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unlike the way any man had kissed me before. It was meant to arouse and entice. His tongue slipped alongside mine, gliding and teasing. His lips were gentle, playful. He splayed his big hands over my ribs and slid them up and down my body. There was no sense of hurry to any of his movements. He wasn’t touching me hard or possessively. It didn’t feel as if he owned me and was taking what belonged to him. Instead, every touch was tender, almost reverent.
    This was not what I’d planned. Not at all. I didn’t know what to do, what to think, how to feel. His sensual assault was taking over, and I felt as though I were flying. Or falling. I couldn’t be sure which, but either way my feet no longer seemed to be on solid earth.
    I grabbed hold of his shirt, hoping to ground myself in some way as he licked a line from my jaw to my ear.
    “I want to fuck you , Tori,” he said softly, his lips brushing against my lobe. “Not the porn star. Not the actress. You.”
    But that was exactly what I couldn’t let him do. It was never me . Not since the very early days when I’d let one of my co-stars past my protective walls. I’d allowed myself to care for him, and I’d convinced myself that he really cared for me and would look after me in this strange new world I was in. So when he’d fucked me for the cameras, it had really been me . My heart. My soul. All wrapped up in him.
    Which meant it had been me when he’d tied me up and forced the baseball bat inside me and rammed it home over and over again despite my pleas for him to stop. It had been me when he’d used the cane on me so hard it left welts that were still visible a week later—on my breasts, since my contracts always stated I couldn’t have noticeable marks anywhere that anyone could see when I wore my leotards for dance. It had been me when he’d straddled my head and fucked my throat until I’d vomited all over his dick and myself, all the while forcing me to come with the baseball bat still deep inside my cunt and the magic wand bearing down on my clit until he burned up the motor. It had been me when he’d put a ball gag in my mouth and fucked me, ignoring the fact that I was screaming in pain from the acids leeching into the fresh welts on my breasts after he’d rubbed my bile all over my chest. It had been me he’d winked at and smacked on the ass after the shoot, while they were still undoing my bonds, saying, You’re one tough bitch to take all that . And it had been me when, a week later, I’d had to let him and three other men gangbang me while they held my head under water, listening to him tell me I was one hot slut every time they brought me up for air.
    Shoots like those two paid better than others, and since I could only shoot on the weekends, I’d often agreed to go along with unimaginable things. After that first traumatic experience, I’d learned to separate myself. I’d let them use my body, but I’d learned to shut away my mind. It was the only way I could survive it, the only way I could keep going back for more. And I did go back, too many times to count. Those shoots were far from the worst I went through from a physical standpoint, but I’d found a way to keep my head and my heart out of it.
    But now, Razor wanted to fuck me , not just my body. It didn’t matter that he was now my husband. It didn’t matter that he might have some inkling of what I’d been through since his mother had sold her body for money, or that he seemed like a good man. None of it mattered. I could never allow it to be me again.
    Not ever.
    But the way Razor was touching me would make it next to impossible for me to maintain my distance, to protect the few frayed threads of myself that remained from whatever was to come.
    “Come on,” he said. He kicked off his pants and took my hand.
    I had to find a way to manage it. It’s just sex. Only my body. I can do this. I have to. I let him lead me into his bedroom.
    He flipped on the lights and reached