Free Primal Heat 2 by A. C. Arthur Page A

she’d believed in had crumbled so completely. Absolutely nothing.
    Except him.
    His hands had been on her again, rubbing along the bare skin of her arms, touching the curve of her hip. He’d pressed his body into hers and she’d felt everything about him, from the buckle of his pants to the sickening erection, even so deep as the vile blood running through his veins. She was nauseous, her stomach roiling at the mere memory and she curled up even tighter. Wondering if somehow she could be that fetus again, the unsuspecting and unknowing creature that had yet to breathe the same air as the asshole that had helped to create her.
    A shower would rid her of the disgust, of the tainting marks that had to be left on her after he was finished. The signs that everyone would see how defiled she’d been. But it never worked. After hours beneath a stinging hot spray she’d still felt the touch of his fingers, his lips, and his tongue. She’d felt it and had been repulsed each and every time. It was a wonder she’d been able to be intimate with anyone else, with memories like that bouncing around in her head.
    But that was because of her strength, because the jaguar living and breathing inside of her would not surrender.
    Nivea reached for that strength, she called out to her cat, to save her, to bring her back. The fact that she hadn’t moved, her body still huddled tight in this corner said the call had fallen on deaf ears.
    Then there was another touch. It was warm and comforting, so she didn’t bother to fight against it. She was being lifted, her entire body feeling light and trouble-free. They were moving, she and whoever carried her, to where she had no idea. She had no strength to question or even wonder. Her head lolled forward, the left side of her face resting against a muscled chest, eyes remaining closed, having seen far too much today.
    She breathed in his scent, let it filter through her body like salve against an open wound. She hissed at first, then settled into the feeling of safety, and of home.
    His voice still sounded in her head.
    “You wanted it, Nivea,” he father had told her. “Just like you want it now. You’re not getting the attention you want…”
    But this wasn’t what she wanted. It wasn’t how Nivea wanted to feel, how she wanted to live her life. Who in their right mind wanted their father touching them intimately with his hands and his mouth, doing things to them that at nine and ten years old nobody should be doing? That hadn’t been her request, hadn’t been her intention when she’d achieved good grades in school or performed well at a sport. She had never looked for that type of attention from him and she would not let him blame her!
    “It’s not my fault!” she screamed out, just seconds after hearing a door click softly closed behind her. “It’s not!”
    “No, it’s not,” Eli whispered quietly against the top of her head. “It’s not your fault, baby.”
    Nivea kept her eyes closed. It was the only way to stop the tears. “It’s his fault,” she continued, her chest heaving with the effort of each word. “He’s the one that’s deficient, not me. He’s sick and he’s wrong and I’m, I’m just … his … victim.” The last word came out in a whisper, yet it still burned her throat to say.
    “You are not his,” Eli replied vehemently. “Not one part of you belongs to him and I’ll be damned if he touches you ever again.”
    His voice held only the slightest semblance of control, his arms tightening around her as he spoke them. Nivea couldn’t help it, she tilted her head back and looked up at him then. That muscle in his jaw was twitching, his lips held tight. She couldn’t see his eyes because of his shades and without thought, she reached up and pulled them off. He didn’t resist, did not complain, simply looked down at her. And she was lost.
    Eli had the stormiest green eyes she’d ever seen. In them was all the turmoil and intensity that came