Hottest Mess (SIN 2)

It was still early, not much past eight, and when she'd suggested going to the kitchen for some breakfast, he'd lied and told her he had to take care of a couple of things first.

He didn't have shit to take care of. Or, rather, he didn't have anything to take care of that wasn't inside his own head.

Secrets.

God, they just kept piling up. She'd flat out asked him what they'd learned by investigating Ortega. And though he'd told her the literal truth--because they had nothing concrete on Colin yet--it was still a goddamn lie.

And although she hadn't pressed when he'd essentially admitted that he was holding things back, that didn't mean that she'd be okay with his silence about Colin once the truth came out. Hell, even if Colin was innocent, Dallas was going to catch shit for staying quiet. And he could only hope that she'd understand his reasons for keeping her removed.

But he was holding back more, too. Things she deserved to know because they affected their physical relationship. All the shit in captivity that had fucked him up. That had ripped away any possibility that he'd have a normal sex life, a normal relationship.

Those were the big ones. But there were other things, too. Like the letters--he should have told her before about some crazy female sending him stalker letters. At least he'd rectified that last night. But he still hadn't told her about Adele; about the strange attraction they'd shared, and the way Adele had understood his need for kink, for the dark. She'd gone there with him willingly. Maybe even too enthusiastically--because eventually she'd crossed the line, and Dallas had been so disgusted with her and himself that he'd called it off.

But that had ended months ago, and it wasn't as if Jane needed a rundown of every woman who'd shared his bed. But where Adele was concerned ... well, the woman was practically family.

He bit back a derisive laugh. Family.

Apparently sleeping with his family was his goddammed MO.

Christ, he was screwed up.

He was standing at one of the workstations, and now he pressed his hands to the cool metal and bent over, giving himself a moment to just breathe.

He heard her the moment she stepped into the room, and he expected it when she came to him. When she put her arms around him and held him close, her face pressed against his back.

She said nothing, just held him, and it was her touch that gave him strength. This was Jane, after all. The woman he loved. And even though it would hurt, he knew that he could tell her the truth. Not about Colin. Not yet. Not until he was certain.

But he had to tell her about what happened to him. He owed her that. More, he wanted her to know, even if he didn't relish the thought of actually talking about it.

But oh, Christ, where the hell did he begin?

He didn't know--for that matter, he was still pondering the question--when he heard himself saying, "She raped me. Over and over, and in so many ways."

Jane's arms tightened around him, silently giving him support. But she said nothing, and he was grateful. If she'd offered him even the tiniest of condolences, he thought he'd clam up for sure.

Instead, he spoke into the quiet of the room, knowing that she was there, but still speaking for himself. For the sensation of once and for all, finally, expressing what happened.

"That wasn't the first thing she did, but it sure as hell stands out the most. She had a dildo. She said I'd like it. I didn't. But damned if I didn't come. And damned if she didn't tell me she knew I'd enjoy it. That it would make me hard."

He sucked in air and closed his eyes, fighting back the memories. He could handle them singularly, but not the flood. Not everything rushing at him at once.

"She'd stroke me, too. Get me hard. Sometimes she'd use a cockring. Keep it on." He almost turned to look at her then, but didn't. Instead, he said, "I won't use them, you know. Won't even try, even if it would keep me hard. Even if I could be inside you. I can't. Just the thought makes me sick." Hell, he felt ill just thinking about it.

"I understand," she said, her voice low and soft. "I do."

"I didn't have a choice then. She'd do whatever she wanted, but in the end, I'd be hard. And she'd get on me. Ride me. She said I

wanted that as well. That I wanted to fuck her. That she was a woman and you were a girl and that with her I was a man."

Behind him, he felt Jane's body shake, and he knew that she was crying. He closed his eyes, trying not to think about her pain. About his. Trying to just force the words out, because if he let emotion get to him, he wouldn't be able to go on.

"Those were the good days. On the bad ones, she'd stroke me and make me hard, then slap my face and tell me I was nasty. That I was thinking about you and that I was a sick little boy. She'd pour ice water on my genitals. She'd use electric shock on my cock and hold a knife to my balls. If it was vile and painful, she'd do it.

"And if I was hard, she'd tell me I was a pervert. If I was soft, she'd tell me I was a pussy. And every time she made me come, she'd tell me to close my eyes and imagine it was you touching me." His voice was hard, the words coming fast, heavy with fury. "You hitting me. You jamming some goddamn dildo up my ass."

"Dallas, I--"

She broke away, and he mourned the loss of her warmth against his back. He wanted to turn to her. To comfort her. But he was terrified of the disgust he'd see in her eyes when he turned around.