Nobody's Perfect (22 page)

She didn't want to be alone anymore.

Damián picked up the razor blade and dropped it in the wastebasket. He removed the cloth from her head and went to the sink to scrub his hands with soap and water, washing away the filth from touching the dirty whore she was. After drying his hands, he returned and bent down.

"Come on. Stand up." He took her by the elbows and tried to lift her. Frustration tore across his face. "Savi, I can't lift you from the floor. You'll have to help me."

Help him what? When he pulled at her elbows again, she realized dazedly what he wanted. She wanted to help him, to please him, and pushed his hands away, then scrambled to her knees. When she stood, she swayed on her feet from rising too quickly. Damián caught her and lifted her into his arms.

"No! Put me down. Your foot!"

A low growl emitted from his throat and Savi knew not to protest any further. She didn't want him to get angry. He passed the bed and carried her into the living room, putting her back on her feet in front of the sofa. He sat down, and then pulled her into his lap.

"No. This is wrong!" She struggled to get away, but he held her firmly.

"No,
bebé
. I need to feel you in my arms right now. This is very, very right." He guided her head to his chest and wrapped his arms tightly around her upper body. She held herself rigid, expecting him to touch her again. But he didn't move; just held her.

"You scared the hell out of me, Savi. I didn't know you were hurting this badly. I'm so sorry."

Don't be kind to me. I don't deserve it.

Now that he knew she was a dirty slut, why did he still want to hold her?

His hand stroked her upper arm and she relaxed a little. There was nothing more she could do. Maybe this was good-bye. Needing to be in control, she decided she'd speak the words first. "We'll leave soon. Just don't tell Mari why we couldn't stay." Savi didn't want her daughter ever to find out what her mother was. When she started to get off his lap, he stopped her again.

Damián lifted his head off hers and tucked his index finger under her chin until she met his gaze. "What the fuck are you talking about leaving for?"

She looked into his eyes and saw…confusion? Anger. "I thought you wanted me to leave."

"What gave you that idea? You two aren't going anywhere."

Of course. This Marine had accepted a mission and wouldn't stop until he'd met his objective. It was his responsibility to protect Mari and her. Thank God he was such an honorable man. Savi had done a very poor job of keeping Mari safe. Lyle had come too close for comfort to her daughter. They needed Damián. He wouldn't abandon them, even if he wanted to.

His voice was gentle, understanding. "We need to talk about what happened in there."

Savi shook her head and shifted on his lap. What on earth was she doing in his lap? She was broadcasting the wrong message, if she didn't want him to touch her.

You know you wanted it, too, Savannah.

No! I didn't!

"We're only going to talk,
mi mariposa
." He cupped her chin and gently tilted her head back until she met his gaze. "Don't even think about flitting away from me—physically
or
mentally.
¿Comprende?
" She nodded. "We'll talk about the bathroom incident in a minute, but first I want to know what led you to run like that. What happened in the bedroom?"

"I told you it wouldn't work. You should have listened to me."

"Oh, everything was working just fine, if you'll recall."

Her face grew warm, and she pulled away from his hand, looking down at her hands in her lap. He was right. She
had
responded to him. Why now? She'd buried those feelings for so long, hoping never to experience them again.

Why are you doing this to me? I don't want to feel anything for you—for any man—ever again.

Savi turned toward him again. His eyes were nearly black; pupils so large they obliterated his chocolate-brown irises. A shiver danced down her spine, definitely from a response other than fear.

Too intense.

"It's going to take time for me to discover your triggers, Savi. Maybe if you tell me about what you can remember those men doing to you, I can avoid some of the obvious ones."

No, she could never tell him about the despicable things her father, Lyle, or any of the sadists had done. For the most part, she'd dumped those memories into a black hole long ago, where she wanted them to remain. So, why did they keep resurfacing into her consciousness now? It was enough to know her father had raped her too many times to count from when she was a little girl until she'd turned eighteen. What purpose could remembering the details serve in her healing? She'd thought the horrific memories would disappear entirely, but they were still there, buried deep inside. Only now they seemed to be closer to the surface than they once were. She didn't want to see or feel them.

But one memory had never gone away. The branding. She shuddered, then tensed, stomping on the memory with the fervent hope that this time it would go away. No such luck.

Damián's hand stroked her back until she relaxed again. She hadn't even shared that incident with her therapist. No one knew but Father and Lyle, and her last two sadistic clients at the penthouse who had photographed her mark of shame.

Her therapist and Anita knew generally about the sadistic torture she'd endured, and she'd admitted to both of them that she'd been raped repeatedly by her father, which was horrific enough. She'd just never allowed herself to acknowledge or deal with any of those deeper feelings, or the more vile memories, on an emotional level.
Just the facts, ma'am
.

"I remember the scene with the two sadists at the hotel the night when I heard you screaming. I can imagine you'd be triggered by the violet wand, the quirt, and maybe even being restrained with ropes."

Ropes, quirt, electricity.

Savi shivered. She didn't remember the pain of that night, but was thankful he could focus on that incident, which had been mild compared to the ones at her father's house. She'd had no emotional connection to those two men, so the incident held much less power. She relaxed against him.

"You responded when I touched your breasts. You seemed to enjoy that."

No! I didn't mean to!

Sex was ugly, dirty, bad.

Savi was ugly, dirty, bad.

No, not Savi. She'd never even had sex.

It was Savannah.

Then why had Savi's body betrayed her in Damián's bedroom, stirring up feelings of Savannah's arousal that Savi had tamped down for years? Why had those feelings returned now and with such a vengeance?

Savannah isn't dead.

She gulped air into her lungs, not realizing she'd stopped breathing until her chest began to burn.

"Slow, deep breaths." She did as he instructed and the burning went away. "Talk to me,
mi sueño
."

Tell him.
"I don't like sex. I don't want to have sex—ever." Maybe he'd give up on her when he realized he wasn't going to get anywhere with her in that area.

"What you experienced with those men wasn't sex,
bebé
, it was sadistic torture." He clenched his fist, then relaxed. She could almost feel the rage seething within him, boiling just below the surface.

Savi pulled away. She didn't want to absorb his rage. She'd dealt with her own anger; she didn't need his. She'd moved on.

Or had she?

"Remember our day at the beach, Savannah? In the cave?"

"Savannah's dead."

He frowned.

She has to remain dead. I can't survive if she lives. She knows too much.

Why did he refuse to understand that woman didn't exist anymore? If he wanted Savannah, well, then…she moved to get off his lap, but he didn't release her. Panic flared within her.

"Savi, we aren't finished." He stroked her arm. "Breathe deeply."

She did as he told her and relaxed again, but her nerves remained on the defensive. "I'm finished with sex."
I've been finished sexually since I was nineteen. Since our time in the beach cave.
"I can't be that promiscuous girl for you again. She doesn't exist."

Savannah
is
dead. Savannah
is
dead.

He raised his eyebrows. "I never thought of you as promiscuous, Savi. We both just needed someone that day. We connected; we were there for each other."

She'd never considered the notion that Damián had needed her that day, too. She'd thought he'd only tried to fill her brokenness with his tenderness, that he'd taken pity on her for what she'd experienced in the hotel.

She stopped fighting to get away from him. Finally.

Chapter Eight

What the fuck was going on? Since the moment he'd walked into the bathroom and found Savi huddled on the floor, razor blade lying beside her, her eyes lost in a trancelike state, Damián felt like he'd been dumped into a combat zone without a clearly defined mission.

Obviously, his touch had triggered something that had been done to her all those years ago. He wished he knew what, so he would know not to do it again. He'd touched her nipple, but she hadn't responded negatively to that. Total opposite, actually. Then he'd touched her mons and clit through her jeans. That seemed to be when all hell broke loose.

Now she was talking about leaving. That wasn't going to happen. Still, how could he keep her safe—not from the outside threat he'd been so focused on the past couple months, but safe from herself?

He needed to help keep her in the moment; get her mind to interpret his touch as something positive, not the pain and degradation she'd known in the past.

A cutter.
Mierda
. That complicated things. Patti at the club had been one, too. He'd been able to help her with SM sessions when needed, even though most Doms knew to steer clear of cutters and just get them the mental healthcare they needed. Patti's husband, Victor, had assured him she was in counseling, and begged Damián to help her, too. Victor couldn't inflict the amount of pain she'd needed to take away the pain exploding inside.

Apparently, Savi also needed that endorphin release if she'd been that close to using the razor to cut herself to counteract the psychological pain she was feeling.

Guilt washed over him. This time, it was from pain Damián had inflicted without even knowing it. Hell, the irony of it was that he got relief from his own psychological pain by inflicting pain on women he Topped in controlled sadomasochism scenes. He always knew the bottom's limits. He hadn't intended to hurt Savi today, though, in any way. He thought he was being gentle, sensual.

Maybe he couldn't be that kind of man anymore.

"Tell me what it felt like the last time you cut yourself."

She shook her head. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Tell me, Savi." He needed her to define the feeling. She'd clearly resorted to cutting before, judging by the scars tracking across her upper arm.

He didn't want her to hurt herself like that anymore, but there was only one way he knew to help. Damián was a mechanic. He needed to fix things. He also was a sadist and a Service Top, but his sweet Savannah had been tortured by sadistic monsters much of her life. She wouldn't want to be around another one, even if he was nothing like those others.

She looked down at her lap, picking at the skin next to her middle fingernail. Was this another way she mutilated herself? He placed his hand over hers to still them. She tried to extricate her hands from his, but he wouldn't let her escape.

"Tell me."

He'd about given up on her responding when she said, "A rush."

"You get high off cutting."

She shook her head. "Not high. It's just a…rush. The pain would build up inside until I couldn't stand it anymore, then, when I cut myself, all that pain gushed out and I just felt a rush. Afterwards, I was incredibly relaxed and the pain was gone."

"Do you know what endorphins are?"

She nodded. "Yeah. I know that's the clinical term for the rush I'm trying to describe."

"Would you like to find other ways to get that rush without cutting yourself?"

Savi pulled away and looked at him, hope flashed in her eyes, but faded as quickly. "If you're going to suggest curing me with rough, hot sex, it won't work."

He grinned and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. "Too bad. But that's not what I had in mind. I want to help you overcome some of your aversions to being touched. Help you connect with your body again."

When she tried to scoot off his lap, he placed his hands on her upper arms. "How do you feel about being restrained—but this time by someone you trust?"

He couldn't imagine how she could have gotten any more tense—but she did. She placed a hand on his chest to keep him at bay, but didn't use enough resistance for him to feel she was seriously panicking. Yet.

"I don't give up control to anyone."

Well, he sure knew that feeling. "Even if you trusted the person you surrendered your control to? Even with me?"

The wary expression in her eyes told him she didn't trust him either, and it hurt to think he still hadn't gotten anywhere in that regard.

"
Mi sueño
, I know you've had some awful experiences with men." She held her breath. "What I want to try won't be about sex, Savi. It might eventually make sex less frightening for you, but I'm not just trying to get inside your pants."

Her face flushed and she looked down at her hands again. "I'll never be ready for sex again, Damián."

"One thing I've learned in recent years is never say never." There had been a time when he'd thought he'd never walk like a normal man again. Okay, he still wasn't normal, but he sure as hell could fool most people. If he could adjust to an artificial foot, Savi could learn to enjoy sex.

"I'd like to plan a scene for you where you would have ultimate script control over what would happen. A scene you could call off at any moment if it became too intense or uncomfortable."