“I’m not fucking you. Not now, not ever.” I sat back on my bed, knowing he couldn’t physically move me.

Buck stood next to my bed, stroking his cock in front of me. I turned my head away but the sound was unmistakable. “Don’t close your fucking eyes in this room ever again,” he said. “Or you’ll wake up with my dick in your mouth or your ass. Better yet, next time it’ll be the shower. You can’t escape me there.” He grunted just before I felt warm liquid squirting all over me.

“No!” I shouted, sitting straight up in bed. Where was I? My heart calmed immediately as I realized I was not in the cell with Buck. I was in a hotel room. Bex was sleeping next to me, her gorgeous body illuminated by the moonlight coming through the part in the curtains.

I stood, making my way to the bathroom. My hands shook as I turned on the water in the sink. I hated that dream just about as much as I hated the one where he actually did corner me in the shower and stick that disgusting thing inside me. He’d had help, of course. Guys who helped him so he wouldn’t do it to them.

I splashed water on my face, trying to rid myself of the memories. Why wouldn’t they leave and stop harassing me? I was sick and tired of reliving every single shitty thing that had ever happened to me every time I shut my eyes.

I stepped back, my eyes looking at the reflection of the shower I’d had Bex in just mere hours ago. Now she was sleeping next to me in my bed. Or her bed. Whatever.

What was I doing? I’d left Florida and come to Atlanta to go on tour with her. We hadn’t discussed what, if anything, that meant for the two of us. I was going to Colorado in a few days to find out if my past was going to continue to haunt me or not. Bex didn’t know any of that. Did I want to tell her? Was it important for her to know? I had no idea.

Natalie and Julia were both on our cases about not hurting each other. I didn’t want to hurt her, but what did I want? I was afraid of the small voice in my head that was telling me I knew what I wanted from her.

I opened the bathroom door quietly as to not wake Bex. As the light illuminated the bed, I saw her sitting up watching me, her bare breasts barely covered by her long hair.

“Sorry if I woke you,” I said.

“You had a nightmare,” she said in response.

“Sorry,” I said again.

Bex shook her head. “You don’t have to be sorry. You know I have them, too. Do you want to talk about it?”

I stopped in my tracks. Did I want to talk about it? Who was this and what had she done with Bex? “Talk?”

She bit her lip and nodded, winding her hair around her finger as she waited for my response. I tampered down the panic that ensued when thinking about sharing my past with her and realized I did want to talk to her.

I sat on the edge of the bed, our eyes connecting as we processed what was happening here. “I’ve never told anyone.”

“I know,” she said. “You’re terrified.” She didn’t say it like she was trying to sympathize. She said it because she could relate.

I nodded. “I trust you.”

“You came here for me,” she said in response. “That means something, right?”

I shrugged. “I think so. I don’t know how to do this.”

“I don’t know, either,” she admitted. “Let’s start one day at a time. Hell, one second at a time.”

“I was in love with a girl once,” I started. It wasn’t about my nightmare, but it was one of them. “Her name was Jill. She—she was killed. I found her.” That was the bare minimum of the details, but that had been hard enough.

Bex gasped. “Fuck, Johnny. I’m so sorry. That’s why you don’t want to get close to anyone.”

“That and many other things,” I admitted.

“I was raped when I was sixteen,” she said like she was telling me the weather. “I got pregnant.”

I didn’t know what my mind had conjured up as what her past could contain, but it wasn’t that. “Fuck,” I hissed, clenching my fists. I knew it was a long time ago, and there was nothing I could do about it now, but I wanted to kill the fucker. “Where’s the baby?” As soon as the words left my mouth I realized we were talking about a child that would be ten now, not a baby.

Bex looked away from me and didn’t answer. “I’m going back to Colorado because I spent time in prison.” Maybe sharing more with her would help her feel safe opening up.

Her eyes snapped back to mine. “Prison?”

“Yes. It’s a long story, and if you really want to know, I’ll tell you someday. But I’m trying to get my record expunged.”

She nodded, wringing her hands in her lap. “My son died during childbirth.”

“Bex,” I said. I knew she didn’t want my sympathy. We were alike in that way. “That’s fucking shitty.”

“He was the only good thing that came out of my childhood,” she continued. “I was taken away from my dad when I was seven and went from foster home to foster home. He was the foster parents’ real son, and he thought he could do whatever he wanted to the girls in the home. Not long after he raped me, I ran away with Beau. Natalie was already out. I found out a month later I was pregnant. It was the first time I’d ever had sex. Well, not that I was willing . . . but you know.”

I sat still, afraid that if I moved she’d stop talking. This explained why she had meaningless sex because she at least could control that like she didn’t get to control her first experience.

“At first, I wanted anything that reminded me of that night out of me. I was going to have an abortion. But I couldn’t go through with it. Feeling him grow inside me, I knew that I had to protect him with my life. I would be the parent that he deserved to have. Beau and Natalie were going to help me.” Her voice broke, and I wanted nothing more than to pull her into my lap, but I didn’t dare.

“I was about to give birth to him when they realized he was in distress. They rushed me in for an emergency C-section, but it was too late. They tried resuscitating him for almost thirty minutes, but he was gone.” She pushed the sheet down so I could see her flat stomach. “My tattoo? It’s covering my scar.”

I crawled over to her and traced my fingers along the minute scar, then the baby’s breath flowers that I now understood. Goosebumps broke out on her skin as I touched her. “What was his name?” My voice was low, whispered.

“Gibson,” she whispered back. I smiled. Of course his name had been Gibson.

“So every time you play, you play for him,” I said.

Bex’s eyes met mine. One lone tear escaped her eye and traced a path down her cheek. I wanted to reach out and wipe it away, but it deserved to stay there. It was a hard earned fucking tear. “Yes,” she said finally.

I laid behind her and pulled her to my body. My heart beat in rhythm with hers as I ran my fingers through her hair, down her arm, and around her waist. We didn’t say another word, our gentle touches telling each other everything we had a hard time expressing.

Bex reached over the table, holding out a strawberry. I wrapped my lips around it, taking a bite while my eyes stayed linked to hers. She smiled, scooting her chair closer to me and leaning over for a kiss.

When I opened my mouth and transferred the piece of strawberry back to her, my dick jumped to attention when she groaned. We were staying in Atlanta for a few more hours before getting on the road to head to Chicago and then to Colorado. We were in the hotel room, both of us having woken up discombobulated over our sharing fest last night.

I hated to admit how much I liked it, being here with her and talking to her about shit. I’d slept for three hours uninterrupted by nightmares. I think that was a record.

Before I could think any further of being buried in her sweet pussy, Bex stood and straddled me, guiding my always-hard dick into her wet heat. “Johnny,” she moaned, throwing her head back. That put her ample chest in front of my face, and shit, I was a guy. Wrapping one arm around her back, I pulled her closer and took a nipple into my mouth. She lifted up and down, sinking completely on me and rocking back and forth.