Larger Than Life by Alison Kent (read the beginning after the end novel .txt) 📕

"I can see it. You're not even here with me. You're long gone." His throat convulsed as he swallowed. His thumb was unsteady when he stroked her face. "You're back there in the past. With that knife. And I'm not going to be a part of that."

She felt like ice, like fire, freezing and melting all at the same time. "I warned you a hundred times, baby. You wouldn't like finding out about my past."

"No. I didn't." His voice was thick, husky, raw. "I don't want to think of you being hurt. Or going through something as horrible as rape. But it doesn't change anything about how I feel."

No. She wouldn't believe it. It hurt to believe it. To have that hope. "How can you feel anything for me, knowing what happened?"

"This isn't about the past, Candy. It's about here and now," he said, reaching for the hem of his T-shirt and pulling the garment over his head. "This is about you and me. About you trusting me. Letting me take it all away. About me making love to you."

He reached for the lace edge of her panties then, tugged the garment down her legs, kneeling before her to kiss her thighs that quivered, her knees that quaked, coming back to kiss her sex, her belly, lingering over the scars on her breasts before coming all the way back to her mouth. To kiss her, to press his lips to hers, to slip his tongue inside.

He coaxed her to open, cradled her face in his palms, softly made love to her with nothing more than the touch of his fingertips, the slide of his tongue, the soft nibbling of his lips and his teeth as he claimed her. She held on, her fingers curled into his biceps, and let him have what he wanted, kissing him back until she tasted the waterfall of their tears.

His cock throbbed there where it was trapped between them, bobbing against her insistently. Spencer ended the kiss, his eyes sparkling, and pushed his jeans and briefs to his ankles before he sat back on the couch. She climbed into his lap, her knees sinking into the cushions on either side of his hips, and braced her hands behind her on his thighs.

He sheathed his cock and guided it between the lips of her sex, swirled hims'elf around the knob of her clit. She watched, he watched, and she wept softly with wanting him, with the gentleness he showed her, with the way he took his time to ready her, to make sure the pleasure wasn't all his.

One hand held his cock as he pushed into her, stretching her open around his thick shaft. His other hand came between their bodies to find her clit and play. He pressed up slowly, easing farther inside as she opened to the pressure. She groaned as he filled her, groaned as he stopped.

"Am I hurting you?" he asked tenderly.

Sobs bubbled like lava in her chest, hurting her more than anything he could ever do. You're supposed to tell me I'm a whore like my mother. You're supposed to shove the handle of your knife inside me and threaten to turn it around and cut me if I talk. "No. You're not hurting me at all."

"You're so beautiful." His voice broke. "You're so hot and amazing." He moved one hand to her knee, hooking his fingers in the bend, stroking her, squeezing her, such a simple contact, such a sweet, caring touch. "I love being with you, Candy, and making love with you, and this ..." His voice broke. "It's nothing like I've experienced."

She squeezed her eyes closed. Tear spilled down her cheeks. He wasn't supposed to be so caring; his concern was too hard to take. "You're doing it, baby. You're doing everything right."

He used one hand to finger and play her, one hand to hold onto her knee while he thrust. She contracted around him, squeezed his cock. He grunted and groaned. She did the same. And then it was done. That quickly, she came all over him.

She shook and shuddered as spasms tore through her, as Spencer Munroe, sweet Spencer alone, took away the shame and the terror and every bit of the fear. She milked him, rode him, urged him on, wanting to give him the ride of his life, a memory to keep with him forever.

"God, Candy. I'm gonna come," he said, and even with the layer of protection between them, he warmed her inside when he did, the fingers of both hands digging into her hips and bruising her as he held on.

Once he'd finished, once he'd pulled free of her body, he collapsed back, taking her with him, holding her with one arm wrapped tightly around her back. He toyed with the ends of her hair, with the pooch of flesh beneath the pit of her arm, with the ridge of her spine.

She could've slept in his arms. Could've stayed in that safe circle forever. She wanted to do just that. To feel their heartbeats each race to catch up with the other. But she was Candy Roman. He was Spencer Munroe. And they could never have more than this between them.

Climbing off the couch, she turned to give him time to adjust his clothing, reached for her skirt and top, slipped into both. Then she bent and picked up the knife, used it to stab the lingerie she would never wear again because doing so would remind her how sweet he'd been.

She pulled them from the blade and shoved the pieces into Spencer's pocket. "You can throw those away for me when you get home," she said, hoping what she saw in his eyes was a twinkle and not a tear.

It took a deep breath for her to say what she needed to say next. What she'd never talked about to anyone outside of court except for Neva. She held out the knife she'd closed, held on when he reached