Buttons and Blame (Buttons 5)

I missed those kisses. No other man had ever given them to me before.

His arm hooked around my waist, and he pulled me tight against his body. We were perfectly placed against each other, complementing one another perfectly. I hadn’t felt this comfortable in a long time.

Within seconds, I felt his length harden against me. All nine inches formed, thick and long. He was warm, and the sensation was unmistakable. I’d felt him against my hip too many times not to recognize it.

Cane didn’t shift his body. “I can’t control it.”

“That’s okay…”

“Doesn’t mean I expect anything.”

“I know, Cane.”

“I can move if you want.”

I hugged him harder. “No.” Feeling him desire me after everything I’d been through only made me feel beautiful. I didn’t feel like damaged goods or someone’s leftovers. Cane didn’t think about Tristan when he was with me.

He only thought about me.

* * *

Cane stayed home with me for a few days. He cooked all my meals for me and made sure I took my medication. He spent the afternoons lounging by the pool with me. At nighttime, he watched TV while I read in front of the fire.

We didn’t talk much.

But it felt the way it used to. It was quiet and comfortable, an unspoken routine established between us. The pain between my legs faded away, and I started to sleep all through the night. I wasn’t as hungry as before since I was getting plenty to eat. My body tissues swelled with hydration and nutrition. I hadn’t had a nightmare yet, and that surprised me.

Cane was my dream catcher.

Despite everything I’d endured, I felt the flame of attraction when I was around him. I missed kissing him, missed the way he would grope my tits while I sat on his lap. I missed his cock deep inside me, coming over and over.

My enjoyment of sex had been untouched. What I went through with Tristan wasn’t sex at all. That was something else entirely, just violence. I didn’t think the two acts were comparable since they had nothing in common.

My desire for Cane would never stop.

I was still in pain between my legs from the way Tristan had fucked me without lubrication. I bled often because I was so dry. My ass still hurt from the things he did to me. Even if I wanted to have sex, I didn’t think it was possible right now.

But that didn’t mean we couldn’t do other things.

Cane stepped out of the shower with his hair slightly damp. A towel was around his waist, and he dropped it in the middle of the floor when he opened his drawer and pulled out a fresh pair of boxers.

I stared at his physique without shame.

He didn’t notice my stare and came toward the bed. “Want me to make a fire tonight?”

I rose on my knees in the center of the bed and pulled my shirt over my head. I was just in my panties, my tits on display for him to view. I still had bruises sprinkled across my skin, but now they were faded.

He stopped and stared.

“Come here.” I patted the bed beside me.

He slowly approached the bedside but didn’t climb onto the mattress. His eyes were glued to my tits for a long time before he met my gaze again. “It’s too soon, Bellissima.”

“You’re right. But that doesn’t mean we can’t do something else…”

He stayed put. “I think we should wait. We both know I want you, but…I’m in no hurry.”

“And we both know I want you. So don’t make a woman in your bed ask for you again.”

His eyes darkened at my comment before he dropped his boxers. He climbed on the bed then positioned me until my head was on the pillow. He held himself over me, his thighs separating mine.

My ankles locked together at his back, and my arms circled his neck.

He looked down at me with the same dark expression, but he didn’t do anything. He only stared. “What do you want, Bellissima?”

“To kiss you.”

“Anything else?”

“I want you in my mouth…”

His expression tightened noticeably. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“I know I don’t. I want to.” My hands moved up and down his chest.

“Can I go down on you?”

I was too sore for intercourse but feeling his soft mouth against my entrance would probably feel amazing. “Please…”

His hand snaked into my hair, and he prepared to kiss me. “Just tell me when to stop.”

“I’m not going to want you to stop.”

His mouth was on mine, and he kissed me softly, deliberately restraining his passion. It was the first time he’d kissed me on the lips since I’d been rescued, always pressing his lips to my hairline or my forehead. His lips caressed mine, and then he breathed into my mouth. His hand tightened on my hair, and he kissed me harder, his passion making me come alive.