Page 44 of Nansar
I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly freezing despite the warmth of the cottage. "After what happened with Declan, I don't know if I can ever—" My voice shattered. "I don't know if I can do that again."
"Chloe." The gentleness in his voice was almost my undoing, but I couldn't look at him. Couldn't bear to see pity in those beautiful eyes.
"I feel safe with you," I said quickly, desperately, the words tumbling out in a torrent. "I do. But that doesn't mean I can just—" I made a helpless gesture, my hands fluttering uselessly. "My body doesn't feel like mine anymore. Does that make sense?"
"Yes," he said simply, without a heartbeat's hesitation.
I finally dared to glance up at him, surprised by the depth of understanding in his expression. There was no judgment there. No frustration or disappointment. Just... acceptance. He moved closer, slowly, telegraphing every movement like he was approaching something precious and fragile. When I didn't pull away, he reached out and gently took my hands in his, his warmth seeping into my cold fingers like sunlight through winter clouds.
"May I hold you?" His voice was barely above a whisper, reverent in its asking.
The question itself—the fact that he asked at all—made something tight and knotted in my chest loosen just a fraction. I nodded, unable to trust my voice, and he drew me against him with infinite care. His arms wrapped around me in a way that felt protective rather than confining. Like a fortress rather than a cage.
I pressed my face against his chest, breathing in his scent—leather and something earthy, pine and smoke and something uniquely, devastatingly him. My racing heart began to slow, matching the steady rhythm of his.
"There is another way," he murmured after a moment, his voice rumbling through his chest and into my bones. "It would be... unconventional. But it might work."
I pulled back enough to look up at him, curiosity momentarily overriding my anxiety. "What?"
A flush crept across his sharp cheekbones, and he looked almost embarrassed—which would have been endearing under different circumstances. "We could both... pleasure ourselves. Separately. And then use our... essence on each other. The scent alone might be enough to convince the Elder we've been intimate."
I blinked at him. Once. Twice. Processing. And then, despite everything—despite the fear and the shame and the weight of it all—I laughed. It started as a small, almost hysterical sound, but grew into something more genuine, more real.
"You want us to masturbate and then rub our come on each other?" The words tumbled out between gasps of laughter, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. "That's your plan?"
His lips twitched, fighting a smile. "When you phrase it quite like that, it does sound rather absurd."
"It sounds completely insane." I shook my head, the laughter fading but leaving something lighter in its wake. "Honestly, at that point, actually fucking might be easier."
The words hung in the air between us, charged with possibility and danger in equal measure. Nansar's expression shifted, grew serious again, his eyes darkening to the color of storm clouds.
"Have you tried?" he asked quietly, carefully. "Since what happened with Declan?"
The lightness evaporated. I pulled away from him, wrapping my arms around myself again, suddenly cold. "No."
"May I ask why?"
"After they rescued me, I spent over a week in the hospital," I said, staring at the floor because I couldn't bear to see his reaction. "Getting all the drugs out of my system, having tests, making sure there were no long-term effects." I swallowed hard against the lump in my throat. "I couldn't stand for anyone to touch me. Not the nurses, not the doctors, not my friends. It was the only way I could feel in control."
I felt Nansar shift beside me, but he didn't try to reach for me. Didn't try to fix it with empty platitudes. Somehow, that restraint—that respect for my space—made it easier to continue.
"The psychiatrist said it was normal. A trauma response. That it would take time." I laughed, but there was no humor in it, only bitterness. "But it didn't feel normal. It felt like I was broken. Like he'd broken something fundamental in me and I'd never get it back."
"Everyone looked at me like I was damaged goods," I said, the words like broken glass. "And maybe I am."
"You are not—"
"I orgasmed with him." The confession ripped from my throat, raw and bleeding. I'd never said it out loud before. Never admitted it to anyone, barely even to myself. "While he was raping me, while my mind was screaming at him to stop, my body still—" I couldn't finish. Shame burned through me, hot and acidic, threatening to consume me whole. "It felt like my body was betraying me. Like I was betraying myself."
"It was not your body that betrayed you," Nansar said, his voice hard as steel. "It was the drugs. Mumje forces physical response regardless of consent, regardless of desire. That's precisely why it's so vile, why its use is forbidden within the Alliance."
I looked at him then, really looked at him, searching his face for any sign of disgust or pity. I found neither. Only anger—but not at me. Never at me. The fury in his eyes was for Declan,for what had been done to me, and somehow that made all the difference.
"You are not damaged," he continued, each word deliberate, weighted with conviction. "You're a survivor. There's a difference."
The words settled over me like a balm, soothing wounds I'd thought would never heal. I wanted to believe him. God, how desperately I wanted to believe him.
"You're no longer averse to my touch," he observed, reaching out with infinite slowness. His fingertips brushed the back of my hand, the contact feather-light yet electric. "That's something."
