Page 26 of Glorious Sinner

There was no cooling the fire pumping through my blood tonight, I knew that much, so I grabbed the bottle of Jack sitting there and unscrewed the lid. But maybe I could numb it a little.

An hour later, I was three drinks in and failing at getting my shit together. The drinks had done fuck all. I was pretty sure my rage over Ryan had burned off the alcohol before it hit my gut.

I was staring at my laptop, trying and failing to work, when a light knock hit my office door. I knew who it was, and when she pushed open the door and walked in, I knew why she was seeking me out, what she wanted.

What she needed.

Even if she didn’t.

She was wearing that same robe I’d seen her in earlier. It was hanging open, shorts and what looked like a tank on underneath.

“You’re still up,” she said, walking in.

I sat back in my chair, not even trying to hide how hard I was, fucking hoping she’d see it, realize how on edge I was, and run the other way. “What’s going on, Steph?”

She shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep.” She looked around the office as she moved to the other side of the desk. “I thought I’d see if you were still awake. If you wanted to maybe watch a movie?”

I should humor her, pretend just like she was, but that was impossible, especially tonight. I’d been gentle with her for twelve months, given her space. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe I’d given her too much space. So I shook my head. “That’s not why you’re here.”

She stilled, biting down on her lip, eyes getting wider. “What?”

“Watching a movie isn’t what you want, Angel. That’s not why you’re in my office.”

“No…I…” She trailed off because she knew I was right and she couldn’t lie to herself or me about that fact now that I’d called her out.

She was hot and needy, she wanted what she knew I could give her, and she was scared of it at the same time. Ryan had fucked her up in ways I could never understand, but I wasn’t going to let him take this from her, from us.

“Come here, Stephanie.”

She blinked, frozen like a deer in headlights.

I held her gaze. “You trust me?”

She nodded.

I sat there waiting for her to make her decision. She stared back at me for the longest time, then finally, fucking finally, she started toward me. When she reached my side, I took her hand, bringing it to my lips, pressing a kiss to her trembling fingers then the inside of her wrist. “When was the last time you had an orgasm, Angel?”

She stiffened and tried to step back. I wasn’t holding her so tight she couldn’t pull free if she wanted to. She didn’t.

“You want to, don’t you, Steph? You want to come for me?” I said, voice wrecked now.

She was still stiff, but she nodded.

“Talk to me, Stephanie. I need you to talk to me.” I didn’t want her to dredge up that pain, but I couldn’t help her unless I knew what her triggers were, until I knew how to help her. I did what I had earlier, gliding my thumb over her wrist, offering comfort—nothing demanding—making sure she knew I was there for her.

Her eyes slid shut for a moment, then she looked out the window. “Ryan didn’t like when I pleasured myself. He thought of it as cheating. He was worried I’d think of someone else when I made myself come. He didn’t like that. We hadn’t been married long when I admitted I got myself off occasionally, thought it would please him, that it would be fun, sexy, to share that with him. I was wrong.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

“Steph…”

She turned to me, her eyes locking with mine. “He played along, made me think he liked it, liked that I’d shared that with him. He brought me to the brink of orgasm that night, then just before I came, he slapped me so hard my ears rang. He’d do it every now and then after that. Always when I thought things were good between us, when he wasn’t even…angry. After a while I couldn’t…I couldn’t come anymore. Sex became something else to fear, to dread.” She blinked, and a tear streaked down her face.

And now she associated sexual pleasure with humiliation and pain.

It took everything to keep the rage under control, not to hunt that fucker down right then and end him.

Instead, I reached up and brushed the tear away. “You deserve to feel good, to feel wanted.”