Eira's POV
With his gaze locked onto mine, his hand slipped beneath my top and squeezed my breasts.
"Does it feel good?" he asked, his fingers kneading slowly, deliberately.
I nodded quickly, desperate for him not to stop.
Yet at the same time, doubt crept into my mind. What was wrong with me? After six years of sexual abuse, I should have hated this, should have recoiled from his touch. I should have been reluctant, fearful.
But he changed everything.
Instead of pulling away, I wanted it more the closer he came.
Was this what they called the magic of the bond? The magic of having a mate?
I did not hate it with him. I enjoyed it.
The first time we mated, I lied to myself, telling myself it was only the effect of heat, that I did not truly want it. But that was never true. I had been lying to myself.
Because with him, it was not abuse.
His touch made me feel alive, wanted, cherished. With him, I felt like a living being, not a thing to be used and discarded.
