Free Unscripted by Christy Pastore

source of pleasure. The act of sex, fucking and screwing has been replaced with a boat load of emotions— pain, fear and sadness. Every victim’s story is different, but I need you to understand I am not sexually broken. I like sex. Rape is not a form or sex, rape is a crime— it’s assault. Sex is a wonderful and amazing experience— it feels good. Assault is traumatizing.”
    “ I think I understand.”
    Lucky for me, the first man I had sex with after I was raped was very kind and understanding. That relationship, although short, did me a world of good both emotionally and physically. Maggie once told me, “Your healing process is your own. You’re going to have good days and bad. Holliday, you’re allowed to trust again. You’re allowed to love sex— you won’t break. If you do, the right man will help you put the pieces back together.”
    “ Ronan, I assure you I will not break if you fuck me. Did I break earlier?”
    He shook his head and said, “Only when I made you come so hard you were weak in the knees.” A slow smile spread across his face.
    “ Exactly .” I smirked. “Now, do it again. Fuck me Ronan Connolly. I want to scream out your name in pleasure.”
    “ Okay, my beauty. Just remember you asked for it,” he said, as a wicked grin crossed his lips.

Ronan Connolly looked positively gorgeous leaning back in a wooden chair as he read the morning paper in his York Hotel penthouse. His tight grey V-neck t-shirt hugged his well-trimmed upper body in all the right places. I watched him for a few moments in silence, drinking in the sight of him as he sipped his coffee and shuffled the paper. The early morning light poured through the sheer white curtains of the master suite as I lay there smiling and staring at the insanely sexy Irishman. Glancing at the clock on the nightstand, I noticed it was a little after seven a.m. For the first time in a year and a half I was going to be late to work. I had sent a text to Charlotte late last night telling her I’d be in the office at ten. She was fine with it, probably because she knew I’d spill all the dirty details of my sex-filled night with the dashing movie star as soon as I got to work. I tried to quietly sit up in the bed, but the sounds of my legs stirring under the covers attracted Ronan’s attention.
    “ Good morning, beauty,” he greeted me while folding the paper in half.
    “ Good morning,” I replied cheerfully.
    “ Did you sleep well?”
    Stretching my arms up over my head, I nodded. I loved the way he called me beauty. The only other person who had ever given me a nickname was my father, Jay, who called me Grace. I was terribly clumsy and awkward before I hit puberty. Lean and lanky, I was all long limbs with knobby knees coupled with a hideous unibrow and overbite. Thank God for waxing and braces correcting my beauty ailments. Roller-skating and swimming helped me to overcome my uncoordinated demeanor. I sometimes felt like I was an ugly duckling surrounded by nothing but gorgeous swans.
    Once I turned fourteen, it was like I became a different person overnight. I began to develop my breasts and natural curves. By the time I was sixteen, well, let’s just say my step-father Perry nearly had a stroke every night when I left to go on a date with a guy. I would have thought he’d had plenty of practice with Charlotte, but I guess it’s never easy letting your daughters walk out of the house with good-looking hormone driven teenage boys.
    Charlotte has always been worshiped by men. To me she was the most beautiful feminine creature. Slender and tall with golden blonde hair, like the warm California sun, and sapphire blue eyes that were both mysterious and sad. Only our mother, Helen, and I could see the sadness in her soul. I suppose we all had that same sadness in us. Even though we all looked completely different physically, with good reason since Charlotte and I were both adopted, we couldn’t have been more like-minded for any