Something Blue

Chapter 41

Katherine

Katherine woke languidly, but all at once. In one moment, she was laying on the pebbled shore of a clear blue river. In the next she lay on a pallet of old wool blankets that smelled vaguely of mothballs and mildew. The transition, while abrupt, was not jarring because for all that the scenery changed, a few important things did not.

For one, the warmth—in the dream a product of the sun and in reality a pleasant combination of the stove and the sun coming through the window and the warm body pressed against her back.

For another, the peace—not a river, now, but a feeling that sprang from within. A contentment that came from the knowledge that she was safe, and the man she loved was with her, and that very soon they would be a family and far, far away from the town that had hurt them.

And finally, the pleasure. In the dream, it had been a strange, amorphous thing. A tingle in her belly and a strange, hungry ache between her legs.

In reality...

He must still be asleep, because Gabe had never been one to touch her without first demanding that she look him in the eye and tell him that she wanted it. Before Jacob, it had been a product of her chaste upbringing, contrasting with the worldliness of his. She'd often suspected, back then, that he was more aware of the sensual chasm between them than she. In her youthful mind, there was an allure to the dark knowledge that he held. She'd felt pretty and pure and protected, carried in the arms of a giant to unimaginable heights of pleasure. Even so, he had treated her as if she were a delicate flower that he was trampling beneath his boot.

After Jacob... well, after Jacob she had grown to fear all men, no matter if she knew they would not hurt her. And Gabe had sensed that. He had moved slowly, never trapping her with his body, always stopping in the midst of passion to check in with her if he thought he saw her stare go distant. And he hadn't been wrong to do so. There were times, even when his body was coupled with hers and his scent filled her nose and his low, gentle voice rang in her ears, when her mind would pack up and move away, taking her back to Jacob. In those moments, Gabe would go still and cradle her face in his hands and look in her eyes, talking lowly to her until she returned to him.

So no, it was not like him to touch her without her permission. Which is why she was alarmed to find that the building pressure deep in her belly came, not from some dreamworld fantasy, but from the caressing press of his fingers in that deep, sacred place between her legs.

She lay on her side, facing the wall, with his body curled against hers and his arm—the one not occupied with coaxing pleasured little sounds from deep inside her—serving as her pillow.

She really ought to stop him. He'd be horrified with himself when he woke, and Jacob's torment and violation were still so fresh in her mind. What if she became confused? What if she feared him or struck out?

But the thought of Jacob—of his soft, thrusting fingers molesting her—only made her arch her back, pressing forward into the safety of a gentle, firm touch that had only ever hurt her with its absence. She closed her eyes and imagined Gabe's touch as a wash of warm water, sluicing away what remained of Jacob's filth.

There was no doubt, now, that he was sleeping. His breathing, still bearing a telltale rasp that made her wince, was deep and steady, if a bit rapid, and he was mumbling something into her hair that had the rambling, slurred quality of a spoken dream.

His body might have been clumsy and heavy with sleep, but his fingers were deft and sure. Her hips rolled of their own accord as he delved deeper, his thigh pushing between her knees, opening her legs to allow him deeper access while his thumb continued rubbing swift, pressing circles around that little spot where a mere brush of contact made her eyes roll back in her head and her breath stutter in her chest.