Where the Blame Lies

“Better?” Zach asked, putting his own glass down and scooting closer to her. She allowed him to take her in his arms, melting into him, laying her head on his chest and listening to his heart beat steadily. She wanted to lose herself, to float away, to push aside the horrifying revelations she was grappling with. She gripped his shirt in her fists and leaned her head back, offering him her mouth. He looked down at her, his gaze heated, but expression uncertain as his eyes moved over her face. What did he see? Did he not want her?

She brought her mouth to his and he groaned. She kissed him, desperate, hungry. She knew she was using sex as an escape, but was that so wrong? Was it so wrong that they should lose themselves in each other for a short time? To shut out the world when the world could be such an appalling, despicable place?

She pulled herself up, her hands shaking as she unzipped his pants, fumbling as she reached inside and grasped his erection. He was hard, ready. He wants me too. The knot inside unclenched slightly. She kicked off her shoes and then stood unsteadily, keeping eye contact as she removed her jeans and her underwear. She climbed back on him and took him in her grasp again, using the smooth head of his penis to stimulate herself, throwing her head back and moaning at the exquisite pleasure.

His breath was coming quicker, his hips lifting off the couch toward her, seeking. She could see that his flat nipples were hard under his T-shirt and for some reason, the sight was utterly arousing. Every part of his body was responding to her. She controlled this. Him. It was divine. She could feel herself getting wet, slippery moisture pooling between her legs.

She gripped him harder and he gasped out, sitting up straighter, the lust in his eyes deepening. She used his erection to drag some of the moisture from her opening up to the tight bundle of nerves and circled that spot until she almost came.

“Josie, God, I, ah—”

She smiled, lining his straining cock at her opening and spearing herself almost violently. He let out a masculine sound of pleasure, his head falling back as she began to ride him, slowly at first and then faster, faster, his erection almost slipping from her body before she slammed back onto him. He was watching her now, his face a mask of lust but something in his eyes she didn’t want to see—concern, confusion. She closed her eyes, rode him harder. “Look at me, Josie,” he demanded, and she did, meeting his gaze and holding it. He gripped her hips, taking over, controlling her movement. She let him, and with the submission, something pent up broke free. Josie gasped, keeping eye contact, allowing him to maneuver her body, trusting him.

Pleasure spiraled, a dizzying whirl of wild bucking, their mutual gasps of pleasure, and the wet sound of their bodies mating. She felt her orgasm approaching and reached for it, stomach muscles tightening, a sort of tingling numbness spreading between her legs right before every nerve in her body tightened and then released in a shattering burst of bliss. Josie cried out just as Zach’s hips shot upward, his own groan of pleasure mingling with hers.

She collapsed on top of him, her chest constricting, a sob bursting free. She felt Zach’s body still beneath hers, and she tried to stop the tsunami of tears, but she couldn’t. Devastation rolled over her, flattening her completely. She was at its mercy. She could only ride it out. Zach’s arms came around her, his body slipping from hers, the warm trickle of his semen draining from her body.

She sobbed until she could not sob any more, and Zach continued to hold her, running his hand over her back, whispering words of comfort in her ear. He had to be uncomfortable beneath her, half reclined, his pants around his knees, restricting his movement. But still he remained, holding her until her tears ceased, until the last of her sobs faded and her breath evened.

She lifted herself slowly, unable to look him in the eye. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, standing unsteadily and grabbing for her underwear, her pants.

Zach sat up. “Josie,” he said, so much tenderness in his voice, she almost teared up again. She glanced at him, at the way he was still dressed from the top up, his pants still down, his penis wet and sticky in the midst of his black pubic hair. She felt ashamed, unsettled, broken.

“I’m going to go clean myself up,” she said, and though his features were etched with concern, he only nodded.

“The bathroom’s right around the corner,” he said.

Josie closed the bathroom door behind her, standing against it for a moment, wondering if another bout of tears was going to come, but it didn’t. Seemingly she’d cried herself dry. She cleaned herself up and then rinsed her face, wiping the trails of mascara off her cheeks, staring at herself in the mirror for a moment. She still looked like a mess, but she couldn’t bring herself to care right then.

She left the bathroom and returned to the living room where Zach was still sitting on the couch, his pants on, clothing straightened. He smiled at her gently. He was so incredibly striking and she felt a wave of possession, along with a needling embarrassment. She owed him so much. More than she could ever repay. They’d experienced such beautiful intimacy in Tennessee and now she’d messed that up. Would he always have to “manage” her when it came to sex? Love? Her emotions? How was that fair to him? She sat down on the couch, turning toward him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. You needed a release. You needed to cry.” He paused, watching her. “Josie, be gentle with yourself. This is not a normal circumstance. You found out today that one of your friends was the man who terrorized you”—his jaw clenched—“got you pregnant, and almost killed you. You found out what happened to him, and to the man you thought was your attacker. Anyone would likely be reeling under that kind of onslaught of information.” He moved a piece of her hair away from her face. “Talk to me. Tell me what you’re feeling. You need to get the words out too.”

She let out a sigh. God, he was so good. So understanding. The truth was, she didn’t have words. Not yet. The things she’d learned earlier that day were festering inside her, but unavailable. She could feel them twisting and writhing in some dark corner of her soul—too complicated to unravel easily—and she wasn’t ready or willing to go searching for them. Rape is a crime of violence, not of sex. She still couldn’t connect Cooper with that picture. Rape is a crime of violence. The man who she’d thought was a friend had been the victim of violence too. It still didn’t make what he did even partially okay. He raped me. He tried to kill me. He took my baby. He killed my mother, who I . . . No, she wasn’t able to get all those words out yet. The tears had brought so many feelings to the surface and had helped to some degree. Truthfully, and as much as it brought shame, the sex had helped. “I don’t want to talk.” She gave him an apologetic look. “Not yet. I will, and you’re good to offer me a listening ear. You’re just . . . good, Zach Copeland.”

He studied her, seeming to be looking for a deeper meaning in her words. “Maybe it’s not the time to talk about this, Josie, but”—he sat back, appearing vulnerable, hesitant—“when this is all over, I want to give us a try. I want . . . I want to protect you and love you. I want . . . you.”

Her heart squeezed tightly, and she wanted so badly to say yes, yes, I want to be with you too because she did, but something stopped her, some unnamed fear that also made her want to draw away. She was messed up, so messed up. Still. And all she had at th

e moment was honesty. It was the best she could offer him. “I don’t know how to be with a man without . . . a sort of desperate grasping. That’s what love’s always been to me.” She turned her gaze away, remembered the high school boyfriends she’d run after, sobbing in the street, humiliating herself when they left her. She thought of the countless men she’d brought home, telling herself it was only a one-night stand and yet desperate with rejection when they didn’t call her again. It was all part of the example she’d been shown, she knew that. She’d come face to face with herself in that dark warehouse. But she was still figuring out how to untwist the wire of dysfunction that was wound so tightly around her. Maybe, in some ways, she was still in chains. Maybe not. She didn’t even know.

All she knew was that she felt that familiar desperation for Zach, the neediness that made her want to cling to him, to lose herself in him, to find a twisted kind of control in his desire for her.

Something whispered inside of her, telling her this was more than that. Deeper, stronger. Urging her to trust him. But the truth was, she didn’t know if the voice was right or wrong, because the voice was her, and she couldn’t yet trust herself.

“I don’t want to ruin this,” she said sadly. And there wasn’t time at the moment to ponder on herself and her age-old neediness when it came to men. Her friend was sitting somewhere dark and cold right that moment, hungry and afraid, and Cooper was out there somewhere, too, planning any number of sick and twisted crimes.

Zach took her hand in his. “I’ll tell you if you’re ruining this, all right?” He gave her a small smile. “I’m not exactly perfect either, you know.”

Josie sat back, her eyes moving over his face, her heart clenching. “Yeah? What’s not perfect about you? Because, honestly, you seem pretty damn perfect.”

He looked around. “I’m a slob. I leave my clothes on the floor, toss them right next to the laundry basket and leave them there for weeks.”

“Gross.”

He grinned, nodding. “I know. Totally gross. Also, I cheat at board games. I never once played a board game I didn’t cheat at.”

“Outrageous.”