Fight From The Heart (Heart Collection #4) - L.B. Dunbar Page 0,19

we continue because it’s not just my body that wants him but my heart.

Oh, my God. We just . . . and he did . . . and we can never be the same again.

Slowly lifting his body, Jacob gazes up at me, the evidence of what he did to me coating his lips, but I quickly look away, mortified by my behavior.

“Thank you,” he whispers and crawls from the bed. Disappearing behind the bookcase, I hear the bathroom door close and the shower turn on. Rolling to my side, I wonder what he’s thanking me for and how I’ll recover from what he just did to my body.

Chapter 7

Physical Addiction

[Jacob]

After taking care of myself in the shower, working roughly in my own hands to lessen the pain, I’m surprised to find Pam still in my bed. I took advantage of her, and I should have let myself suffer from blue balls because of it. After the dream I’d had, I needed her. I wanted to release the energy coursing through my veins. I’d fought the desire to plunge into her, the desire to lose myself in her, but I still had to have her in some manner. I had to taste her. I had to know she was real and under me, and willing—so willing to let me please her. Her cries. Her moans. Her body. In my dark fantasies, Pam gives into me repeatedly, allowing me to do what I want with her body, and her body responds. This was better than any dream. There was no disguising what happened to her . . . or me. I’m never going to be the same. She has dripped into my soul, cascaded over my heart when she should have told me I was an asshole for taking something from her.

She’ll never forgive you.

When I return to bed, her silence hammers home my thoughts. She’s curled into herself on the edge of the bed. She’s too far away both physically and emotionally. I curse myself.

“Lilac,” I whisper, but she holds herself still, pretending to sleep. My hand reaches for her back, hesitating like it did toward the bottle of scotch. I hate that I blatantly drank before her earlier. She’s the drink I need. She’s the sweet nectar I suddenly desire. Alcohol wasn’t enough to drown out the demons but bring them forward and haunt my head while I slept. I shiver with the linger thoughts and images from the dream.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, but whether Pam hears me or not, I don’t know. I collapse to my back and stare at the ceiling. Then I roll to my side and face her back. My hand flattens against her, giving in as I had to the temptation of being close to her. “Don’t hate me.”

She can do anything else, but I don’t want her to hate me.

+ + +

When I wake alone the next day, I’m not surprised. I deserve her distance, but I’m a masochist and immediately text her. I’ve awakened rock-hard and ready to explore more with my little assistant, but it’s probably for the best she’s gone. I hate that she’s run off, but I can’t face her. Then again, I don’t want her to feel like I used her—which I did—or regret it—which I don’t. Heading to the shower once again, I miss her responding text until I’m dressed for the day.

Working, it states, but I wonder if she’s telling the truth. Her friend Mae said Pam could take all the time she needed to recover. I wanted that recovery time to be endless and occur in my home, but I’ve messed that up, and I don’t know how to fix it. This is why I don’t do relationships. The monster hurts. He doesn’t heal. I’m terrible at apologizing and asking for forgiveness although I had to do it once before with Pam when we fought over my sister’s leaving.

I did a pathetic job of it last night.

Hanging my head, I stalk to my office with a plan to write out the negative emotions coursing through my veins. There’s no creature I hate more than myself.

By Saturday, Pam has ignored me for two solid days, and I’m coming out of my skin. I don’t mind being on my own, but after having my stepsister as a roommate for almost a year, I didn’t realize how much I appreciated another human being in my house. I recognize a need for deeper companionship although I’d never have someone