business. She didn’t have any living family to speak of. Paul got that tugging pain in his gut, imagining Caitlin all alone in the world.

  They talked about movies and music. Paul threatened to play country music until she learned to love it. She said she’d try, but doubted she’d ever like it overly much. He promised to watch Love Actually—her favorite movie—with her. She promised to watch The Transporter—his favorite movie—with him. And while Paul sat watching Caitlin guilelessly licking sour cream off her fork, he promised himself that he would fuck her very soon.

  After the dishes had been cleared, Paul took Caitlin into the living room. He made himself sit on the opposite end of the sofa, since he seemed to have such a great deal of trouble controlling himself around this woman. He was eager to get the question-and-answer session over with so he could lose control of himself inside her.

  “Now, Caitlin, I want you to tell me what Ivan did to you.”

  Caitlin choked on her wine. She’d just placed her bottom on the sofa and obviously wasn’t quite ready for his blunt question.

  She cleared her throat and swallowed, placing her wineglass on the side table. “Um—why do you need to know that?” she asked hesitantly.

  “That’s not an answer, sweetheart.” Paul frowned. “Remember, I’m asking the questions and you’re answering them.” He felt for her, sitting there wide-eyed, looking so panicked. “Although, just this once, I’ll explain. I want to know because I believe it may have something to do with why you ran from me the other night. And I don’t want you to run from me. Ever again.”

  Caitlin grimaced. “I…I’m afraid when I tell you, you’ll…”

  “I’ll what, sweetheart?”

  She whispered so quietly, he almost missed it. “You won’t—want me anymore.”

  Christ, there was that pain in his gut again. She was so afraid that something in her past would make him reject her. Obviously she had no idea of his feelings. God, he’d crawl on his belly over broken glass to get to her.

  He moved over to sit next to her and took her hand from her lap, holding it and massaging her palm with his thumb. “Sweetheart, don’t be afraid to tell me anything, no matter how bad. You can trust me.” Paul ducked his head and looked in her eyes. “You do trust me, don’t you, darlin’?”

  She sucked in a deep breath and blew it out audibly. “Yes, I trust you, Paul.”

  “Then tell me, sweetheart.”

  “I—I don’t know where to start.”

  “How ’bout at the beginning. You said he asked you to move here to Boston, what, six years ago?”

  “Mm-hm.” She nodded.

  “Okay, and what happened when you got here?”

  “The first day I arrived, he was so kind to me. He held me while I cried, telling me he was so proud of me—of the way I had looked after my father. He kissed me.” Caitlin gave Paul a shy half-smile. “Although it was nothing like the way you kiss me. He never made me feel the way you do when you kiss me.”

  Paul smiled and stroked her cheek. Niiice and calm. On the inside he was high-fiving himself. He tamped down the urge to haul her into his arms right then and kiss the daylights out of her. Only because she said she liked it so much and he was feeling altruistic.

  Yeah. Right.

  “Go on, sweetheart,” he urged.

  With her free hand, Caitlin plucked invisible pieces of lint off the robe she was wearing. “He told me that he wanted me sexually. He explained what would be required of me. How he needed to treat me a certain way and how he needed to—hurt me, for his pleasure.”

  Caitlin shook her head. “I didn’t know back then, but I understand now why I reacted to Ivan the way that I did. You know I was probably a classic textbook case,” she said derisively. “My father never gave a damn about me. I never had Daddy’s approval. And then when Ivan started calling me all the time, spending hours just talking to me, for the first time in my life I felt like I had someone who cared about me. And when he told me what he expected from me—well, I would have done anything for his approval.

  “And I did, Paul. I did things…” Caitlin pursed her lips and shook her head. When she spoke again, her voice was filled with anger. “I did everything he demanded of me. I crawled on my knees and licked his boots for his infrequent scraps of affection. His, ‘good girl’ or ‘well done, slave’ when I endured something particularly horrible was the most affection I ever received from him after that. And he never kissed me again—not after that first day.”

  Caitlin tried to look away, but Paul grabbed her chin and tilted her face up so she would have to meet his eyes.

  “Sweetheart, don’t try to hide from me. You were young and he preyed on you. A much older, experienced man manipulated an innocent girl. And that innocent girl shouldn’t feel guilty about what happened to her.”

  Tears welled up in Caitlin’s eyes. And with the way her gaze kept darting around the room, Paul got the feeling if he wasn’t holding her hand so tightly, she might be inclined to jump off the sofa and run right out the door. There was more she hadn’t told him yet and he had a feeling it was not going to be pretty.

  He grabbed her other hand. Just in case.

  “Tell me what else, Caitlin. Why are you so afraid? What makes you think I won’t want you?”

  Caitlin sighed and her shoulders slumped. She looked utterly defeated and so small and desolate. He wanted to comfort her, but he knew he shouldn’t touch her further, not yet. He squeezed her hands in his, as if he could imbue her with his strength. Although he would probably need every ounce to hold himself together if this was going to be as bad as he expected.

  He took a deep breath and braced himself. “Tell me, darlin’,” he urged gently.

  “Um, when I met Ivan, I had never been able to make myself—come.” Caitlin ducked her head and stared at her lap. “I guess it was the shared rooms at boarding school. And the nuns drumming into us that touching yourself was so dirty and sinful didn’t help matters.

  “Anyway, in the beginning, Ivan would torture me by stimulating me with arousal creams and vibrators. I think he knew—he must have known that I would need clitoral stimulation to be able to climax, but he never touched me there. He wouldn’t allow me to touch myself either. And he would use me—use my mouth and my, um…he would use me anally.” Caitlin fidgeted, still staring at her lap. “And he kept me that way for so long, always aroused and on the brink until I was just mindless with need.”

  A tear rolled down her cheek. “It got so bad that he caught me trying to, um…he caught me…rubbing up against the wall I was chained to.”

  She screwed up her face and gave Paul a quick sidelong glance, as if she were expecting a reprimand of some kind. When none came, she continued. “And that day, when I got so out of control, he whipped me. Whipped me so brutally that I bled, but he stimulated my clit at the same time and I—came.” Caitlin’s face twisted with the effort of trying to contain her emotions.

  Paul felt a burning behind his eyes and his throat felt tight. God, he couldn’t lose it, he had to be strong for Caitlin.

  She continued in a small, flat voice. “You know, he trained me—he conditioned me to come only when experiencing extreme pain. At the time I thought that’s just the way I was. That there was something wrong with me. I wonder now, if he’d done things differently, maybe I could have learned to come without it, without the pain. But after all this time—I need it now.” Her face crumpled and her tears fell freely. “I’m
like Pavlov’s dog. I just have to see a whip and I get wet.” Caitlin tore her hands from Paul’s and buried her face in them, sobbing uncontrollably.

  The rage Paul felt threatened to explode out of him.

  He got up and paced the room like some kind of caged animal. He stopped in front of the fireplace and slammed his hand down on the stone mantel above it. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” he swore through gritted teeth. He clung to the mantel with a white-knuckled grip and breathed, trying to stop himself from losing it and busting shit up.

  He heard Caitlin sobbing and realized what an ass he was. He should be comforting her instead of venting his own anger. He took a deep breath and turned around slowly to go to her, expecting to see her curled into a little ball, crying into his sofa cushions.

  Caitlin wasn’t where he expected her to be. She was standing, gathering her purse and shoes.

  “Where the hell are you going?” he asked in a voice so calm it surprised him.

  “It’s okay. I—I unders-stand,” she managed, her voice quaking and thick with tears.

  He stepped in front of her, blocking her retreat. “You understand what, exactly?” he growled.

  “That you don’t want me. That I’m sick and dirty and—used.”

  Jesus Christ! He took a deep breath and exhaled heavily.

  “No, sweetheart. No. I’m sorry if that’s what you thought. I’m just so fucking angry with him. I want to dig up that fucking bastard and fucking kill him all over again.” Paul grimaced. “Excuse my fucking French.”

  Caitlin stood there staring at the ground, looking so forlorn and unsure. The most beautiful girl he’d ever seen was standing in his apartment, thinking she should leave because he didn’t want her, because she wasn’t good enough. God.

  “Come here, baby girl,” he said in a rough voice.

  After a long moment, Caitlin opened her hand and her shoes and purse tumbled to the ground. She took a couple of uncertain steps toward him. When her eyes met his, they were filled with so much raw pain that it sucked the breath from his lungs. He closed his eyes tight for a moment.